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.THE LAST WORD Take me away from it all We've been hearing a lot lately about virtual reality. The newspapers are giving it ink; CNN and the Big Three networks are devoting air time to it. Given the diminishing quality of life in America, is it any wonder that people wish to escape reality for an ersatz environment? Who wouldn't want to use technological advancements to get away from armed robbers, spineless politicians, and the health police's latest edict on fat intake, if only for a little while . In a feature story this month, some manufacturers of virtual reality systems claim that players are waiting in long lines for the chance to dodge space mutants, irritated bumble bees, and the like . Whatever floats your boat. Personally, if I were looking to take a break from the rat race, my virtual reality system of choice would put me: • In the body of Jim Leyland, manager of my favorite baseball team, the Pittsburgh Pirates. Once there, I would do something that Leyland didn't do in game seven of last year's National League Championship Series: yank that bum Stan Belinda off .the pitcher's mound with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning. In my virtual, makebelieve environment, Atlanta's Fulton County Stadium would turn into the Field of Broken Hearts, as knuckleballer Tim Wakefield would strike out real-life hero Francisco Cabrera. the Pirates would advance to the World J Christopher Caire Features Editor PLAY METER 298 Series , and I would be allowed to drink the champagne that I iced prematurely. • In the Village Vanguard jazz club , circa 1960. My fantasy environment would let me sip a Beck's beer while battling the smoke and cramped quarters to hear the roaring tenor saxophone of John Coltrane , the muted trumpet of Miles Davis, and the shimmering piano of Bill Evans. Since we 're not dealing in reality, I'd join them after the late set for a corned beef and potato knish at the Carnegie Deli. • In a Parisian cafe , where I must finish my steaming cafe au lait while trying to ignore the icy stare of the boorish waiter, who feels the stupid American is taking too long and tying up the valuable table . In my artificial environment , he would suddenly keel over from his long-overdue heart attack, brought on by years of eating too much foie gras . • In a car that breaks down in front of Cindy Crawford's house . Before letting me speed off in her flaming red Maserati , she would say. "My husband is out of town until Monday. Care for a tour ofmy... bedroom?" • In my late father 's den on a football-filled Sunday afternoon . There would be two TVs on at the same time, with him cursing the ·zebras· (referees), the stone-handed wide receivers. John Madden. and me. for "making " him bet two teams that were losing by 35 points . My virtual reality environment would let me hear him say. one last time. ··Don't worry son. it's (moneyl only paper. You can't take it with you ... If only this last one were not makebelieve. LJ OCTO BER 1993