James Brown, 1923-2006
If a member of the Famous Flames missed a back beat, bandleader Brown fined him $50, serious money for a musician in the early '60s.
Don't know what that Brown factoid came into my head when I heard the news of his death this morning, but it was. The following fact came in a close second.
James Brown was the greatest stage act in the history of popular music. There has never been a performer in rock and roll who didn't crib from the Godfather, and one can't blame them.
Give yourself a Christmas present today, especially if you're under 40. Go to Youtube and check out the Brown tapes that I'm sure will be there in abundance. That would be the most fitting eulogy for the hardest-working man in any business.
Have a Jolly Commie Christmas
Alice is both a devout Internet searcher and a connisseur and collector of Christmas ornaments. Can you spell eBay?
Scouring the lesser known areas of humanity's yard sale, Alice found an entire subsection of undiscovered holiday treasures, ornaments from the old USSR for anti-Christmas trees.
This is not a joke. I saw them with my own eyes. Atheistic Communism abolished Christmas, but transferred many of its secular customs, gift-giving, getting plastered at parties, etc. to the thoroughly secular New Year's celebration. At some point in the Krushchev era, apparently its zenith in the late '50s and early '60s, the New Year's tree was permitted, and the ultimate in politically correct ornaments introduced.
There are little blimps with CCCP on the sides. There are little cosmonauts, a little glass Sputnik, and an adorable little Laika the first space dog. Best of all, there's a star for the top of tree. Superimposed on the star is a heroic hammer and sickle. Residents of the former Soviet Union have put these on eBay to mark their personal transition to a market economy.
So for the past month, our home has been receiving packages covered in Cyrillic lettering and covered with very odd postage stamps. They weren't cheap, but what price Laika the space dog?
My only worry is we're flying to Florida to see my folks on Dec. 26. I wonder how all those registered mail packages from abroad will effect our passage through Logan security?
On the other hand, we've finally found the perfect Christmas gift for Bill O'Reilly.
Trivia Question
Don't know the answer, maybe someone out there does.
Has any other NFL team ever had to put two punters on injured reserve in one season as the Patriots did when Ken Walter was IR'd yesterday? Hard to imagine it's ever happened before.
As a side note, the workout the Pats gave Sean Landeta shows punting must be a reasonably secure living. Landeta's 44. He punted for the Giants in Super Bowl XXI, and the year before that, too. Jeff Feagles punts for the Eagles. I covered his rookie year with the Patriots. That was 1987.
Never Touch a Hot Stove (League)
I love baseball. The Red Sox could wind up changing my mind.
Not that it's their fault. The Sox are a perfectly acceptable major league team, one that's given me much personal and professional pleasure in the 30-some years I've lived in the Boston area. Most of those happy occasions however, have come in the summertime. You know, when baseball is actually played.
In the winter, the Sox are a nuisance. Or rather, the incessant attempts of the franchise and its media enablers, a group containing every outlet in New England, to make the Sox the biggest sports story of the day every day are a nuisance. What right-thinking citizen wouldn't prefer spending an afternoon looking for a Back Bay parking space at Christmastime rather than listening to good Sox trade talk on WEEI?
The signing of Japanese pitcher Daiseke Matsuzaka was legitimate offseason news. Given the state of local, national, and international affairs, Matsuzaka's arrival for a Boston press conference did NOT warrant a front-page photo in the both the Globe and Herald the next day. That was a bush league manuever suited for a bush league town.
Of course, the signing of Matsuzaka was very suspenseful. Uh-huh. Not even the Devil Rays could lose an auction where they were the only bidder. Not even Scott Boras was going to miss a chance to triple his client's income on a mere principle (especially not Boras, in fact). The baseball business can be a soap opera at times. This wasn't one of 'em.
The story I hate most each December are the folks lined for tickets at Fenway Park. "Law of Supply and Demand Still Works" should not lead the 6 o'clock news, and always does.
Because I listened to the Thursday night NFL game on my car radio, it was still tuned to WEEI Saturday morning. Now let's consider the following non-Red Sox sports news of that particular day.
1. The state university had lost a national championship football game.
2. The only Division 1-A college football school in New England was in an emergency head coaching search.
3. The local NBA franchise was in the midst of a winning streak surpring most everyone, especially me and probably itself.
4. The local NFL team was coming off its worst loss of the season, and its All-Pro quarterback had called out his teammates in public.
