This planet that is now home to somewhere in the crowded neighborhood of 8 billion human beings by most estimates, is an amazing, if not crazy place.

In this age of talking heads on every channel reminding us seemingly non-stop of the insanity of being an Earthling, many of us try to find a little slice of refuge amid the chaos.

Many, it seems, enjoy stress and chaos.

But not me.

That is one of the main reasons why I’m such a sports nut. I found myself watching part of a cricket match on TV the other day. And while I had absolutely no idea what was going on there, it was strangely soothing.

Most of all it was NOT breaking news, or “this just in”, or another news conference to discuss the latest incident where one of us broke the sanity barrier and shot several folks.

No, this was a bunch of wacky dudes swatting at what I gathered was a wooden ball (?).

It did not matter if you hit the ball in front of you, or behind you or seemingly every compass direction we know of. Hitting the ball so it knocks over some sticks poking out of the ground was apparently a good thing.

The “fielders” wore no gloves and the “pitcher” bounced the ball up to what I think was home plate.

For those moments I was lost in what appeared to be baseball on acid, it did not matter.

Two teams were competing and I think they were trying to outscore the other team, but my mind was blown after about half an hour of trying to figure out this game some say is one of the top two watched sports in the world, behind soccer, or as purists say, “football”.

So while I was busy with the mental gymnastics it requires to comprehend a bizarre sport, it suddenly dawned on me I was not about to unleash another Archie Bunker tirade because of something that flashed on the screen. For those of you too young to remember, Archie Bunker, the patriarch of the old TV show “All in the Family” was a conservative older guy who pretty much griped about everything non-conservative.

Many of us “baby boomers” as my generation is often called, have our Archie Bunker alter-egos.

The problem with emotional outbursts such as those that ruled Mr. Bunker’s life are not, pardon the expression, “good for you”.

So I turn to sports, my emotional binky as it were, to retreat from worldly stress. To find, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, my “safe place”.

Problem is, the wokeness, conservatism, liberalism, ism-ism-schmism has been working to stand under my sports umbrella and cut holes in the protective dome of fabric that keeps my mind from drowning in a sea of stress.

No cars go by and splash water down my galoshes when I’m watching a sporting event.

But even in this event sanctuary I call sports, more and more water balloons of insanity seem to be flung in my direction.

I don’t want to know what gender anyone is when I watch a game. I seek only the basic justice of a level playing field. I don’t want to try and learn new pronouns that make absolutely no sense to this 68-year-old Montana guy.

I don’t want to hear about inflation, I choose to go to live sporting events right here in this area where a bag of popcorn is $1 and a diet soda is the same price.

Keep your politics out of my sports. I don’t want to see or hear what overpaid multi-ba-jillionaires think politically.

If I want agony like that, I will turn on “fake news TV” or jam flaming bamboo shoots under my fingernails.

I want to watch a game where grown men and women don’t run around flashing hand signs after every play, or disrespecting their opponents with a variety of gestures and choreographed end zone dances.

Kids are watching and learning.

Clearly, my safe zone of sports is being infiltrated enough as it is.

Play the game. Entertain me. Give me peace of mind.

I can get over my team losing. I do not care about a 2.0 version of anything, much less a pillow.

Hands off my sports!