The end of the story about the baseball game is anticlimactic. As it should be but isn't always.

A few weeks ago, I recounted the dilemma facing a man who was taking his friend to a game for the first time since the latter stopped drinking after treatment for alcoholism. The man didn't know whether it was appropriate or even downright risky to have a few cold ones in front of his newly sober friend.

My advice was to ask his friend about their nascent one-on-one dynamics, though every major league ballpark is awash in alcohol these days and a fair number of drunk fans, too. (With rare exceptions, I stopped going to stadiums years ago, not because of alcohol but because it turns otherwise decent fans into pitifully obnoxious distractions.) The friendship and love of sport were a bonded bulwark to help his friend stay sober, I told him. Besides, fresh out of treatment, he had plenty of tools to stick to his recovery.

They went to the game. Here is the outcome.

The man: "The game stunk, but we had a very nice time. (He) is back to his old self — lucid, funny, engaged — only sober now. It was great to be with him."

His friend: "The game was hard only because our team got blown out. As far as sobriety, today is the 90th day. It has been relatively easy since getting used to it. Day to day, I remain grateful. In the end, that's what it is all about, I guess."

Sensitivity, mutual respect, trust and personal responsibility — these ingredients are essential to interactions on the back side of that last drug or drink. If we take care of ourselves while taking into account one another, we find healthier dynamics that forge new relationships, even from old ones.

Too bad it doesn't always work out this way.

A reader touched by the baseball game scenario sent this: "My son, who is brilliant and has a wonderful family, is also an alcohol addict. He has had drinking bouts in the past couple of years, six weeks ago most recently. In one week, we will be in a remote fishing lodge with two other men, who will be doing some heavy drinking at night. I also drink moderately but am very concerned about how to deal with this. Everyone, my son included, says not to worry about it, but it appears to be a recipe for disaster."

My counsel to this father was a reminder: "You can't make him start drinking any more than you can make him stop drinking." I said he should discuss with his son ahead of time the risks and opportunities of making this trip and offer a rain check option until the son adds more days and months to his sober streak. "If you and your friends respect your son and what he is trying to accomplish, why not change your drinking patterns for this trip? Why not leave the alcohol behind this time, this one time?" A fishing spot in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by three hard-drinking fellows, is not exactly the same as a baseball stadium close to home.

Replied the father: "I am afraid the other two people wouldn't comply with my request. I'll just have to talk to my son; he really wants to go on this trip. My intent is to support him any way I can."

Of course he will. But I signed off, "Maybe the real problem is the other two men."

The truth is always a shock to any relationship affected by substances. Without honesty, there is no real relationship, or there shouldn't be. What it takes to restore one starts with this truth.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. His new book, "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery," was published last October. Please send your questions to William Moyers at [email protected]. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.