Last modified: Wednesday, July 2, 2008 2:29 AM EDT FARINELLA: Christmas in July? BY MARK FARINELLA SUN CHRONICLE STAFF For almost 40 years, I have lived according to a different calendar than the rest of you. My personal calendar does not follow the traditional 12-month Gregorian path that governs the lives of practically everyone else on the planet. While I certainly recognize January 1 as a holiday and the day when I have to start writing different numbers on my checks - and usually forget - it's not my "New Year's Day." That day, this year, is July 25. That's when your New England Patriots are expected to begin their 2008 training camp. That's the day when I have to transition from the very pleasant cool-down mode I've enjoyed in recent days, a welcome respite from the breakneck pace that takes me from July through April, back into the daily grind of press conferences, player interviews, long steamy days spent in a stuffy media tent, and my weekends totally shot through possibly February. I know, I know. Poor me. A lot of you would kill to have this opportunity. And it's not as if I'm really working for a living. I've heard it all before. But it does result in a subtle alteration in the way I view life and the way I function in it. For instance, my "year" does not have 12 months. It has only four "seasons," and not the ones that correspond with yours. On July 25, I begin "football season." That lasts until February, or at least it has on a semi-regular basis since the 2001 season. Overlapping that by about a month, and lasting until March, is "basketball season." As there is no clear-cut break between the two given the length of the pro football schedule, it would almost be fair to consider it just one season that gradually transitions from one sport to the other. That's followed by the "offseason," which is really a misnomer, because there's no such thing as an "off" season in professional football any more. That encompasses the free-agency period, the NFL Draft and the minicamps and "organized team activities" that have suddenly become must-attend events. An offshoot of the "offseason" is the high school spring sports season. It's conducted in the springtime, but it's really in the autumn of my personal calendar. It's a time of winding-down, of transition and foreshadowing. Despite the fact that spring is supposed to be a time of renewal and new growth, I've always found the high school spring season to be bittersweet because it signals a change in the makeup of the local teams. Athletes who've been on rosters of local teams for four years, and whom we've grown accustomed to watching, are about to leave their nests and make way for the next wave of youngsters. They keep getting younger and younger, while I keep getting older and older. And that brings us to where we are now. June and July are the quiet months, the more peaceful months (although, depending upon the scheduling of minicamps and the length of the local spring tournaments, it's more like just six weeks), when I can reflect upon what came before and refresh and regenerate for the challenges that lay ahead. It's not like your December. Instead of Santa Claus, I have Willie Andrews allegedly pointing a Glock at his girlfriend's head. Instead of "good will toward men," I have Manny Ramirez shoving a 66-year-old traveling secretary to the ground. Instead of holiday cheer under the tree, I have $4.50-a-gallon gasoline awaiting me on my vacation. And instead of merriment and mirth at the end of a calendar year, I will greet my "new year" with a date at the Norfolk County Courthouse in Dedham, the result of jury duty. Six years I've lived in Norfolk County without aggravation, but they finally found me. Ho ho ho. As a means of starting the process of recharging the batteries, this will be my last missive in this space until July 23 - although that can't be totally assured, either. The news cycle rarely respects my vacation schedule. There have been plenty of times over the past few years when I've been sitting on a beach with nary a care in the world (except the efforts of Greenpeace zealots to push me back into the water), only to find that some sort of hell has broken loose in Foxboro and left me no choice but to return to the keyboard. And you can bet that I'll have more than a few posts up on the blog, probably when it's raining out or when the onslaught of new, shrieking toddlers on New Silver Beach has made it impossible to hear myself think. It's what I do. It could be a lot worse, I know. In any event, it's time to lock the doors and hang the "gone fishing" sign on the knob. Happy New Year, everyone - and we'll see you at training camp. MARK FARINELLA may be reached at 508-236-0315 or via e-mail at mfarinel@thesunchronicle.com. Read Farinella's blog, "Blogging Fearlessly," at thesunchronicle.ning.com.