I am man -- hear me roar!

	Everybody seems to love Raymond ... except for his nitpicking wife.

In our politically correct society, one segment of the populace can still acceptably be victimized by prejudice. Men. It's always open season on men.

America's sensitivity training has taught us to be respectful of every demographic group except for men. Tease us. Cajole us. Mock us. Heck, we don't ask for directions! That's funny stuff! We'll do a beige load of laundry because we're too dumb to know if beige goes with the whites or colors.

Commercials portray us as people who love our satellite dishes, flat-screen TVs and cars, above all else. We're told on a regular basis that we're emotionally vapid. That women are more sensitive, more nurturing, more communicative, smarter in every way. It seems to me "Everybody Loves Raymond," except for his wife, who constantly calls him an idiot.

The next time you hear someone say the words "Men are ..." -- replace the word "men" with any other group. "Jewish people are ...," "Gay people are ...," "Italians are ..." Whatever words come next are general, inaccurate, unfair, prejudicial and often times despicable.

But that's OK because ... men are pigs. Men only think with their lower anatomy. Men are more violent than women. Men scratch themselves in inappropriate places and belch at inopportune times. Men are less important in raising children; so women should be granted custody in 90 percent of divorces.

These are indisputable facts, aren't they? So, label us. We're all the same. Right? In case the sarcasm doesn't drip off the page, let me answer my own question: Of course not!

But the predominant view of men appears to be unfairly negative. Can you think of even one generally positive pervading thought about men? Men are ... what? Good at fixing things around the house? Men are ... stable? This is all we get?

	Not all guys are a carbon copy of Tim Allen's character on "Home Improvement."

Well, as an unstable man who's lousy at fixing things around the house, all the negative depictions of men are eating away at my self-esteem. I constantly have to remind myself that I'm not a pig. I don't scratch ... that much ... at least, not when people are looking. I express my feelings ... when I have them. I am extremely nurturing. And now I choose to defend myself by going on the attack! That shouldn't come as a surprise. As a man, it's in my nature to be aggressive.

Let's face it. Women are frequently the worst-case scenario, as in: "I'll call a couple of the guys and see if they want to play golf Tuesday. Worst-case scenario, I'll play with my wife."

That's because when it comes to male-female relationships, men are usually the better athletes. Yep, you read that right. Men are better athletes. They're bigger, faster and stronger! Oooh, I'm a crazy man living on the edge! Watch out, I'm about to run with scissors. I'm crazy!! How dare I make such generalizations!

First, my credentials. I have five sisters, four of whom are very good athletes (the fifth I have to assume was adopted). I'm sure my sister Jane can still crush me in basketball, and I stopped trying to beat my sister Tricia in arm wrestling when I was a junior in high school. In fifth grade, I lost a boy-girl baseball hitting competition to Sue Minogue. She popped up to the pitcher. I hit a hard ground ball, but the contest was "distance traveled in the air." I still have night sweats about the humiliation that followed. I also dated a swimmer in college who was so muscular I thought I'd eventually get some sort of "Crying Game" surprise.

	Mia Hamm is a terrific athlete, but do you really think she's better than Nomar Garciaparra?

And I'm sure that my sisters can match up with their mates in several athletic endeavors -- tennis, skiing, darts, jogging. But indulge me. In most relationships, the man is better than his female counterpart. I'm not saying every man is better than every woman. I'm simply saying that more often than not -- in somewhere between 50.00001 and 99 percent of the cases, men in a relationship are better overall athletes than their female counterparts. Cripes, Mia Hamm is hanging out with Nomar Garciaparra -- and he might even be the better soccer player. John McEnroe says he can beat Venus Williams in tennis right now, and I have no reason to doubt him.

Therefore, it's often difficult for men to play sports with their significant others. I went skiing with my young lady friend recently and was pleasantly surprised to discover that she's every bit as mediocre as I am. Man and woman: equal. Now, how often does that happen?

The ski trip was extremely enjoyable and relaxing. The ping-pong game I played with my ex-wife on our honeymoon was not. I played left-handed and tapped everything back, but since I tapped everything back, I eventually won every point. Apparently, that made me an overly competitive bully. I probably should have intentionally whiffed a few shots, but that doesn't work either. My friend Matt tells me his wife also got peeved at him once for crushing her in racquetball, so he started giving away points. And she got even angrier ... because he was patronizing her. Playing sports with women can be a no-win situation.

In the world of ulcers, a woman playing golf with her boyfriend is what's known as a "carrier." Mrs. Feinswog was the original cause of my dyspepsia. I was her regular caddy. I don't think she ever hit a ball more than 80 yards, and before every shot she'd ask me what club she should use.

	When John McEnroe says he could come out of the broadcast booth and beat Venus Williams, Page 2's Bob Halloran is inclined to believe him.

"Well, you've still got about 200 yards, so you should probably stay with that same freakin' 4-wood for about three or four more shots. Then after a couple of chips and three putts, I think you should ignore your husband, when he says 'The rest of that's good,' and then putt it out anyway!"

Therein lies the rub. Women always putt it out! Either that or they overcompensate by saying, "The rest of that's good" when you're still in the sand trap.

I'd rather be stranded on a desert island with Fred Willard than be accused of slow play. So when a woman waggles over the ball like she's Sergio Garcia, and then rolls the ball up the fairway about 40 yards and stops to ask what she did wrong, I look back at the tee and see a foursome catching up to a twosome, and I die a thousand deaths. I was playing with my ex-wife once when a group behind us asked if they could play through, and I asked if I could go with them. Please!

Believe me, I know that even as I'm writing this, I'm thinking I'm going to make somebody angry. But as I write that, I'm thinking, "Why?" I've acknowledged many women are exceptional athletes. I've acknowledged many women, including family members and my love interest, can more than hold their own with me. But I'm also making the claim that, "generally speaking," men often can qualify for sainthood if they play sports with women without having a vein burst through their temple.

How do I know this? I guess I don't. Can I prove it? Nope -- can't prove it. I'm just stating an opinion based on general observations and stereotypes.

In other words, I'm such a pig!

Bob Halloran is an anchorman for ESPNEWS.