I apologize for the prolonged delay in responding to your letters and questions. What I thought would be only a brief interruption in our correspondence, triggered by some work-related events last week, obviously has grown longer by the terrible events of this week. Baseball matters - indeed, the usual concerns of our daily lives - seem of so little consequence at this time. Far more important that we reach out to each other and offer comfort, support, strength and the confidence that we will do what is necessary to preserve our way of life, however much that way of life will be forced to change because of the realities that exploded on our TV screens Tuesday.

The Red Sox, as you know, flew Monday night from New York to Tampa after their game with the Yankees was rained out. They remained at their hotel in St. Petersburg until yesterday afternoon, when they took a bus to Orlando, then boarded a train headed north. They didn't know at the time whether their ultimate destination was Baltimore, where they were scheduled to play this weekend, or home. Then Bud Selig made his announcement that weekend games were canceled - the only appropriate action, in my view - and the Sox made plans to head home. This morning, they were still on a train and expected to arrive early this afternoon. Clearly, they have been affected by the tragedy. Club spokesman Kevin Shea was unwilling to tell us what the team's plans for the weekend are, refusing to disclose when and where the club was working out. The anxiety is understandable, though if baseball has mandated the games will go on, I think they have to approach things with a little more confidence. The reporters who cover them and the fans who follow them are not the enemy, and being secretive will not help in restoring public confidence that we will carry on in the face of evil. Many other teams have been working out already and made their intentions clear what they will be doing in the next few days.

While most clubs travel on charters, I am certain that some players will be anxious about traveling. And the thought of playing in a stadium filled with thousands of people is troubling to many who worry that such a gathering would make an easy target.

As for me, I was on a New York-to-Tampa flight that departed LaGuardia at 8:10 a.m. We passed over the World Trade Center less than a half-hour before the terrorists struck. At around 10, our pilot came on the intercom and said he had a special announcement. He said it did not involve the safety of our plane, but involved a "serious situation for the United States.'' He then explained to us what had happened, and announced we were landing in Atlanta. I called my dad from the airphone, and he informed me of the horrors of the scene we had left behind. As word spread on the plane, most passengers sat stunned, uncomprehending, but no one became hysterical.

Five reporters from Boston-area newspapers were on my flight, which was unusual, since we all make our own arrangements and often travel separately. On this occasion, Tony Massarotti and Jeff Horrigan of the Herald, Sean McAdam of the Providence Journal, Bill Ballou of the Worcester Telegram, and myself were all on board. With other passengers, we were taken by van to a Holiday Inn in Jonesboro, Ga., where American Airlines put us up for the night. It was impossible to rent a car, so getting to Tampa was out of the question, and frankly, I had very little stomach for doing so. We, like you, sat transfixed in front of our TV sets, shattered by the scenes rolling across the screen, grieving for the victims, raging at the perpetrators, and troubled by the implications for all of us.

That night, McAdam was able to rent a car from an agency 30 miles away, and I was able to secure a car, too, but not until 1 p.m. the next day. By that time, Bud Selig already had announced there would be no games on Wednesday and Thursday, and we made plans to head north, uncertain whether we would be going to Baltimore or headed home.

After writing my story Wednesday, we loaded the van and headed north. Throughout our trip, we were gratified by the kindness shown us by countless people - the staff at the Holiday Inn was unbelievably gracious and helpful, and that seemed to be the story everywhere we went. Tuesday night, we had gone to an Applebee's in Jonesboro, where I stood in front of a TV next to the restaurant manager and asked her how she planned to explain to her children - who were doing their homework at a nearby table - what had happened.

We stopped for gas in Greensboro, N.C., where the attendant, discovering we were from Boston, gave us free coffee and wished us the best on our journey. We spent the night in Durham, N.C., sent off by a kindly waitress who loaded us up with good country cooking, then stopped in Baltimore, where the sales manager at the Marriott provided us with a conference room to write our stories, once it had been determined that there would be no games this weekend.

We left Baltimore Thursday night around 7. Our journey, of course, already had taken us past Washington, DC, - we saw helicopters hovering over the Capitol. Within a few hours, as we headed toward the George Washington Bridge on the Jersey Turnpike, we saw the billowing cloud of smoke hovering over a Manhattan skyline that was transformed forever on what had promised to be such a perfect morning.

I'm not sure that I was capable of carrying much more sorrow yesterday, which also was the fifth anniversary of the death of my wife, Yoli. I thought yesterday of how much she had always feared flying, and how she would have wept, along with so many of us, as she saw and heard the pain of the family and friends of those lost on those planes and in those towers.

The guys dropped me off at an exit off the Pike, where my 69-year-old dad, at 1 in the morning, had come to pick up his son. I can't tell you how good it felt to be home, and how deeply I felt when I hugged my nieces and nephew yesterday and wondered what kind of world awaited them.

Soon, of course, the games will resume. I know that the passion you feel for the Sox will not go away, and nor should it. It may not seem so important at the moment, but it nonetheless remains part of the fabric of our lives, part of the freedom we enjoy as citizens of a free and prosperous democratic nation, and it is nothing we should ever feel we have to apologize for. But I know that in these perilous times, we all share a deeper and more profound love of our country and of our fellow American men and women.

You know, as one who has covered sports for 20 years, I have stood thousands of times for the playing of the national anthem (including some renditions that would curl your hair). But I know that when I take my usual place in the pressbox Tuesday night in Fenway Park, and stand and listen with many of you, it will resonate with a new significance and poignancy.

The day will come soon when we can - and must - turn our attention again to Nomar and Pedro, Joe K., and the Duke. The sadness will endure, but the gloom will lift, and we will derive comfort in knowing that yes, we can play ball again.

But for now, I say, God bless America, and God bless all of you.