By Lauren Spencer, Executive Sports Producer

The word spread like wildfire. According to an Internet report, the Rangers resident antagonist, Sean Avery, had suffered a heart attack. Rumors and speculation swirled.

The truth, although frightening, proved not quite as grim. Avery’s affliction was not life threatening. He had suffered a lacerated spleen in Game 3 of the N.Y. Rangers Eastern Conference semifinals series with the Pittsburgh Penguins. According to the Rangers, he will make a complete recovery.

But Avery remained on everyone’s minds — even with a less dire outlook. And therein lies a tale.

Quick, turn around and ask your non-hockey-fan friend, colleague or loved one to name a hockey player. It can’t be Wayne Gretzky or Mark Messier. It has to be an active hockey player. And he has to play for one of the three tri-state area teams.

Ten bucks they say “Sean Avery.” Oh, you may get the occasional “Martin Brodeur” or a stray “Rick DiPietro.” But it’s Avery who has made an instant impression since landing in the Big Apple last year.

Avery is not just a hockey player any more. He’s transcended that. Now, he is a guy who dates starlets and allegedly has ties to prostitution rings. He has been linked to the Olsen twins, Elisha Cuthbert and Rachel Hunter. His bizarre faceguarding antics against Martin Brodeur (the other hockey player your friends might know) prompted the NHL to swiftly implement a rule change. He has a rule named after him. The next day, he gave a News 4 New York camera the finger.   He dominates radio talk shows. He’s going to intern at Vogue this summer.

And he’s a hockey player?

Love him or hate him, he’s good for hockey. Hockey just doesn’t get this kind of attention in baseball-crazed city. He’s controversial. But in this case, that’s not a bad thing.

Get well soon, Sean.

New England’s quest for perfection came up short, their date with destiny thwarted by the Giants defense. Michael Strahan, Justin Tuck, and Antonio Pierce got after the golden boy Tom Brady. When they weren’t sacking him, they were getting extreme pressure on him. They hit him about 18 times Sunday night, far more than he’s been hit in any one game this season.

The atmosphere inside the University of Phoenix Stadium was off the charts. Every time the Giants made a play it appeared the roof would come off. With each passing moment, The Patriot fans worried more and more. You could see their confident swagger begin to leave the building.

That’s when I knew we had a great ballgame on our hands. Brady looked concerned and yelled at his receivers. It gave you a gut feeling the Pats would have a long day. The usually calm, cool, collected Brady was rattled. I guess getting smashed into the University of Phoenix turf over and over again will do that to an MVP.

I still can’t believe the Giants pulled off one of the largest upsets in Super Bowl history. It’s 2:30 a.m. back in New York. I’m about to hit the sack for about an hour before the morning show and I’m numb. I’m not willing to believe there will be a parade down the “Canyon of Heroes” in two days!

These guys are really heroes. They did the unthinkable. Against all hope they slayed the New England dragon. On a selfish note, my 1972 Miami Dolphins are still the only team to go undefeated through an entire season. Thanks Giants!

George Steinbrenner laid down the gauntlet over the weekend, and issued an ultimatum to New York Yankees manager Joe Torre. Advance past Cleveland in the ALDS or you’re out as Yankee manager.

But the Yankees couldn’t get past the Indians. Chien-Ming Wang’s sinkerballs didn’t sink. The Yankees’ bats went ice cold and a mysterious swarm of midges upended them at Jacobs Field. It all added up to another first round exit by the Yankees and Torre’s almost certain departure.

Yankees fans are now playing the waiting game as the Tampa brass gathers to decide Joe’s fate. The second winningest manager in Yankee history is twisting in the wind as swarms of photographers, rivaling the Jacob’s Field gnats, invade the lawn of his Harrison, N.Y., home. He deserves better.

Talk already has turned to who will succeed Torre. Three names at the forefront are bench coach Don Mattingly, Yankees broadcaster Joe Girardi and St. Louis Cardinals manager Tony La Russa. None of these choices would do a better job than Torre. None would even come close.

