OK. So I’m - what? - maybe eight, ten years old, and I’m the King Of Tag in the streets and alleys of my Philadelphia neighborhood. Way faster and more agile than Tommy, Nicky, Nancy, Georgie, Carol, and Raymond. Yo, Rocky, bring it on!

Then this wiry little red-headed girl moves onto the block and my days of glory are over. Don’t remember her name, but I think she was Irish. Mary O’Something maybe. Geez, was she quick! I got tagged by a girl! I quit tag. So did the rest of the kids.

So now I get tagged by Kammie Kobyleski and it feels really familiar. See, that neighborhood was mostly Italian, Irish and Polish. The last names all had an identifiable European ethnic ring to them. So getting tagged by somebody named Kobyleski, who was tagged by somebody named Gerbyshak just really takes me back there.

Anyway, today I’m thinking that maybe I’m grown up finally because I see getting tagged as an opportunity rather than a problem, and don’t mind that I got tagged by a girl again. Thanks for the therapeutic intervention Kammie.

In case you don’t know what the hell I’m at here, a bunch of bloggers are tagging one another virtually. My job now that I’ve been tagged is to write about 5 things you might not know about me. So here goes.

1) The single most enduring thing throughout my life has been baseball. It started when my mother pushed my stroller into parks in neighborhoods with names like Nicetown, Fishtown, Germantown, and Manayunk, where my father and uncles played semi-pro ball for the Nicetown Blue Devils. That’s dad in the photo. He was a tall wild fast-baller. I’m a life-long Phillies fan, grateful to the Internet Gods for providing Phillies’ games at my PC here in Phoenix. Isn’t that Ryan Howard something?

2) So baseball is my most enduring affection. My most enduring revulsion: Brussels Sprouts. Don’t ask why. I don’t know. I haven’t eaten one since I can remember, but the mere sight of those little round cabbage balls fills me with some kind of primal dread. I thought about looking for a picture of them to include in this post, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

3) The name on my birth certificate is Richard Anthony Ricciotti. It fit well in the old neighborhood. The family Anglicized the name to “Richards.” No, they weren’t in the witness protection program and they weren’t reformed Cosa Nostra. No gavones, cafones, or capos. At lease none that I know about. Omerta? Nah, not those guys.

4) That’s my wife, Melanie, with me in the photo on the left, on our wedding day in Sedona. We have a good thing going, although I’ll probably get busted because this appears as #4 on this list. (Note to Mel: These are in no particular order. I love you.)

5) I have a recurring desire to chuck working with people and train dogs instead. Really. One thing nags at me though. Someone told me that dog trainers really train the dogs’ owners. So it winds up being the same thing I do now. Maybe there is a book in this: Is Your Genius At Work With Your Dog? See, I’m right back where I started.

This is terrific. I’m feeling like the King Of Tag again. My turn to tag people, so Debbie Call, Michelle Pitman, Kathryn Petro Harper, Astha Parmer, and Lisa Haneberg, you’re IT.

Yes, I tagged five women. I’m looking for one more. One in particular. If you know of a wiry little red-headed girl who grew up on Zeralda Street in Philadelphia during the 1950s, would you let me know? It’s pay-back time.