Today, I was listening to "I'm No Angel" by Gregg Allman and immediately I thought of July 3, 1991, at the Great Woods Center for the Performing Arts in Norton, MA. My friend Mike called and asked if I'd like to go see the Allman Brothers with him. Free tickets. How on earth could I refuse.
So, I passed up the annual fireworks display at Lynn Beach and went to see the Allmans with Mickey. I'd see the AB's before. They're one of my favorite groups. But there was something about July 4 and Americana and the Allman Brothers that just seemed too surreal. Here we were, in the middle of a sea of bikers (nothing like the Allmans to bring out the inner Hog in us all), with firecrackers and cherry bombs exploding all around us. Talk about the rockets' red glare!!
What a great show! They played for so long -- and jammed so freely -- that the went way past the curfew and never got around to playing "Ramblin' Man," (which was to be their ultimate encore). You'd think that would be disappointing, but it wasn't. The discerning Allman Brothers aficionado knows that while "Ramblin' Man" is certainly a great song (indeed, their signature tune), there are so many other great songs in their repertoire that you could listen to three hours worth of music (which we did, bascially) and always come away wanting more.
Anyway, I bring this all up because "I'm No Angel" was one of that concert's real highlights. The group just come out of a mid-set intermission with "In Memory of Elizabeth Reid," a very cool jazz-oriented instrumental piece (inspired by the fact that when the Allmans used to go drinking in a nearby cemetery, they always gathered at the headstone of one Elizabeth Reid), and it served as an introduction to a more mellow point in the show (they also did a wonderful acoustic version of "Midnight Rider" -- another Allman solo piece).
Not that the mellow portion was bad ... but if you went there to see kickass rock 'n' roll, this was probably your cue to go to the bathroom, or get up and get something to eat ... of fidget. Me? I loved it.
However, "I'm No Angel" was the first song they played after this mellow interlude, and it just jerked the audience back into the spirit of the evening. It's a great song anyway, all about a roughhouse biker-type ("come on, baby, let me show you my tattoos") who promises that despite his savage appearance and reputation, he'll treat the girl of his dreams gently ("I'll never lift a hand to hurt you and I'll always leave you glad."). It's full of vivid images.
And it rocks! Especially when you get into it. And besides, who among us hasn't wished, once in a while, to explore his dark side? Even the ever-romantic Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues wrote "The Other Side of Life," about the desire to explore his dark side.
That song kicked the concert into overdrive, and paved the way for a parade of sizzling classics, from "Jessica" to "Revival" to "Statesboro Blues" to a lengthy first encore of "Tied to the Whipping Post" that had to last 15 minutes, with not a second of it wasted.
I've seen the Allmans several times, yet this concert stood out as special (though it would have been more special had we not got caught in a massive traffic jam leaving the stadium; I think we finally got home on July 5!).
So listening to the song brought back memories ... not only of that concerts but of others as well. I cannot count the number of rock concerts I've seen. Some of them have been perfectly dreadful (there was the Bob Dylan show a few years ago that was so bad that all I could think of was that line from Positively 4th Street, "I wish that for just one time, you could stand inside my shoes; then you'd know what a drag it is to see you!"), and I remember seeing the Cars once and wishing someone would steal them and dismantle them in a chop shop (RIP, Ben Orr).
Then there was Duran Duran (don't ask how that came about). Horrible.
But the great ones more than make up for the lemons. If you can go through life with even a handful of experiences like that July 3 Allman Brothers show (which was one of the most perfectly laid out shows Ive ever seen; if I were a rock star, and were planning a show, I'd have done it the same way), you're doing OK.
I think the absolute best rock show I've ever seen, barring none, was the October 1973 Jethro Tull concert at the Boston Garden. Well, first of all, even if you didn't intend to get stoned going INTO the show, you were totally wrecked coming out. That's how much cannibus swirled around unfettered. I remember wondering how in the world any cop could let THAT go! Probably because it was a hopeless battle.
This was right after "Passion Play" came out, and Tull performed the entire album in the first set. I can remember not really liking the album all that much when I heard it the first time (It's still one of the least played CDs in my collection even today). "Thick as a Brick" was so good that "Passion Play" seemed like a poor facsimile. It was as if Ian Anderson said "I'm going to do 'Thick as a Brick' all over again, but call it something else."
Now, it always helps when you get a guy like Ian Anderson, who understands theater, and understands that just getting up there and playing isn't enough. Rock 'n' roll was never MERELY about the music ... and that's what people my parents' age never understood (and it's probably what people of my generation and culture fail to grasp about rap). Rock 'n' roll was about the attitude ... the excitement ... the rawness and edginess that all the Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin fans from the 40s and 50s never quite got because they'd never experienced it (though I suspect that if you appreciated the sophisticated jazz and blues of the 1920s and 30s you might have had a better chance of getting it).