Mattingly may be the Yankees manager someday. He was a great Yankees player and an even better captain. But despite working under Torre as hitting coach and bench coach, Mattingly has never managed on any level. He needs a few more seasons to, well, season.

What about Girardi? He did an outstanding job as the Florida Marlins manager in 2006, helping a young, inexperienced team make some noise in the NL East. Girardi was named the NL Manager of the Year before being unceremoniously fired. Why? He got into an argument with Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria. Loria was screaming at an umpire from the stands during a game and Girardi politely told him to shut up. It cost him his job.

Arguing with ownership won’t fly in New York with the Boss, George Steinbrenner, peering over his shoulder, second-guessing every decision. If Girardi can’t get along with Loria, he’ll last about a week in the Bronx.

Girardi’s handling of some of his young pitchers in Florida also raised eyebrows. He caught heat for bringing pitcher Josh Johnson back into a game after a long rain delay. Johnson blew out his elbow. How would Girardi fare with the “Joba Rules” or managing Yankees future ace Philip Hughes?

Finally, La Russa’s name has been tossed around as a replacement for Torre. La Russa’s hiring would certainly make a splash. He’s a Hall of Fame manager and a marquee name. He has rings and he wants more. But La Russa’s temper and his stubbornness would not be a good fit with the Yankees. Much of Torre’s success has been due to his steady demeanor and his unwavering calm in the face of turbulence. Torre knew what he was getting into working for Steinbrenner. He takes the cartoon-like missives issued from Steinbrenner’s PR company in stride. He made it look easy. Could La Russa’s ego handle constantly being in the hot seat?

Torre’s managing numbers are incredible. Notching 10 division titles, six pennants and four world championships puts Torre among baseball history’s elite managers. Surviving 12 years of the Boss’ bluster puts him on top. True, he hasn’t guided the Yankees to a World Series win since 2000, but he’s guided them to two World Series appearances and into the playoffs every year since.

Ironically, Torre may have managed his best this year, guiding the Yankees back from a 14½ game deficit in the AL East to a wild card berth. He brought up young players like Hughes, Joba Chamberlain and Shelly Duncan, merging them seamlessly with the veteran superstars.

More and more Yankees players are saying Torre should stay. On Wednesday, Mariano Rivera said Torre’s retention or dismissal would have a major impact on his decision whether to re-sign with the Yankees. Andy Pettitte has said it all along. Torre’s fate could also impact Alex Rodriguez and Jorge Posada’s off-season decisions too.

Firing Torre would be change for changes sake. Steinbrenner needs to understand not all change’s are positive. He should release Torre from purgatory and bring him back to manage the New York Yankees. Nobody does it better.

I personally never book anything in October. No plans. I always leave it open for post-season baseball. So I have a wide open schedule the rest of the month.

I had fully expected one or both of the local baseball teams to be playing all the way to the end. And this year, for the first time, game 7 of the World Series is scheduled for Nov. 1. On Oct. 10, it’s already over in New York City.

What does $300 million buy these days? That’s roughly the combined payrolls of the Yankees and Mets, who didn’t get past the first round of the playoffs. And of course, in the Mets’ case, they didn’t even get to the first round.

Look who’s still standing. Sure, the Boston Red Sox have the No. 2 payroll. That tells you they spent their money more wisely. But look at the other three surviving teams. Add together the combined payrolls of the Arizona Diamondbacks, Colorado Rockies and Cleveland Indians. Now throw in the Tampa Bay Devil Rays payroll for good measure. And you’ll still need to cobble together a few shekels to reach what the Yankees dole out to their players. No wonder the face value of my friend’s unused Yankee World Series ticket was $556. Somebody’s got to pay A-Rod.

The Yankees clearly have tons of decisions to make. But I’ll make it simple for them. While Joe Torre’s fate will garner the most headlines, it’s the roster that wins games. Think younger and cheaper. Think Rockies and Diamondbacks.

It’s a brave new world in baseball. There are scores of terrific young players out there. The Yankees have started to work youngsters into the lineup. Now, get serious! You don’t need the older, more fragile veterans. The Mets have learned that as well. Maybe next year the younger, hungrier, less expensive Yanks and Mets will fill up my October dance card.

