Cole Hamels will run for Phillies player representative on the platform of a chicken in every pot and two chiropractors in every clubhouse . . . Now that the Phils have added Dr. Michael Weinik to the biggest medical staff this side of the lovable "Grey's Anatomy" gang at Seattle Grace Hospital, isn't it time for somebody to step forward and admit that Tom Gordon's right shoulder is cooked?

The 19-year veteran, whose lack of stuff and command was tragically exposed in a ninth-inning, Opening Day meltdown, has pitched the past two seasons with a torn labrum. I got this e-mail yesterday from an orthopedic doctor friend who used to pitch and understands the slippery slope Gordon is trying to climb: "Why would the Phillies continue to believe that an aging reliever with a known labral injury could stay healthy for any length of time without surgery? Bad shoulders do not get healthier with age and work without getting fixed . . . What do the Phillies have to gain by keeping him on the team?"

Good question, Doc. Here's a sport obsessed with pitch counts and which coddles pitchers from cradle to outright release, yet unblinkingly permits injured pitchers to throw. What kind of hypocrisy is that? Does anybody believe that Freddy Garcia was healthy a single inning last year? Gordon is a warrior who wants the baseball. Pride in who he is and where he has been in the sport impels him to take the ball, suck it up and try to earn the $5.5 million he will be paid this season whether he wins Fireman of the Year or winds up having the labrum surgery that will effectively end his career. Flash is 40. He can't come back a year from now and make a living serving up Nerf balls . . .

Astros general manager Ed Wade must have felt right at home when Mitchell Report star Miguel Tejada was a dead duck at second trying to stretch a leadoff single with Houston trailing, 4-0. Gee, where has the Wadester seen that kind of baseball before?

When I'm King of the World . . . The Bank sound system will greet Phillies relievers with a stirring excerpt from the spiritual classic, "Dry Bones."

This stirring excerpt:

Your hip bone connected to your back bone,

Your back bone connected to your shoulder bone,

Now hear the word of the Lord!

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones

Now hear the word of the Lord!

Hey, they have the sausage race in Milwaukee and the presidents race in Washington. Why not dress four contestants as an ulna, a labrum, an ACL and a rotator cuff? . . .

Sad news from Florida. Betty Lee Martin, a realtor who sold more than a dozen condos to members of the Phillies' spring-training corps in 1986 and became a good friend to many of us, passed away peacefully early yesterday morning in a Pinellas Park hospice.

Opening Day presented a contrasting tale of former Phillies outfielders. Centerfielder Aaron Rowand, who followed the money trail to a terrible San Francisco Giants team, had a shaky defensive debut against the Dodgers. He juggled the first ball hit to him, a single by Matt Kemp, in the three-run Dodgers first. Then, with no shot at throwing out swift Rafe Furcal, who was on second, Rowand threw to third for some reason and Kemp walked into scoring position. Barry Zito served a two-run homer to Jeff Kent, but the intense Rowand was still shaking his head over his misplay. The good news, Aaron collected two of the five hits the punchless Giants managed off starter Brad Penny and Joe Torre's bullpen. Later, in San Diego's cavernous Petco Field, Michael Bourn ran down the first of many deep drives no other centerfielder in the game will get a glove on. And he made it look easy. In two of his first three at-bats, Charlie Manuel's most valuable bench chip last season singled and stole second, then walked and stole second.

 When I'm King of the World . . .

After the Penn State trustees toss a butterfly net over Joe Paterno, the man who has been coaching since Mount Nittany was a hill will be the spokesman for Godfather's Pizza. Hey, can't a guy eat his lunch around here? You writers talkin' to me? No, then who you talkin' to? (Chomp, chomp.) Look, the day I have to worry about not having a contract, I'm in the wrong place . . . (Which is starting to become more and more obvious.) . . .

With the nation's business focus centered on the coming hard times launched by subprime mortgage lenders, shouldn't Major League Baseball look a little harder at the fan abuse being committed by the Florida Marlins' ownership. On an Opening Day when the teams' scattered stars were lighting up stadiums from sea to shining sea, the Fish rolled out a 25-man payroll of $21 million. And these unapologetic fan abusers pocketed $80 million between their bloated share of the national-TV money and the luxury-tax pool funded mostly by the Yankees and Red Sox. The Marlins' scouting staff, which consistently outperforms the talent market and their budget, should be given 30 minutes in a locked room with owner Jeffrey Loria. *

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