Since this is that time of year for major league baseball to be getting under way, I want to begin with a story New York Yankees Hall-of-Famer Mickey Mantle once told on himself. It was about a game in which he struck out three times in a row. He says, “When I got back to the clubhouse, I just sat down on my stool and held my head in my hands, like I was going to start crying. I heard somebody come up to me, and it was little Timmy Berra, Yogi’s boy, standing there next to me. He tapped me on the knee, nice and soft, and I figured he was going to say something nice to me--you know, like, ‘You keep hanging in there,’ or something like that. But all he did was look at me, and then he said in his little kid’s voice, ‘You stink!’” (1)

Out of the mouths of babes . . . that’s not the kind of en…