Of all the habits I’ve picked up in the last two years — grinding my own coffee beans, fiddling with my nose hairs, indulging a daily puff of Gold Bond Medicated — few offer as much old-school pleasure as listening to radio broadcasts of Red Sox games. It’s old-school in the sense that baseball on the radio is anachronistic, a throwback pastime that speaks of long lazy summers long since gone.

When I listen, I feel like I should pour a glass of lemonade, tinker with the Model A, and pray for Prohibition to end. Maybe cuss the Smoot-Hawley Tariff for good measure.

That’s an illusion of course: I listen to the games on high-speed Internet. Ten years ago, there would have been no way to catch the WEEI feed for the Sox-Jays game on a Tuesday night in the Smoky Mountains.

Now it’s just a few clicks away. Hook up the trusty baby monitor, and I can listen anywhere in the house. (In the contest pitting sounds that might come from a baby monitor, a Varitek dinger beats an Isabel screamer any day of the week. Not that I always get to choose.)

Once you’re hooked into the games, though, it’s hard to let go. A few years back, whole games could pass without my attention; these days, it’s hard to let a few innings go by without listening in or checking the box score online. It’s the blessing and curse of our age. The blessing is that there is so much information at our fingertips. The curse, of course, is that there is so much information at our fingertips.

And so I find I can’t go through an evening without learning whether Edgar Renteria’s bat is finally starting to come around, or how Kelly Shoppach looked in his call-up from AAA. It’s gotten bad enough that I sometimes find myself listening in while I’m trying to do a bit of work.

Like write this column, for instance. I like to think that I can pay att — Varitek singles to center! — ention to my writing even when I’m following the broadcast. When I need to focus on choosing my words, I can block out the commen — Olerud follows with a liner to right! — tators and make sure I’m writing the best column I can for — Mueller strikes out looking — my readers. (Should they pinch hit for Bellhorn?)

After all, you’ve given me your time to read this column, and the least I can do is resp — Bellhorn grounds to Cano, Olerud out at second — ect your choice by providing a column crafted with diligence and — Damon singles, Varitek scores! — care. (2-0. Go Edgar.) You deserve no less.

And I’ll come through, I swear I will, like Edgar just did. Infield single, Jeter had no play. Sox up 3-0. And — hey, what’s that? Out of space? No problem.

Big Papi’s up. This is gonna be good.

(Jay Hardwig is a writer and teacher. He can be reached at smardwig@charter.net)