5. For the prurient, the same All-Pro QB had just broken up with his longtime movie star girlfriend.
A vertiable banquet of sports news, isn't it? Care to guess what Larry Johnson and Craig Mustard were discussing that fine morning? Should the Sox bring back Mark Loretta to play second base, that's what. On the Globe's front sports page, news the Sox had signed a couple of relievers was above the fold sharing equal billing with UMass' loss to Appalachian State.
Enough! The endless Sox-driven drivel of the offseason has got to be reined in. It's bad enough in spring training, but now's a time for visions of sugarplums, or at least pigskins, to dance in our heads, not visions of journeymen middle infielders.
Each December, Christmas cookies remind us that too much of a good thing palls. Baseball news is no different. The more babble a team generates in the winter, the more violently adverse the reaction if it falls apart in August.
As a former professional journalist, I make the following plea for sanity. Martin Baron, Kevin Convey, I beg of you. When February rolls around, PLEASE don't run photos of the damned equipment truck leaving for Fort Myers.
Not on page one, anyway.
Why the Celtics Might Yet Trade for Allen Iverson
Seating capacity of the new Garden for basketball: 18,624
Attendance at last night's game against the Nuggets: 15,607
Yes, AI hates practice and coaches in general. Yes, he's more of a daredevil act than a basketball player. No matter. Iverson fills seats.
Baseball Shopping
If Daiseke Matsuzaka is as good, or nearly as good, as the Red Sox think, then he's a bargain at $103 million and a six-year contract. That would be true if Matsuzaka got the whole amount rather than half going to the Seibu Lions. It would be true if the total price was $150 million.
If Matsuzaka is only as good as Gil Meche (5 years, $55 million from the Royals) or the 2006 edition of Josh Beckett, then the Sox got screwed. That would be true if Matsuzaka had signed a 6-year contract for only $4 million a season.
No one, not Scott Boras and most assuredly not the Red Sox, can predict Matsuzaka's future. The human body wasn't meant to pitch. Before the great Free Agent Bubble of '06, Boston was loath to sign pitchers for more than 3 years, making exceptions only for the likes of Pedro Martinez and Curt Schilling-potential Hall of Famers.
This is not to say Matsuzaka must be on their level to justify his contract. Markets change, and those in them must adjust accordingly.
Ever since the beginning of free agency 30 years ago, however, one thing about the national pastime HASN'T changed. Signing a big-ticket pitcher is more speculative than purchasing a mail-order bride from the Ukraine-while blindfolded and drunk.
Dolphins 21-Patriots 0
Call this one "The Curious Incident of the Coach Who Didn't Bark in the Post-Game Press Conference".
Bill Belichick is not a contrarian. In the immediate aftermath of a game, the Pats coach is too drained for head games. He almost never finds fault with victories or consolation prizes in defeats (by Monday, that can change).
So the most noteworthy fact about Miami's shutout whuppin' of New England was Belichick's relative equanimity following perhaps the most feeble offensive performance of the Tom Brady era. Things are tough all over when the indispensable quarterback gets lifted from the game for his physical and mental health. Yet Belichick didn't give his tean the savage critique it richly deserved.
"We're 9-4," Belichick said. "There are a lot of teams that'd like to have that record. We'll be judged on the body of work."
After a third straight shoddy game (11 turnovers) and failing to cross the Dolphin 33, Belichick's reaction startled this outside observer. It's not the coach I used to cover. After some time scrutinizing the replay, two explanations for Belichick's reaction come to mind.
Belichick agrees with the Gee Theory of the Annual Stinkbomb outlined here after the Lions game last week. The Dolphins came out flying, the Pats' biorhythms were out of synch, and the result had to be accepted as a distasteful but inevitable part of the season, like two-a-days or talking to reporters.
The only problem with this explanation is it depends on Belichick agreeing with me, a remote and frankly terrifying possibility. The more likely possibility, however, should terrify Pats fans even more.
Perhaps Belichick WAS playing head games with his team. He'd scolded them all week for their effort against the Lions, and the result was an even worse effort against Miami. Time for Plan B. Spend whatever part of the next week is devoted to motivation reminding his players they are, in the final analysis, a talented bunch who ought to be able to improve as a matter of course. Let serenity flow through the organization from the top down.
Throwing an emotional change-up is Coaching 101. Walter Camp probably did it at Yale before the 1895 Harvard game. For Belichick to do so less than 30 minutes after such a lousy game, however, is wildly out of character, and must've taken a considerable amount of self-control. So much self-control, in fact, I suspect the coach began preparing his remarks well before yesterday's game ended, and possibly before it began.
