It was Gilbert, Beaver Cleaver’s buddy, who regularly provided perspective: “Gee, Beav, if I did that, my dad would clobber me!”

Mine, too, Gilbert. If for example, he took me to a ballgame and I spent the national anthem waving a towel over my head or even fidgeting rather than respectfully standing and singing, he would have shot me one of those looks, the kind far more effective than lectures.

Put it this way: I never would have done anything like it, again. Either that, or he never would have taken me to another game, the greatest punishment of all.

Therein lies the problem. Those parents who recognize and encourage class in their kids — values likely inherited from their parents — have fewer and fewer working examples from which to choose.

Class, as in classy, largely has been lost to everything less and then to much less.

Sure, it’s no big deal that with the Rangers’ exciting climb to the Stanley Cup finals that the Garden has allowed anthem-singer John Amirante to present our national anthem as if it were a mix of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and the Rangers’ Fan Club song.

And I suppose it’s no big deal that Amirante has chosen to exploit our anthem to showboat by waving a towel overhead while singing it.

Still, why must classlessness be systematized? If spectators choose to wave towels over their heads during our anthem — as if these people wouldn’t otherwise have been as pumped — that should be their unilateral business, not something encouraged by Amirante and the Garden.

But I’m way behind on such matters. That ship sailed long ago. Public classlessness is now requisite, and it seems those kids raised on such sports-delivered messages are stuck with it, as will be their kids. You can’t return to a place you never have been.

The WFAN/CBS Sports Network’s “Boomer & Carton” show every now and then takes a stab at providing legitimately clever entertainment and even interesting conversation — until hosts Boomer Esiason and Craig Carton panic, then scurry back into the down-and-dirty formulaic “Morning Zoo” hole from which they crawled.

To that sorry, name-calling, crotch-centric, obligatorily salacious and unfunny end, their listenership should soon pick up. With the end of school, Esiason and Carton can draw from the all-important 9-14 male demographic, thus reinforcing their position as hosts of “The Pee Pee & Poo Poo Show.”

Reader Dave Oniffrey: “I might have thought that Boomer and Carton were funny this morning, had I been an immature, gutter-minded 14-year-old.

“They continuously made fun of the name of Cubs’ pitcher [Brian] Schlitter. There wasn’t even a point to it, and it certainly wasn’t funny despite all their laughter and cackling. Why doesn’t ‘Weekday Boomer’ go with something like that weekends on his [CBS-TV] NFL show?”

Better yet, why not throw that hysterical doo-doo bit at N.J. Gov. Chris Christie, another guy often short on classy public comportment, during one of his appearances, when Carton and Esiason enact some transparent self-cleansing.

Yes, Schlitter, rhymes with you-know-what. Nothing funnier than that!

Not sure, other than that’s what it now takes to win fame and fortune, why people would be so eager to avoid identification as a person with class — at least not, heaven forbid, in public.

Class? Gee Beav, what’s that?

Baseball website is ‘off’ its rocker

At first I thought reader Richard Monahan was putting us on when he wrote to tell us that new-reliable baseball-reference.com now indicates games won and lost on, ugh, “walk-offs” with the designation “W-wo” or “L-wo.”

But he wasn’t kidding!

Look for yourself: April 28, 1967; the Cubs lost in 13 to the Astros. It’s now listed as “L-wo” or in Houston’s case, “W-wo.”

In other words, someone — or something — went back to inspect thousands and thousands of games, then apply “W-wo” or “L-wo.” Would make a great “How I Spent My Summer Vacation” essay.

Ever stop getting the feeling that ESPN stands for Extraordinarily Stupid Professional Nonsense?

Last week, Rockies’ infielder Charlie Culberson made a sensational diving catch of a foul ball. Also last week, the Dodgers’ Josh Beckett pitched a no-hitter.

Thursday’s on-air ESPN poll question was: Whose was the greater accomplishment, Culberson’s or Beckett’s? Hmm, now there’s a tough one!

And unless ESPN was forced to feed its own farce, people actually responded to such an absurdity. Beckett won by a landslide — as first reported by ESPN.

‘Potomacs’ solves name problem

I don’t need a history lesson or rationalizations about team legacy from club owner Dan Snyder or NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. If they would address a Native American by calling him or her a “redskin,” then they at least would demonstrate the courage of their convictions.

But I doubt they would. Otherwise, if an indian nickname is to be preserved, rename the team the Potomacs in honor of the local tribe and original inhabitants of the D.C. area. Keep the logo, too.

And it’s not a political or politically correct issue, it’s an issue of common decency. Redskins is antiquated and offensive. If you don’t think so, approach a Native American with, “Hey, Redskin.”

And not to overblow this, but a great fan of American cowboys-and-indians novels and movies was Adolf Hitler. He derisively referred to Native Americans as “redskins.” He also referred to American blacks as “n—–s.” He likely would be delighted to know that both, er, expressions, are still very much with us.

Guess the NBC/NBCSN Stanley Cup team of Doc Emrick, Ed Olczyk and Pierre McGuire didn’t read or ignored the memo. They keep referring to TV timeouts as “TV timeouts.”

The Pirates, in town to face the Mets last week, brought to mind how the team and the Topps baseball card people, 45 years ago, tried to pitch Roberto Clemente as “Bob Clemente.” Seriously.

Reader H.H. Blaukopf asks why NFL players are concerned what might happen in the locker room with a gay player, Michael Sam, on site, but expressed no concern with Ray Lewis’ presence after his obstruction plea in an unsolved double-homicide.

The New York State Lottery has called on Ben Franklin to sell its “Franklin Fortunes” $10 scratch-offs. So much for that “penny saved is a penny earned” stuff. Franklin also said, “Motivation is when your dreams put on work clothes.”

Reader Mike H. suggests that judging from the size of Rays’ catcher Jose Molina — roughly 6-foot, 250 pounds — he leads the majors in “plate appearances.”