Squash, tennis and basketball are all fine one-on-one sports, but make sure you have your dad's Visa with you when buying equipment. Price for squash racquet, ball and sneakers: anywhere from $50-$150, depending on the type of racquet you want. Price for tennis racquet, ball and sneakers: $150-$300, depending on whether you chose Pro-Keds over Reebok super-insolated Andres Jarryd hard-surface court shoes. Price for basketball and sneakers: $40-$100, depending on whether you buy a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar galvanized rubber ball or a Greg Kite reinforced-brick ball.

Price for official whiffle ball and official yellow bat: $3.57-$4.13, depending on which corner candy store you buy it from.

Whiffle ball saves you money.

Whiffle ball is the perfect game.

What other sport can give you the kind of day that would get you unanimously voted into Cooperstown?

Everyone has fine whiffle ball moments, the days when one becomes Ted Williams or Warren Spahn or Ted Williams and Warren Spahn combined.

I can remember my greatest day as a whiffle ball hitter-pitcher. It was a day when Jim and I went down to challenge two other guys from my grammar school, Matt and Kevin. Matt and Kevin lived far away, speaking in relative Bronx terms. Their houses were at least 10 blocks away. It was like the Yankees traveling to Tiger Stadium in Detroit.

This wasn't the first game we played against them. In fact, it was the third game of a seven-game Whiffle Ball World Series. Winner would be proclaimed champions of Mosholu Parkway (that's where I lived).

Jim and I hosted the first two games of the series at our home field, probably the best pitcher's park on Mosholu. It was a grass field, which the Parks Department used to mow every other week. The fence was far away, especially center field, also know as "Death Valley."

With some good handling of the curve ball, Jim and I shut out Matt and Kevin in each game. Jim got us all the offense we needed in each ggame, as he belted three centerfield-shots. I added a solo job. We were up two game to none, in the *** Classic.

I was slated to start the third game of the series. Matt and Kevin's park was completely different, a whiffle ball's Fenway. The infield was the asphalt of the street and the home run wall was the second-floor fire escape on Matt's building.

The smallness of the field didn't bother me. I settled down and pitched one mean whiffle ball game. The curve was curving. The slider was sliding. Matt and Kevin kept swinging.

"Spahn's on fire today, Joe. Look at the placement on his pitches."

My day at the plate was, well, unforgettable. Fourteen at-bats, 10 shots to the second-floor fire escape.

"He did it, number 10 of the day. What a day for Williams." The 10 homers set a Mosholu Parkway record. No one has yet to tell me that the record has been shattered.

We won the game, something like 22-6. Jim hit five homers and saved the game.

We went on to win the Mosholu title. With the money we saved from investing in whiffle ball, Jim and I celebrated by going to McDonalds.

"Damn, Jim, pretty good series we had there."

"Yeah, arm ain't bothering me at all."

"Challenge you to a game. Five innings."