In the meantime, I have no excuse for why I can’t go to some lame cocktail party next week. And I’m really annoyed about that.

I always like to watch the handshakes at the net after a hard fought tennis match. How gracious is the loser or the winner for that matter? For the most part the players do just fine. Occasionally it comes off a bit brusque, and there are times when the loser doesn’t shake hands with the chair umpire, but that’s rare.

The public is privy to what happens at center court. But then comes the news conference. Players have to trudge into the interview room, win or lose, and talk to the media. Of course what athletes often forget is that they are really talking to their fans with the media serving as a conduit.

Anyway, last night Serena Williams showed up at the news conference because she said she’d be fined if she didn’t. Way to score points. Then she really double-faulted.

“(Henin) made a lot of lucky shots, and I made a lot of errors,” Serena said after getting undressed by Justine Henin in the U.S. Open quarterfinals.

Way to go Serena, it was all about YOU. You stunk, and your opponent wasn’t any good either. She was just “lucky.” Talk about classless.

Forget for a moment that Serena probably stunk because Henin made her stink. Think about all those smiling photo-ops. From her fashion line to her comebacks, Serena has soaked in her share of the spotlight. Serena, Serena, Serena. Phony, phony, phony.

I’ve seen this type of behavior with her sister Venus Williams too. At the 2004 Olympics we had to interview all the tennis players. Every single one from Andy Roddick to Martina Navratilova came into the interview room. They sat around and talked with all the NBC Olympic people and when the TV taping ended, they sat around and chatted some more. Not Venus. She walked in with her head down and didn’t say a word. When the camera came on she lit up the room with her smile. She effused how “blessed she was” to be playing for her country. When the camera was turned off, the smile went away. She didn’t say a word. No chat time and then she frumped out of the room.

I’ve heard this isn’t an isolated case with the Williams sisters. So just a word of warning to those of you on the other side of the TV set. What you see is not always what you get. Serena proved that for the world to see last night.

In Japan they’ve recalled an arcade game. It’s an arm wrestling device. You step right up and arm wrestling a machine. 3 guys broke their arms. They’ve recalled the machine.

The St. Paul Saints are an independent minor league team known for some offbeat promotions. Tonight fans will get a Michael Vick chew toy. I assume it’s for their dogs and not for the fans to munch on.

I liked the promotion at a Portland Beavers minor league baseball game a lot better. They crowned Mr. Bobblehead the other night. Well the guy was from Iowa and his real name is Robert Leroy Head, or Bob. L Head. He got to throw out the first ball. He got the gig by writing an essay. Since he’s a part time farmer he said he’s pitched hay and manure, he could certainly pitch a baseball.

After 70 years the University of Miami will stop playing at the Orange Bowl. They’ll move to Dolphins Stadium. The president of Miami called it a “sad and painful” decision. I’m guessing all the money they’ll pocket from the luxury boxes has a way of soothing all that pain at these institutions of higher learning.

Arm wrestling, manure, and chew toys. You could say it’s just another day at the office.

When we were kids, we loved Superman because he was invulnerable. Other than that Kryptonite stuff, which wasn’t floating around Queens back in the day, nothing could touch him.

I suspect that’s how star athletes must feel. In a way, you can’t blame them. From the time they could walk, grownups where telling them how great they were. The older they got, the more attention was heaped upon them. And eventually, all the money they could ever imagine gets thrown their way.

Throw in women, cars and anything else a young man dreams about, and it’s an orgy of riches. He can do no wrong — or so he thinks.

That’s the only rational explanation I can come up with as to how someone like Michael Vick, on top of the sports world, is now at the very bottom. I’ve never met Vick, so I admit this is all pure speculation. But if only a portion of the reported allegations are true, what was he thinking?

Obviously not much. And he certainly wasn’t getting any help from the people around him. Did no one think to tell him, just once, “Hey Mike, maybe this dog stuff isn’t such a hot idea”?

You have to believe his NFL career is over. Of course, the way these things work in America is that he’ll spend some jail time. He’ll get out and go on Larry King. Drum up some sympathy and then get signed by the Oakland Raiders.

