We apologize on behalf of the unapologetic. This week we speak for New York, Ahmadinejad, Zombie FDR, beer, Kanye and 50!

For the record: I don’t care what’s on your lapel. I protest anyone’s lapel coverage by not reading it. That is all.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, more power to you. I’m not linking to it.

For my tenth birthday, my parents took me and a bunch of my friends to a Rockies game in their first year of existence. At the time, we were living in L.A. and I was a big Dodgers fan — well, a tiny Dodgers fan — but we always rooted for Colorado teams, too, because my parents lived in Boulder when I was born.

So we were Elway worshipers in the heart of the Raider Nation (remember when they played in L.A.? Bo Jackson? Marcus Allen? Tim Brown for the first 40 years of his career?). But when Colorado got a baseball team, I was excited because baseball was really the only sport I knew the rules to.

I got a Rockies kids’ jersey with the number ten on it, we all went to beautiful Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine and sat in the pavilions. Later, either Andy or Shaun told me what was in hot dogs and I didn’t eat them for seven years. Two or three years later, my family moved back to Colorado. We occasionally scored amazing seats to Rockies games — front row, right at first base. The up-close profile view of Andres Galarraga was a little terrifying. But I liked first basemen (tall, skinny kids play first base all the time in Little League) and he threw me a ball once, so he was my favorite player.

The Blake Street Bombers. High-altitude baseball made Dante Bichette, Vinny Castilla, Galarraga and Larry Walker important. (Funny how you can’t really name a pitcher before 2005 that was significant to the Rockies, outside of David Nied.) Pinstripes. LoDo. A mascot that is, somewhat perplexingly, a dinosaur.

Once, in a surreal moment that has made me believe I don’t likely deserve another cool birthday party until the end of time, I got to throw out the first pitch at a Rockies game. A 30 mph heater to Quinton McCracken.

They made the playoffs once. It was 1995. They won one game. This was cause for major celebration. I think we — Denver — nearly rioted.

So: a playoff sweep? I mean — a sweep? And the Rockies are on the winning end? Unbelievable. Did you see them celebrating? This is like the World Series for the Rockies. Except that there’s another series which, if won, would put them in the real World Series. There wouldn’t be enough champagne in the world. Even at elevation.

So here’s this, which I’ve said before, though admittedly not as frequently as many people: Go Rockies.

Sometimes, all it takes is a small group of dedicated whatevers to do whatever.

That can be bad. Is it here? NYT reports that anti-smoking lobbyists looking out for children’s health (good, right?) are finding it pretty easy to influence what goes into G, PG and PG-13 movies.

Yet Hollywood is also waking to the realization that a committed band of advocates is rapidly changing what is permissible in the movies. And that precedent could embolden other groups campaigning to rid movies of portrayals of gun use, transfat consumption or other behavior that can be proved harmful to the public.

“It’s a chilling idea,” said Bill Condon, who wrote and directed “Dreamgirls” for the DreamWorks and Paramount Pictures units of Viacom.

General Electric, the corporate parent of Universal Pictures, decided last April that, with few exceptions, “no smoking incidents should appear in any youth-rated film” produced by the studio or its sister units, Focus, Rogue and Working Title Films.

It’s just another example like “The Path to 9/11″ and “The Reagans” — how much should small groups be able to influence what goes on the air? I mean, hey, I’m opposed to smoking, but the Hays Code was crappy.

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