In short, Belichick's post-game demeanor suggests he saw this turkey coming a long way off. That's an ominous thought for a team headed for the playoffs. Time for Plan B indeed.
Happy Birthday?
His first game as a Celtic was my first day as a full-time sportswriter. This blogger yields to no one in his admiration and respect for Larry Bird.
There is, unfortunately, something more than a little sad when the cheeriest news both Boston newspapers can find to print about the Celtics is the fact Larry was born on Dec. 7, 1956.
The Iraq Study Group
Based on several hours of cable TV watching, there's just one thing worth saying. Holy Toledo! You have GOT to have Lee Hamilton and Sandra Day O'Connor in your dead pool!
Oh, the report? The usual Washington bullshit. The fact it checked in at an historically unWashington 100 pages indicates the panel gave up on its useless task around the 4th of July.
J.D. Drew
Five years for $70 million. Drew turned 31 last month. In 9 years in the majors, he's averaged 106 games played a season. Each year at Christmastime, I'm struck by the same wistful thought.
It'd sure be a wonderful life if Scott Boras represented ME.
Oh, well, it's not my money. As far as the Red Sox are concerned, Drew, when healthy is a distinct improvement on Trot Nixon in right field. Forecasting anyone's medical future is impossible, but when a ballplayer's been frequently hurt in his twenties, chances are poor he'll spend the bulk of his thirties in perfect health.
Ahh, Trot was hurt last year, too. Even given Drew's propensity for the DL, he's an upgrade on Nixon. He's not twice as good as Nixon, however, and that's how much the Sox are paying Drew.
By the same token, Julio Lugo is an upgrade on Alex Gonzalez at shortstop. Lugo's a far better offensive player, can bat leadoff, and while he's no Gold Glover, his fielding is acceptable. Hitting being more important than fielding, Lugo is a better fit for the Sox' needs.
Forty million bucks worth of better? I don't think so, but then, the Sox had little alternative. They're stuck in the classic trap that's snared their big-budget Yankee rivals the past few seasons. When a good team with a big payroll hits the free agent market, it winds up increasing spending geometrically for incremental improvement.
The Yanks were under no illusion Jaret Wright was the answer to their pitching woes. They overpaid for an injury-prone vet who indeed has been hurt most of past two years. But Wright was an improvement on what the Yanks had at the back of their rotation at the time, which was nobody.
There's one good thing about the Drew and Lugo signings. Boston fans and media no longer can sneer at the Yanks for the deal they gave Johnny Damon. Last winter, all one heard was how Damon would be useless over at least the final two seasons of his 4 year, $52 million deal with New York.
This winter, I'll make the following bet. Damon will play more games in the next three seasons than will Drew. Any takers?
The Most Important Position in the Game
Chicago Bears quarterback Rex Grossman completed 6 of 19 passes for 34 yards and threw three interceptions yesterday.
Houston Texans QB David Carr completed 7 of 14 throws for 32 yards.
Thirty five NFL players ran for more yards than either of the QBs earned passing. Three of them, Michael Vick, Vince Young, and Brett Favre, are also quarterbacks.
Amazing true pro football stats of all time-Bears 23-Vikings 13, Texans 23-Raiders 14. Grossman and Carr's teams not only won their games, they covered their spreads to boot.
A Holiday Vision
In an ideal universe, the college football schedule for this Saturday or the Saturday after that (I'm flexible) would look like this.
No. 16 Rutgers vs. No. 1 Ohio State
No. 9 Auburn vs. No. 8 Boise State
No. 12 Arkansas vs. No. 5 USC
No. 13 West Virginia vs. No. 4 LSU
No. 14 Wake Forest vs. No. 3 Michigan
No. 11 Notre Dame vs. No. 6 Louisville
No. 10 Oklahoma vs. No. 7 Wisconsin
No. 15 Virginia Tech vs. No. 2 Florida.
Those would be the seedings for the first round of the NCAA Division I-A football tournament based on the final BCS standings of the 2006 season. Take a look at those games, which are just the first rounders. Aren't they better and more intriguing matchups than those provided by the bowl system, which is every bit as fraudulent at boxing's rating and scheduling process?
And that's just the first round, which we'll dump on various minor "Your Ad Here Bowl" sites. By the quarters and semis, held at bigger bowl sites, there are fatal barroom arguments in every city in America, and Las Vegas sports books have called out the National Guard to deal with the crush of bettors. Ratings for the first championship game, held the Saturday night of Super Bowl bye week, will be the highest ever for an American sports event.