One problem with that theory: There’s a new get-tough sheriff running the league and he is primed to make an example of Vick. He wants to send a clear message to every young stud in America that Vick is not invincible.

Kryptonite isn’t the problem. The ability to possess just a modicum of common sense apparently is.

Len Berman, WNBC Sports Anchor

Jason Giambi of the Yankees got time off for good behavior. Because he went to the principal’s office, he won’t have to go to detention.

Giambi is virtually an admitted steroid user. But he did as requested: He met with the George Mitchell committee investigating steroid use in baseball. And Commissioner Bud Selig said Giambi’s also doing good work in the area of public service. So, no punishment.

It makes you wonder if Barry Bonds announces, “OK, I was just kidding — I knowingly took steroids and I’m willing to talk to the Mitchell guy … and along the way I’ll go chat up a couple of school groups,” will that give him a free pass as well?

What about Michael Vick? How about the NBA ref? Not to mention all those crooks at the Tour de France. Maybe a couple of hedge fund guys might like this development. How about all those sleazy loan companies that took advantage of homeowners who didn’t know what they were doing?

At what point does somebody actually have to face the consequences of his actions? Everyone who stands in a courtroom has a story: I was abused. I’m an addict. My teacher didn’t like me. My mother dressed me funny.

Giambi cheated. But he’s a nice guy at heart and follows instructions. So, we’ll let him off the hook.

I thought cheating was cheating. Not in baseball.

I knew Phil Rizzuto for 30 years.

I first sat next to him in 1978 in the WPIX booth, back with I was that station’s film/theater critic and my Red Sox were 14 games ahead. He wasn’t just one of the nicest people I have ever met, he embodied what it is to be a Yankee. He also symbolized why baseball is the greatest game of all.

Rejected by the Dodgers as too small (his contemporary, the Dodgers’ “Pee Wee” Reese wasn’t small; he was a marbles champion and got his nickname from that), he joined the Yankees during Joe DiMaggio’s prime.

He was the source of many stories. He welcomed my presence in the booth, even though he knew where my heart lay.

One night the Sox brought in a rookie relief pitcher named Al Nipper. Scooter, of course, knew nothing about him so on the air he said: “Hey, Jeffrey. Can this guy pitch? What’s his best pitch?”

The night before Yom Kippur, Kol Nidre, is the holiest in Judaism. But the Red Sox were in town, so naturally I was sitting next to him in the booth.

“Scooter,” I said. “Don’t say ‘Yommmm Keepur…’ as if you’ve never heard of it. Say it quickly and don’t congratulate Jewish people or wish them a happy holiday, since it’s the Day of Atonement and whatever you do, don’t say I’m here, because my mother will kill me.” I was ok with that, since Yankee Stadium is the Temple of Baseball.

About the fourth inning I heard, “We want to wish our Jewish friends a happy… uh oh… hey Jeffrey Lyons… is it ‘Yom Kippur?’ Is that how you pronounce it?”

That was about the time Pope John Paul I died suddenly. Phil got the news during a broadcast and said, “Jeez, fans, this news will put a damper on the second game of the double header.”

During the war, he was drafted into the Navy. “The only ship I’d been on was the Staten Island ferry,” he said at his overdue Hall of Fame induction. “Fourteen straight days I was seasick, until they put me off on an island somewhere.”

But he kept his baseball skills intact (unlike players like Travis Jackson, for example, who returned from the war forever diminished as players) by playing on service teams like “Popi’s Raiders.”

He never forgave Cardinal infielder Eddie Stanky for kicking him on a slide at second base in the 1942 World Series. Years later he couldn’t bring himself to call a Yankee infielder named Andy Stankewicz “Stanky”.

He learned he’d been released in 1956 by reading the news in the newspaper over someone’s shoulder on a train en route to the Stadium. He was terrified of insects and lighting, and was often the brunt of practical jokes from teammates.

And oh how we loved to kid him for his frequent early departures from the booth to beat the traffic across the George Washington Bridge! “WW” became his scorecard trademark. It stood for “wasn’t watching.”

There was no one quite like him. I will miss him terribly.