Today is the Daytona 500, sometimes referred to as The Great American Race…hmmmm. No wonder Trump will be there for a sprint around the track. After all, he has ordained that he will make The Great American Race even greater. But I don’t think auto racing is what he had in mind.

Ok, that was for my right-wing friends who refer to me as a leftie.

It’s funny that back in the late 60s and 70s, it was easier to hold opposing views on the issues of our time. We might disagree with people, but I don’t remember anyone hating me, and I can’t say that I ever hated anyone simply because they held views that differed with mine.

But this has nothing to do with the 500.

I started watching the race when I was still living on Long Island. It was somewhat exciting, but, more importantly, it was one of the signals that spring would soon be here. It usually came on the Sunday between the Superbowl and the beginning of Spring Training.

Finally, my long wait was over.

But I guess the Yankees’ rivalry with the Red Sox and the Mets is akin to the thoughts expressed aloud by the fans of their respective teams. That is why when I had a Saturday package, I often gave my tickets to the Met game and Red Sox game to a friend or family member. There was just too much stupid at these games and it was easier to avoid getting beer all over you from an errant throw while sitting at home watching it on TV.

But going to a Yankee game (as I am sure fans of other teams would echo my words) was that Yankee Stadium was a melting pot. If you were a Yankee fan, it didn’t matter where you lived or what you looked like. You would often just engage in an uplifting conversation.

But then, going to Blessed Sacrament Grammar School and St. Helena’s High School, both in the Bronx and St. John’s University in Queens, taught me tolerance without even realizing it. The secret is talking to people, not really a difficult thing to do.

Which calls to mind a conversation I had at a Spring Training game before Covid.

I was having a hot dog sitting at a hi-top table and Steinbrenner Field when a man and his son approached me and asked if they could share my table.

They both had Red Sox hats on, so naturally, I welcomed them to join me, provided they took off their hats. we laughed and started talking baseball between dog bites.

Then, the conversation shifted to football, and my prejudice got the better of me when I asked. “I suppose you’re New England Patriot fans?”

To my amazement and delight, the father responded., “No, we’re actually Jet fans!”

I learned a very valuable lesson that day.

You can’t always judge people solely by the color of their baseball cap.