There's no segment of American life as venal as the higher education industry. That's what drives me mad about college football. Can't the powers-that-be see their already lucrative sport is sitting atop a veritable Saudi Arabia that'll gush portraits of Benjamin Franklin instead of light sweet crude?
There's one hopeful sign for plain old football fans. Fox bought the rights to all the BCS except the Rose Bowl. Rupert Murdoch has not ignored too many cash pools in his career.
Patriots 28-Lions 21
For reasons no one inside or outside the game can explain, every NFL team turns in one complete stinkbomb of a game each season. From the eventual Super Bowl champion to the eventual holder of next April's number one draft pick, all 32 clubs put together an effort far, far below their normal level of performance, even if that level already was in the sub-basement.
Ordinarily the stinkbombers lose said game by a substantial margin. But not always. Occasionally, they triumph over a foe that has its own shoelaces tied together that given Sunday.
This strikes me as the most plausible explanation of New England's slipshod play in its win over Detroit. The Lions' Doom Mojo is one of the NFL's most terrifying supernatural powers. Each time the Lions were in position to take control and gain the upset, one could see the question mark thought balloons over all their heads. How're we gonna blow this one? The thought, of course, immediately fathered the deed.
The analysis I DON'T believe is the notion suggested by my former colleagues at the Globe and Herald who felt the Pats repeated the same errors they committed against the Bears the week before. The two contests can't be compared. The Bears force errors. It's how they win. Nobody plays Chicago without committing turnovers and bad plays. Blunders against Detroit are pure double-faults. They're on you.
Coming away from one's annual horror show with a W is a splendid stroke of luck for a team with post-season expectations. The three Super Bowl champions Pats' teams of the Belichick-Brady era didn't manage the feat (2001: Dolphins 30-Pats 6, 2003: Bills 31-Pats 0, 2004: Dolphins 29-Pats 28). The question is, however, was this indeed New England's given Sunday of ineptitude? Although the Pats concentrated their playmaking into short bursts at the end of the second and fourth quarters, they made quite a few of them in those spans.
Patriot optimists are entitled to point out the champion's address is usually the intersection of Luck and Talent, and to add one team yet to turn in ITS stinkbomb is the Colts, leader of the AFC seeding chase. Pessimists may counter that through the decades, no place has seen more New England stinkbombs than the Dolphins' home field in Miami-the Pats' destination this Sunday.
Patriots 28-Lions 21
For reasons no one inside or outside the game can explain, every NFL team turns in one complete stinkbomb of a game each season. From the eventual Super Bowl champion to the eventual holder of next April's number one draft pick, all 32 clubs put together an effort far, far below their normal level of performance, even if that level already was in the sub-basement.
Ordinarily the stinkbombers lose said game by a substantial margin. But not always. Occasionally, they triumph over a foe that has its own shoelaces tied together that given Sunday.
This strikes me as the most plausible explanation of New England's slipshod play in its win over Detroit. The Lions' Doom Mojo is one of the NFL's most terrifying supernatural powers. Each time the Lions were in position to take control and gain the upset, one could see the question mark thought balloons over all their heads. How're we gonna blow this one? The thought, of course, immediately fathered the deed.
The analysis I DON'T believe is the notion suggested by my former colleagues at the Globe and Herald who felt the Pats repeated the same errors they committed against the Bears the week before. The two contests can't be compared. The Bears force errors. It's how they win. Nobody plays Chicago without committing turnovers and bad plays. Blunders against Detroit are pure double-faults. They're on you.
Coming away from one's annual horror show with a W is a splendid stroke of luck for a team with post-season expectations. The three Super Bowl champions Pats' teams of the Belichick-Brady era didn't manage the feat (2001: Dolphins 30-Pats 6, 2003: Bills 31-Pats 0, 2004: Dolphins 29-Pats 28). The question is, however, was this indeed New England's given Sunday of ineptitude? Although the Pats concentrated their playmaking into short bursts at the end of the second and fourth quarters, they made quite a few of them in those spans.
Patriot optimists are entitled to point out the champion's address is usually the intersection of Luck and Talent, and to add one team yet to turn in ITS stinkbomb is the Colts, leader of the AFC seeding chase. Pessimists may counter that through the decades, no place has seen more New England stinkbombs than the Dolphins' home field in Miami-the Pats' destination this Sunday.
