The unspeakable puns in the preceding comments section seem to have affected my 4-year-old daughter, with whom I boarded an airplane a week ago bound for Minneapolis. Once airborne, my first heir born said: “Dad, can I write with a pencil next month when we go to . . . Pennsyl-vania?”

I smiled and nodded and snapped open my newspaper but she went on: “Can I wear my jersey when we go to New . . . Jersey?”

“Sure.”

The paper went back up but she Kilroyed over it, looked me in the eye and delivered the coup de grace — or perhaps the coup disgrace. ”Dad,” she said. “Will you drink a mini soda when we get to . . . Minne-sota?”

Again, she’s four, but I fear she’s already caught the disease. And that it was hereditary. Both parents have worked as pundits. She’s now working as a pun ditz. And then there are my in-laws, who — visiting Prague recently — parceled out the requisite quota of tourist puns in every e-mail, until I could take no more “Czech-ered past” and “Czech-it-out” atrocities and stopped reading.

One cardinal law of sports journalism is that every headline about Czech Republic athletes contain the phrase “Czech List,” “Czech Mate” or “Bounced Czech” — “Hip Czech” is a hockey favorite — just as any article about the St. Louis baseball team, Arizona football team or Louisville basketball teams be headed “Cardinal Rules,” “It’s In The Cards” or “House of Cards.”

Such headlines don’t have to be terrible. Indeed they can be terrible enough to be wonderful. I recall the one in SI when Reggie Jackson moved to Anaheim: “Hark, The Heralded Angel Swings.” Or one that supposedly appeared in The New York Times decades ago with a dateline from Spain: “Too Many Basques In One Exit.” Or the famous Daily News headline when New York state bailed out the City’s subway system: “Sick Transit’s Glorious Monday.”

You may have your favorite (or least favorite) headline-pun conventions. And they probably violate the Geneva Conventions. Then again, one man’s tortured pun is another’s man’s pun enduring “enhanced interrogation techniques.” In this matter, Ogar is our linguistic Dick Cheney, a man for whom no pun meets torture standards. So take it away, readers. I’m outta here. (Or as my in-laws might put it: Czech, please.)