Several years ago I saw an ad in the sports page of one of the Seattle papers seeking volunteers for a University of Washington study on seasonal depression.

I submitted my request for assistance while describing my plight. Patiently awaiting my response from the think tank across the water, I finally received the white 8-by-10 business envelope with the enclosed announcement:

“Dear Mr. Freeman,

We are in receipt of your letter wherein you indicate a desire to be assessed and evaluated as part of our seasonal depression study. While we acknowledge that you feel you have a seasonal disorder, what you have identified as No BS or more specifically ‘Severe Depression caused by No Baseball Season’ is not presently being considered as part of our evaluation.

Thank you for your input. Best of luck until spring training.”

Since then, as I have done with most of my disorders, I have developed a technique for getting through the dark days of mid-October through April.

I have figured out that if I keep baseball season a yearlong celebration, I will always be happy.

If I can keep the sound of baseball cascading across my caboose walls in the dark of winter, I can still feel that connection.

From spring training until the World Series, I can enjoy listening to live baseball almost every day. If there are no games scheduled, I listen to old games.

Thanks to the Internet and Major League Baseball’s Website, www.mlb.com, I can listen to the live broadcasts of any team in any city.

At my computer, I can listen to the Astros on KRTH in Houston.

At my computer, I can listen to the Pirates on KDKA in Pittsburgh.

At my computer, I can listen to the home and away broadcasts of all the major league baseball teams.

Why do that?

Because, for me, the sound of baseball on the radio is the greatest white noise of all.

While listening to baseball, my mind can travel faster, wider, deeper and clearer than at any other time.

If I listen to Benny Goodman, I get into his clarinet playing.

If I listen to Perry Como, I get into his smooth voice.

If I listen to Enya, I get into the car.

The sound of baseball — the announcers, the crowd noise, the organ music, the crack of the bat, the vastness of cheering outdoors.

It all works for me in focusing my mind to the task before me. Can’t you tell that I am listening to the Dodgers and the Mets right now?

I guess the pharmaceutical Ritalin which is given to those suffering from Attention Deficit Disorder would achieve the same result, but I’ll take baseball over pills any day.

There is something soothing about the sound of baseball. If you have ever attended a baseball game, surely you have heard and felt the hum of the crowd.

It is constant.

When we were kids playing Little League ball, we always yelled at the other team when they were up at the plate. Being disrespectful of our opponents was part of the fun.

“Hum batter, hum batter, hum.”

I never knew what it meant, but it sure was fun to yell.

That humming in my ears continues as I listen to the Mets fans cheering beneath the broadcast voices of the announcers.

On Oct. 10 a new book will be available which is a must for any real baseball fan. The book is entitled “Reel Baseball.” The book includes a DVD, which offers the fan over 30 years of highlight reels showcasing the game’s stars and great plays from 1933-1965.

When I was a kid lying in my bed half-trying to go to sleep, I always had a transistor radio in my hand and near my ear during baseball season. Nestled in the foothills of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, I could enjoy the Boston Red Sox, the Phillies and Pirates, the Cleveland Indians, the Redlegs, the Tigers and even the St. Louis Cardinals, the team my Dad grew up listening to on his radio.

If the skip was right and the clouds were thick, my little blue Motorola transistor could pick up the sounds of Vin Scully and Jerry Doggett doing the Dodger games on a feed from a Denver radio station.

After graduating from supply school at Camp Lejeune, N.C., my commanding officer asked me which duty station I would prefer going to. I had my choice of any Marine base in the world.

“Sir, what base would be the closest to Dodger Stadium?”

“Well, Marine, that would be Camp Pendleton or Twenty-Nine Palms. One is on the ocean. One is in the desert.”

“Sir, sign me up for that ocean location near Dodger Stadium.”

When we wore our uniforms, we could sit in the Dodger bleachers for a buck. That cost less than the parking.

Then I realized that I could drink more beer in civilian clothes and not scuff my shoes so much. The ticket price was $1.50 without a uniform. That extra 50 cents was a big deal. In 1969, 50 cents bought me 16 ounces of enthusiasm.

I’ll enjoy these last three weeks of baseball. When the division and World Series are over, I’ll break out my videotapes of old Mariner favorites and listen to the same Ron Fairly stories I heard in 1995.

But, with my memory, they are still fresh.

Don’t tell me who wins, please.

Speaking of winning, show up at the beautiful and spacious Holmes Harbor Golf Club this morning by 9 a.m. to check in for the 10 a.m. shotgun start of the 2006 South Whidbey High School PTSA Golf Tournament and Auction. The format is a four-person scramble, somewhat different than the four-person poached format so popular during hunting season.

If you do not play golf, I invite you to show up for the luncheon and auction at 2 p.m. I’ll be joining with golf committee teammates and neighbors Sharon Knight, Debbie Walker, Trish Nilsen, Kelly Henriot, Jill Engstrom, Mike Johnson, Danielle Rushold, Debbie Hoch, Chris and Jean Fate and Will Collins to guide all of our energized bidders through a couple dozen live auction items of great goodies.

Stop by and bid high!