This political campaign has been filled with charges — and denials — of male sexism. In Michigan last month, at the Chrysler stamping plant in Sterling Heights, Democratic candidate Barack Obama evaded a shouted question from television reporter Peggy Agar of Detroit' s WXYZ, "What are you going to do to help American auto workers?" with a smile and this line, "Hold on one second, sweetie."

After Obama's words led to an overheated flap lasting several hours on the blogosphere — none of it, let it be noted, encouraged or aided by Peggy Agar — the Illinois senator called her and left on her voicemail a polite apology for this "bad habit of mine."

This was not, I am confident most would agree, an act of sexism. But after a brief period of introspection following the serious and semi-serious charges of male sexism leveled most often at the cable news male talking heads in 2008, I have concluded that along with a majority of my male colleagues who cover politics, I am guilty of sexist language that, while not intended to do so, does often exclude women journalists from male discussions.

Scratch a male political reporter, and you'll more often than not find a frustrated sports writer. Men talk about sports the way women talk about family, feelings and children. But we men do not leave the language of sports in our bull sessions. No, we use sports-page shorthand to write about presidential politics.

Take baseball. Many male reporters are incapable of describing a political event without the wholesale expropriation of baseball language. If a political tactic or performance is shabby or undeserving of any respect, it's often called "bush league." This has nothing to do with the first family of George W. or his dad. It's a disparaging reference to the rural, backwoods towns where minor league baseball was played.

A too-easy question asked of a candidate in a TV interview or a debate is dismissed as a "softball," which is bigger, softer and easier to hit than the harder, smaller baseball. An unexpected question that surprises a candidate is called a "curveball."

In baseball, the center of action is between the pitcher and the batter at home plate, while the outfield is a considerable distance away, somewhat remote. So when the Obama campaign surprised everybody by announcing it was hiring Clinton's fired campaign manager Patty Solis Doyle to be the chief of staff for Obama's not-yet-selected vice-presidential running-mate, the Clinton people saw it understandably as a snub of Sen. Clinton and a move that came right "out of left field."

When a candidate fails to perform at a crucial moment because of fear or nervousness, male journalists report that he "choked," which is baseball language for the hitter who fails to hit when the game is on the line. When the candidate fails to break the ice with an important constituency or group, it is written that he "didn't get to first base" — which the baseball runner must first reach before he has a chance to score. This phrase can refer to the initial approach in any relationship, including romantic.

Of course, we men do not limit ourselves to baseball expressions. A desperation ploy on the part of a losing candidate is described as "a Hail Mary pass," which has nothing to do with a prayer to the Blessed Virgin, but is the football term for long-shot forward pass that needs intercession to succeed.

Because most football games are played on weekends, the analyst who second-guesses strategy or decisions is derided as a "Monday morning quarterback."

We men are frankly sexist and exclusive with our over-reliance on sports jargon and metaphors — forcing our sisters on the press bus to master our private verbal handshakes. But we often can be "hot dogs," too, who are defined as self-promoting show-offs.

To find out more about Mark Shields and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate web page at www.creators.com.

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COPYRIGHT 2008 MARK SHIELDS