OFF HIS ROCKER; YET HE'S NOT ALONE IN BEING MOST CLUELESS.

Byline: Karen Crouse

Matthew Prior was a satirist, not a sportswriter. There was a difference, back in the late 1600s and early 1700s when Prior was at the top of his game.

Prior, an English poet, pitched observations like they were high-and-tight fastballs. All these centuries later, his words have lost none of their zing.

Lord knows they're as accurate as ever. Prior could have been targeting the modern-day athlete when he wrote, ``They always talk, who never think.''

Indeed, athletes continue to flock to Reggie White's congregation for the incongruous and just plain insensitive.

This past fall alone we saw Florida State receiver Peter Warrick wonder what all the fuss was about when his deep clothing discount unraveled. As he put it, ``It's not like I killed the president.''

We heard Houston Rockets forward Charles Barkley's knee tear and then we heard him crack, ``Just what this country needs. Another unemployed black man.''

And just when we thought there wasn't a runaway quote that could blindside us, along came Atlanta closer John Rocker's drive-time commentary on traffic and other such nuisances with a Sports Illustrated reporter riding shotgun.

By the time we reached the end of Jeff Pearlman's article on Rocker in this week's issue, we were clear on one thing:

Rocker may be able to tune out a stadium of screaming New Yorkers and throw fireballs without getting burned, but he can't drive and think at the same time. You don't have to be Jeff Gordon to recognize a caution flag automatically comes out whenever your passenger is a reporter.

It's never expedient to swear at other drivers and flip them off and trash an entire culture's acumen behind the wheel of an Acura. But it's especially inadvisable when it's done in front of someone with whom you are conducting a piece of business.

There's putting your best foot forward and then there's putting your foot in your mouth. Rocker was guilty of the latter, and not just in his harsh assessment of female Asian drivers.

His description of New York City subway riders was colorful in the way a 3-year-old's crayon drawings are.

And Rocker certainly isn't going to win himself any fans with his condemnation of the city's rainbow of residents.

``I'm not a big fan of foreigners,'' Rocker said, never minding that there are plenty of people who regard his home state of Georgia as a kind of alien land.

John is really off his Rocker if he thinks all his teammates will be cool with him calling out reserve shortstop Ozzie Guillen for his awkward handling of a John Olerud bouncer up the middle that scored two runs and effectively handed Game 4 of the National League Championship Series to the Mets.

``If Walt (Weiss) is playing shortstop instead of Ozzie, that's not a hit and we win,'' Rocker said. ``But we had a (35-year-old) guy playing shortstop and he can't make that kind of play.''

That turned out to be a mild rebuke, next to Rocker's description of an overweight black teammate as ``a fat monkey.''

Clearly, Marge Schott has company in baseball's bullpen of bigotry.

Of course, Rocker doesn't see the connection.

``I'm not a racist or prejudiced person,'' he told Sports Illustrated. ``But certain people bother me.''

All it takes is a couple of emotional exhibitionists baring their souls to get us thinking that maybe Knicks star Patrick Ewing has the right idea: If you can't say anything that won't end up in big, bold headlines, don't talk to the press at all.

It pains us to admit we've reached the point of semi-yearning for the olden days when star athletes were unfinished portraits, the better to allow the public to color in their personalities as it liked.

Time was when we thought it a noble calling, poking and prodding until we uncovered precisely what makes the very best athletes tick. We cast our curiosity into the sea of sports and were henceforth hooked.

Little did we realize then that to wade deeper into the psyches of athletes is to risk ending up feeling as out of sorts as the cowcod reeled in from the ocean's depths. In our naivete, it never dawned on us that the physical aggression that is rewarded on the field can be harder to turn off than the television.

We didn't stop to consider that stardom can be an addictive drug, impairing the judgment of the person in the spotlight and leading to illegal, immoral and unimaginable behavior.

It never crossed our minds that athletes are driven to excel not only by desire but by demons.

We didn't stop to ponder the possibility that the pitcher who'll pugnaciously challenge the game's best hitters and the league's orneriest fans was acting consistent with his personality and not merely acting.

It never seemed conceivable that a receiver so good at running from defenders might have have reason to flee the police.

To know better, we have discovered, is to feel worse.

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PHOTO (color) no caption (John Rocker)

Mark Lennihan/Associated Press