"Passion Play" came to life that night. It helped that Ian Anderson made it an audio-visual show, with animated beginning that featured the contorted ballerina that adorns the album's cover. it was bizarre ... actually disturbing. But it was effective. It left you with your mouth agape, and just when it climaxed (like any good sexual encounter), out burst Ian Anderson (he almost ejaculated onto the stage, if that's possible!) to perform the album. It was probably the only time I ever found that album enjoyable.
It didn't stop with "Passion Play" either. They went onto do a good chunk of "Thick as a Brick" and a lot of "Aqualung," including an immensely enjoyable (and out-and-out kickass) version of "Locomotive Breath."
Thing is, though, I'm more of a fan of Tull's quieter, chamber music-like material, and really have a problem with Anderson if he forgets about that stuff when he performs shows. Usually, he's good about including it (though not always; I've come away from several shows of his extremely disappointed about the material he's chosen to perform). On this night, he represented his softer side more than adequately.
There was the obligatory "Bouree," of course ... Anderson does Bach. But there was also "Sossity, You're a Woman," from "Benefit," and one that he put on "Living in the Past" called "Life's a Long Song," which is one of the most beautiful pieces I've ever heard. It still remains a Krause staple on the iPod today.
I was just 20 years old in 1973, and went to the Tull concert with Mickey as well (we both had dates; he had some girl, forget whom) and I had Donna "Boobs" Bertazzoni from Quincy, who went to school with me at Northeastern University. We were just friends (although I'd have perferred it to be more than that). She was actually dating a guy named Sterling W. Honeywell (imaging dating a guy named Sterling??). The "W" stood for William, and, much to his credit, he preferred to be called Bill. But I always referring to him as Sterling, much to Donna's irritation.
For some reason, unrequited love and music go hand-in-hand with me, and it has a lot to do with why I like the Moody Blues ... who own another chapter in my "favorite concert" book.
First, the history. My freshman year of college, I fell madly for this girl Melinda Marchi, a stunning Italian from Cromwell, Connecticut. She had long, straight, jet-black hair and similarly dark, Mediterranean features. We took economics together, and hit it off, and I thought I had a chance.
Boy, was I wrong. I found out, through talking to her, that she liked opera, so I went out and got two tickets to "Tosca" by Puccini (hey, I wasn't proud; I'd have done anything back in those days!!). I'd never heard of it, but she'd mentioned she wanted to see it. Except, apparently, not with me. Because when I summoned up enough nerve to ask her if she'd go with me, she said she had other plans ... I guess sorting her socks or something.
I was crushed. First, the tickets weren't CHEAP! And second, abject rejection, especially if you've invested that much time and energy into cultivating that type of a crush, is like free falling off the Empire State Building.
As it so happens, though, life went on. Later that day, I discovered that the Northeastern bookstore didn't have a piece of reading material on my political science syllibus, so I had to truck on up to the Harvard Coop to find it.
Now, I LOVE Harvard Square. Some people go to Disneyland for fun and excitement. I go to Harvard Square and look at the freaks. And there are plenty of them! Brattle Street, which, to me, is the capital of the Eastern Elitism that conservatives always love to hate, is like a freak Mecca. It always energizes me, too, to walk into the Coop, as I did recently, and see stacks of books staring at me villifying the latest conservative du jour. In 1972, it was Nixon. the last time I went, it was 56 different books basically saying that George W. Bush sucked.
I always feel home at Harvard (and by the way, just to clear something up, you cannot pahhk your cahhh at Hahhhvahhhd Yahhhd because you cahhhn't DRIVE in Hahhhvahhhd Yahhhd).
Even on that day, after having had my balls summarily chopped off by Melinda Marchi, I kind of felt a little rejuvenated (though not a lot) by getting off the subway at Harvard and drinking in the atmosphere.
I found the book at the Coop (short for cooperative) and stood in line for what had to be a good 20-25 minutes to pay for it. I noticed this exotic music playing from a really nice set of speakers that just seemed to surround the room. It sounded familar, but I couldn't place it. It was mournful yet uplifting at the same time. The music ended with an orchestral flourish, a poem, and a loud gong.
Remember, this was 1972. There were no CDs. Just long-playing albums and record players that went back and repeated the same records. And on this one, the needle arm reset itself to the beginning of the album and all of a sudden I'm hearing "Tuesday Afternoon" by the Moody Blues.
What I HAD been hearing, of course, was the conclusion to "Days of Future Passed." Now, having heard it a few hundred thousand times, I picked it up around the song "The Sunset" and rode it through to the end, including "Nights in White Satin," and "Late Lament."
I'd probably heard NIWS a few times in my life (though not many) and had never heard the album. Nor had I heard much of anything else by the Moodies (just the singles they made famous).
Well, I ran right out and bought the album, and it nursed me through my own blues over being rejected. And through the rest of that year, I resolved to educate myself about the Moody Blues. I snatched up every album I could find (by then, there were six of the original upon release).
