A man with a baseball bat will pass through the audience today and best the bejabbers out of anyone moving to leave.It has stopped raining. For reasons of mental health, I should be on the golf course, exorcising the demons created this past wet week. But, no. Here I am, chained to the typewriter. Please don't leave me.

So what to talk about? Not the Bullets. Not today. The Bullets are too much with us.We know everything about them except how the sale of F-15s to Saudi Arabia will affect Dick Motta's playoff strategy. So there'll be no Bullet news here today, even though basketball is a passion with me, a leftover from those dear, departed days when a pair of sweat socks first attracted me to the sweet game.

The local high school hotshot had those sweat socks, white ones that he turned down! - over his shoe tops. In the fifth grade. I took up the game so I could turn down my socks, too. The Bullets wear their socks pulled up high and they're playing for the world championship while I'm banging typewriter Keys instead of hitting golf balls. It's not the high socks that did it, though. According to Dick Motta, the Bullets beat the 76ers by word of mouth.

Yes, I can't resist - one Bullets story coming up.

Fans of the Bullets will long remember that Elvin Hayes rendered George McGinnis helpless in the Eastern Conference championship round. The papers were full of Hayes saying unkind things about McGinnis. On court, we saw Hayes talking at poor George, who occasionally would give Hayes a shot with an elbow. In response, Elvin would smile and resume his oratory.

"I was saying things like, 'George, you mad at your coach? He took you out of that New York series, didn't he? You ought to be made, George,'" Hayes said after the victory was accomplished.

As it turns out, Motta concocted the jawboning stratagem. He told Hayes and Kevin Grevey, the designated talkers, to yack it up in the press about how the 76ers could be beaten by a team playing together instead of individually. "I though we could psych the 76ers," Motta said. "And we did."

Speaking of jawboning, how about Billy Kilmer?

The Redskins' quarterback won't be at the team's minicamp that opens today. That's because the Redskins haven't signed him to a new two-year contract yet. Kilmer is 38, turning 39 in September, and he's asking for two years because he wants security against the possibility the Redskins will use him sparingly in this, his option year, and then dump him. He figures his chances of catching on with another team would be hurt by such treatment.

Kilmer believes he's a valuable property at the moment, a veteran whose Redskin teams have won 74 percent of the games he's started in seven seasons. He thinks other teams in the league would trade for him so he's talking about what he wants (and deserves) from the Redskins: a two-year deal on a trade.

If neither happens, will Kilmer skip the July training camp, the real thing, as he intends to skip this weekend's preliminary meetings?

"No, I can't say that," Kilmer said. "But I won't be happy about it. And do the Redskins want an unhappy football player in camp?"

Speaking of unhappy, I've been moping around ever since I read what a Seattle psychiatrist said.

He said playing catch with your son can turn him into a homosexual. Dr. S. Harvard Kaufman didn't say it in exactly those words, but he came close enough that I'm worried. If frying hamburgers in a pan turns them into cancerburgers, anything can happen.

"So many times, instead of the child identifying with the parent, we have the parent identifying with the child," Kaufman said at a recent sports-medicine seminar. "Often, a child subjected to such pressure will turn off completely. The child wonders what he can do to please his parents. "Whenever a kid says that a game is boring it means tht he feels he doesn't play it well enough to satisfy his parents."

The "most serious sign" of a problem, the doctor said, is "when the child refuses to become interested in anything his father - or mother - is interested in and the normal identification with the parent of the same sex has become defective."

Kaufman gave an example.

"I had a homosexual patient who was the son of one of the great athletic coaches in this area (Seattle)" he said. "His father was so gung-ho on sports that this kid was just turned off completely.

"Since this child could never compete with his father, could never be as good as his dad expected him to be, he just gave up the whole masculinity kick."

Too bad the kid never saw a pair of turned-down sweat socks.