 I picture many men in many parts of the city surreptitiously cutting chunks out of their own lawns in the leafy midnight darkness, listening to the uncomprehending protests of their wives the next day, pretending to know nothing of it, pretending to have called the police to investigate. When the strike is over, I know we will all be here to watch the workouts, to hear the recalcitrant joints crackling like twigs after the forced inactivity,