Santa Claus doesn't exist? I can deal with that. The Tooth Fairy? Gave me the creeps from Day One anyway.

But if you happen to be born on the Fourth of July, it gets worse. Just when you're finally secure in your grasp on reality -- the Easter Bunny's fake, same with pro wrestling -- Mom spits, adjusts her cap, reaches back and uncorks a nasty curve.

Those fireworks, son? They're not just for you.

Stee-rike.

If you're born on the Fourth, as I was, you're brought up believing that the exorbitantly pyrotechnic holiday is really not a holiday at all, but instead a mass celebration of your birthday. Are babies with birthdays on Thanksgiving fooled into thinking that all that gravy is being slathered about in their honor? Do we tell kids named Pat that March 17 is theirs and theirs alone?

Noooo. But parents have no qualms about leading their gullible progeny to believe that the whole nation is drinking Schlitz and grilling burgers to celebrate their existence. And everyone else is in on the joke.

In your still-developing childhood dome, it kind of makes sense. The Fourth isn't like the other holidays, with hazy notions of fairies, chubby guys and man-sized rabbits cavorting around the house while you sleep. There's nothing ambiguous about the Fourth -- it's a loud, sun-drenched, Bruce Springsteen-blaring, Frisbee-tossing throwdown. Everyone's having a blast ... how's a youngster to know it's not all for him?

There's a reason I'm revisiting this traumatic childhood episode. I'm convinced there are fellow "Born on the Fourth of Julys" (known hereafter and probably never again as BOFJs) out there, grown men and women, who don't know the truth. Who still think the fireworks are, gulp ... just for them.

Just look at the list of Fourth of July babies in sports alone. George Steinbrenner? Come on, you think anyone ever told The Boss -- even a five-year-old Boss, back in the day -- that those sparklers and bottle rockets didn't all have little Georgie's name on them?

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Al Davis is another BOFJ. Fitting. The whole holiday (not to mention the country) started because of the Declaration of Independence; Davis knows a thing or two about legal documents. And "Just win, baby!" was the last amendment to The Constitution, right?

The Boss and Big Al seem to have a pretty strong handle on the American Dream: Stop at nothing, get as much as you can, be shrewd, ruthless, cutthroat ... and pretty soon you will have your own fireworks. Just like you expected all along.

Steinbrenner won't have his face on federal currency anytime soon (although he was once convicted of a federal crime), but he's created his own Land of Opportunity: Land big-name free agents, and nobody else has any Opportunity to win. That's what it's all about.

Come to think of it, enough trend-setters and go-getters share my birthday that it's a) hard to believe it's a coincidence, and b) enough to make a lowly magazine writer feel pretty darn inadequate.

Abe Saperstein, the late, great founder of the Harlem Globetrotters. Horace and Harvey Grant. ESPN's own Digger Phelps. Orioles owner Peter Angelos. Former doubles legend Pam Shriver. Houston Astro Vinny Castilla (he's a native Mexican, we know, but a BOFJ all the same). Ex-USC star and current Arena Leaguer Todd Marinovich.

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And speaking of BOFJ busts ... we can't forget Morganna the Kissing Bandit, the tow-headed baseball icon who lit up the '70s and '80s by bursting onto the field (and nearly out of her shirt) to smooch unsuspecting major leaguers. What started out with a $5 bet and a crush on Pete Rose became a cult phenomenon and eventually a career -- Morganna actually made her living being booked by teams to target certain guys.

To repeat: the woman got a kick out of racing onto baseball fields and kissing players. She worked that into a career. Good old American resourcefulness. Best believe these BOFJs have it.

So while you may not like all of the sports world's BOFJs, you've gotta respect what they've done (except for me ... you don't really have any reason to respect me). Even the tough guys and tyrants have their good points. Guess where Davis, Mr. Bad-Ass Silver-and-Black himself, is spending his birthday?

In Florida, visiting his 103-year-old mother.

It's a perfect time for her to finally tell Al about the whole fireworks thing.

Andy Latack, a senior researcher at ESPN The Magazine, was born on July 4, 1978. E-mail him at andrew.latack@espnmag.com.