He was always Noble. I don’t know why. His wife always called him Marty; my wife called him Marty. But I don’t believe I ever called him Marty. I don’t know why. Even when mentioning him to another reporter, he was Noble. Moss Klein was Moss. Dan Castellano was Dan or Danny. But Noble was Noble.

The name didn’t matter. What was important was the respect I had for the man and his work. I respected no writer more than I respected Noble, and there are few I respected as much.

Noble died March 24 at the age of 70. That’s not old these days, but heart attacks don’t ask one’s age. He was in Florida when he died, not for work – he was retired – but for the pleasure of seeing some members of the Mets’ organization he had covered and seeing our friend, Danny, who moved to Florida a few years ago.

We were competitors, but more importantly we were friends. Our work never intruded on our friendship, even though it easily could have. We were close enough and I had enough respect for Noble that a few weeks ago I invited him to write a column for this web site. It turned out to be one of the best ideas I have ever had and one of which I am proudest …

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When legal betting on professional sports first penetrated the realm of possibility, Major League Baseball was firmly opposed to the idea. The National Basketball Association lobbied aggressively for legal sports betting, but baseball remained silent. Belatedly, spurred by the N.B.A., baseball cautiously dipped its toe into the gambling water to take its temperature. Now baseball has catapulted 180 degrees from its original position and is pandering to bettors.

Baseball in bed with gamblers? Say it ain’t so, Shoeless Joe.

But where there’s money, there’s baseball.

Earlier this winter baseball notified clubs about a new requirement this year. They will have to submit their starting lineups for that day’s game no later than 15 minutes before the scheduled game time.

Explaining the new requirement, officials have said the aim is to …

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Dementia. Damn it!

Sad to say I saw it coming. And I hardly was the only one. At the very least, I had disturbing suspicions, some from four and five years ago.

But now this episode in the life of Tom Seaver comes with a diagnosis, an unsettling one and a future for a most accomplished former athlete that no one wants to contemplate.

Now it seems official. As a result, it also sounds more ominous. And it feels worse than it sounds for those of us who have known Seaver for decades.

Now, the diagnosis has removed whatever hopes we’ve had for him and prompted us to suspect that the worst case scenario is unfolding. How bad is it?

We know he won’t participate in …

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