Patriots 28-Lions 21
For reasons no one inside or outside the game can explain, every NFL team turns in one complete stinkbomb of a game each season. From the eventual Super Bowl champion to the eventual holder of next April's number one draft pick, all 32 clubs put together an effort far, far below their normal level of performance, even if that level already was in the sub-basement.
Ordinarily the stinkbombers lose said game by a substantial margin. But not always. Occasionally, they triumph over a foe that has its own shoelaces tied together that given Sunday.
This strikes me as the most plausible explanation of New England's slipshod play in its win over Detroit. The Lions' Doom Mojo is one of the NFL's most terrifying supernatural powers. Each time the Lions were in position to take control and gain the upset, one could see the question mark thought balloons over all their heads. How're we gonna blow this one? The thought, of course, immediately fathered the deed.
The analysis I DON'T believe is the notion suggested by my former colleagues at the Globe and Herald who felt the Pats repeated the same errors they committed against the Bears the week before. The two contests can't be compared. The Bears force errors. It's how they win. Nobody plays Chicago without committing turnovers and bad plays. Blunders against Detroit are pure double-faults. They're on you.
Coming away from one's annual horror show with a W is a splendid stroke of luck for a team with post-season expectations. The three Super Bowl champions Pats' teams of the Belichick-Brady era didn't manage the feat (2001: Dolphins 30-Pats 6, 2003: Bills 31-Pats 0, 2004: Dolphins 29-Pats 28). The question is, however, was this indeed New England's given Sunday of ineptitude? Although the Pats concentrated their playmaking into short bursts at the end of the second and fourth quarters, they made quite a few of them in those spans.
Patriot optimists are entitled to point out the champion's address is usually the intersection of Luck and Talent, and to add one team yet to turn in ITS stinkbomb is the Colts, leader of the AFC seeding chase. Pessimists may counter that through the decades, no place has seen more New England stinkbombs than the Dolphins' home field in Miami-the Pats' destination this Sunday.
Patriots 28-Lions 21
For reasons no one inside or outside the game can explain, every NFL team turns in one complete stinkbomb of a game each season. From the eventual Super Bowl champion to the eventual holder of next April's number one draft pick, all 32 clubs put together an effort far, far below their normal level of performance, even if that level already was in the sub-basement.
Ordinarily the stinkbombers lose said game by a substantial margin. But not always. Occasionally, they triumph over a foe that has its own shoelaces tied together that given Sunday.
This strikes me as the most plausible explanation of New England's slipshod play in its win over Detroit. The Lions' Doom Mojo is one of the NFL's most terrifying supernatural powers. Each time the Lions were in position to take control and gain the upset, one could see the question mark thought balloons over all their heads. How're we gonna blow this one? The thought, of course, immediately fathered the deed.
The analysis I DON'T believe is the notion suggested by my former colleagues at the Globe and Herald who felt the Pats repeated the same errors they committed against the Bears the week before. The two contests can't be compared. The Bears force errors. It's how they win. Nobody plays Chicago without committing turnovers and bad plays. Blunders against Detroit are pure double-faults. They're on you.
Coming away from one's annual horror show with a W is a splendid stroke of luck for a team with post-season expectations. The three Super Bowl champions Pats' teams of the Belichick-Brady era didn't manage the feat (2001: Dolphins 30-Pats 6, 2003: Bills 31-Pats 0, 2004: Dolphins 29-Pats 28). The question is, however, was this indeed New England's given Sunday of ineptitude? Although the Pats concentrated their playmaking into short bursts at the end of the second and fourth quarters, they made quite a few of them in those spans.
Patriot optimists are entitled to point out the champion's address is usually the intersection of Luck and Talent, and to add one team yet to turn in ITS stinkbomb is the Colts, leader of the AFC seeding chase. Pessimists may counter that through the decades, no place has seen more New England stinkbombs than the Dolphins' home field in Miami-the Pats' destination this Sunday.
Geopolitical Prediction
It's reasonably easy to predict the future in Iraq. Whatever horrible worst-case scenario is cited by experts as a reason why US troops cannot withdraw from that country is invariably what winds up happening next.
We can't leave, or there might be a civil war. Hello, civil war. And so forth. Today, the darkest fear ot desk-based strategists is the Shia-Sunni war in Iraq might spill over into the Middle East. So that's what we can look forward to in 2007.
No worries. A faraway war among people we don't understand is expected to have very little impact on the lives of average American civilians.
That is, unless they happen to drive a car.
This Town
The last time the Subaru's radio was on the AM band, someone, not me, must've been listening to the Notre Dame game, for when I turned it on, the dulcet tones of Glen Ordway wondered if J.D. Drew had the mental wherewithal to handle "playing in this market."
It was the work of a moment to slip in Patsy Cline CD, but I found myself pondering Ordway's question. Not about Drew specifically. If nothing else, J.D's consistent. He can get hurt wherever he plays baseball. Not for the first time, or even the millionth time, I considered the awesome conceit inherent in the "Boston is a special/tough place to play" idea.
For once, I'm not on Ordway's case. He was merely reflecting a long-held regional fallacy. Oh, yeah, it's an incredible bitch to be a Red Sox/Patriot/Bruin/Celtic. Did you know if you slump 0r fail in Boston, fans will boo you? Writers, sports talk radio shows, and TV commentators will point out how you failed in biting terms? Those monsters! And worse, if you get divorced or busted for DUI, it's front-page news!!! Don't those people are cut a poor jock a break?
No, they don't. The mystery is, why does anyone here, athletes, media, or fans, think this makes Boston different from every other town in America or indeed, the world? If there's one truth about professional sports that's true from Shanghai to St. Alban's, Vt. it's this: When you're going good, any town is the greatest place to play there is. When you're going bad, there's no place where it doesn't suck to be you.
Playing center field for the Red Sox is a high-profile job. Compared to playing quarterback for the University of Alabama, it's white-collar invisibility, and the kid taking the snaps from the Crimson Tide isn't paid nearly as much for his troubles. If we move to an apples and apples comparison, being a Red Sox is no more or less psychically difficult than being a member of any of the other 29 big league teams.
Let's take Drew's former place of employment, Los Angeles. Bostonians, New Yorkers, and my native Philadelphians love to sneer at Southern California's laid-back fans. It fosters our deep and deeply unfounded sense of superiority over the millions of Angelenos who've had the good sense to live somewhere without snow.
The image ain't true, none of it. You want rabid fans? A few seasons back a Giants fan was stabbed to death outside Dodger Stadium, an excess no Yankees-Red Sox bleacher brawl has yet produced. Nasty media? Sox fans may hate Dan Shaughnessy, but he's snarky and snide at his worst. Now, T.J. Simers of the LA Times, there's mean in action. The Dodgers are accompanied by a media corps almost as large and every bit as querulous as the one which surrounds the Sox to the point of suffocation. LA also has numerousl sports talk radio hosts who sprout an endless Greek chorus of ill-tempered gibberish. Compared to most of them, Ordway is Edward R. Murrow and Grantland Rice rolled into one.
Derek Lowe's propensity to chase anything in a skirt did not fly the below the radar in LA. He got away with more in Boston, actually. In the celebrity capital of the world, scandal is an industry, and ballplayers are easy pickings.
On the other hand, it's great to be rich, young and a Dodger, if you're winning. It'd be great to be rich, young, and a Pirate if they ever won. Lose, and the world's against you no matter where you're popping up.
The only REAL difference for Boston athletes is the town's shortage of other major public figures. In a burg where state senators are celebrities, a Hall of Fame quarterback like Tom Brady faces unlimited demands on his time and good nature. Brady appears to cope quite well. Nobody HAS to pay the price of fame if they don't wish to. Take Pedro Martinez. He was the biggest star in Boston for several years. Off the field, he was a ghost, a happy, serene ghost. Public attention made Nomar Garciaparra uncomfortable. So did a lot of other things. He was uncomfortable when he got here. Being a Red Sox had nothing to with it.
Fans embrace the "tough market" nonsense to flatter themselves. We're no-nonsense smart guys and gals in this town. You can't fool us and we demand perfection.
Uh-huh. No city in earth affords jocks a more sychophantic embrace when they're winning than the professional cynics' capital of the world-New York. In this as in many things, Boston is just a pale imitation of its despised neighbor.
The media's no different. Being a pain in the ass is taken to mean one's doing a good job. That's true, sometimes, like if you're Helen Thomas. Covering a ballclub, not so much. But the job does requite being pushy, and people who play games for a living are a skittish bunch. The resulting conflict has nothing to do with where the reporters and teams in question play their trades, the trades themselves create it. When the football team goes 3-9, the reporters covering Middle Nowhere State Tech torture everyone just as efficiently as their New York or Boston brethren.
The "we're a special market" nonsense will never go away. Who wants to admit they're just like everyone else? In sports, however, all men and women are brothers and sisters under the skin. We are the world, a world of fickle, front-running no-goodniks.