By October of 1972, I was thorougly Moodied. My sister thought I was possessed. So did my friends. It was Moodies, Moodies, and more Moodies. So it happened that I stood in line outside the Boston Garden the day tickets went on sale for their 1972 show for three hours with a bunch hof buddies from school and scored some. They sold out in no time, as this when they were REALLY at their peak.
By October, I'd stopped obsessing over Melinda and had gone back to enjoying life. So my friends and I simply went to the Boston Garden to enjoy a good show.
The show was all right. What made the concert memorable were the three guys sitting in front of us who were dressed like characters from King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Seriously. I just remember one guy was dressed in black, with this pointy hat, and half-moons drawn all over him. He had a long beard and he was tanked before he even got inside. He was Merlin the Magician, or so he said.
They were primed, obviously -- and, just as obviously, they thought "Are You Sitting Comfortably" was about THEM!!!
Now, THIS was funny. Demented and funny. The only thing I'll always regret about the experience was that I was with a bunch of guys, and not with a girl, because that's the type of thing -- that kind of ambiance -- that can REALLY serve as an ice breaker if you want to end up getting laid. I looked around at the five guys sitting with me and just sighed. AWFUL timing.
As I said, the show wasn't memorable for the music. In those days, the Moodies were not a good live band ... at least I didn't think so. Their music was very sophisticated, a lot like the type the Beatles produced toward the end of their careers. Great on vinyl; difficult to reproduce in all of its technical wizardry on stage. Not to mention that they were probably just as stoned playing it as we were watching it. I understand there were a lot of drugs flying around the Moodies' entourage in those days!
All of this made for very sloppy musicianship, which -- musical fuss budget that I am -- annoyed me. I was kind of disappointed, to be honest.
But the show in the audience more than made up for it. These three guys were great to watch. They were SOOOOOOOO stoned that they couldn't keep themselves sitting up. They flopped all over each other (they were probably gay!!) and just swooned in RAPTURE every time a new song began. The ironic part, though, is that by the time the Moodies finally got around to playing the end of "Threshhold of a Dream," which they almost ALWAYS did as a whole block toward the end of the show in those days, these three guys were catatonic from having smoked so much weed. They couldn't even enjoy it!
I have two more shows to discuss before calling it a day. The first was in February 1990 ... Paul McCartney at the Worcester Centrum. Macca went out plugging his tour as a journey through the past, and boy, was it ever. Beatles songs, Beatles songs and more Beatles songs, and some of them really raised that lump right to the base of your throat. The first of this absolute melange of Fab music was "Got To Get You Into My Life," which is my absolute most favorite song of theirs, and it just got better after that. Old stuff ("I Saw Her Standing There" and "Things We Said Today"), solo stuff ("Live and Let Die"), trippy stuff ("Fool on the Hill") and classic stuff ("Hey Jude," which audience participating at the end that almost made it seem like a religious experience).
You watched the show, and you were keenly aware that this was history unfolding before your eyes. A lot of those songs had never been performed in public before, and there was just such an outpouring of gratitude on the part of the fans that, after all these years, Paul McCartney toured and played them.
Finally, but certainly not least, there was the Brian Wilson show in 2005 in which he performed the entire "Smile" album. In a lot of ways, this was one of the most extraordinary shows I've ever seen. Wilson toured with an 18-piece band, and you got the idea that maybe he was able to perform his old Beach Boys songs in a manner in which he'd envisioned them when he wrote them. He turned "Help Me Rhonda" into a symphony, almost, and I remember thinking to myself, "is this cool, or what!
"Smile" is also an extraordinary piece of music. Had it been released in 1967, the way it was intended, no one would have understood it. At least "Sergeant Pepper" had elements of the ritualistic rock album (and even at that, Pepper stood out as singularly bizarre that year). This had none, really. It was a collection of little songs strung together in a way to tell a story (perhaps a drug-hazed story, but a story nonetheless). If it reminds me of anything at all, it reminds me of the second side of "Abbey Road", with unfinished bits of songs strung together to create a definite aural effect, if nothing else; the songs themselves weren't that cohesive on "Abbey Road" and aren't on "Smile").
What separates the two records, of course, is the placement of the songs. Where "Abbey Road" was divided by sides (the first side being a collection of normal songs while the second side kind of wanders off into the realm of the bizarre), "Smile" interspersed both freely. Hence, you get these moments of brilliance that just seem to crop up out of nowhere.
For example, from "Heros and Villains" to "Surf's Up" you get a collection of melodious songs that -- as I've said earlier -- aren't really complete; yet create, by their sequencing, a definite mood. But in the middle of it all, there's "Surf's Up," one of the most complicated, perplexing, wonderful, beautiful, confusing, exasperating, uplifting, almost ethereal, songs in the rock repertoire. It is said to be the song that caused all the friction in the Beach Boys (Mike Love didn't understand it and wanted nothing to do with singing it), and it led, not-too-indirectly, to all of Brian Wilson's subsequent mental health problems.
It's not as if I'd never heard it before. It came out on other albums, and though you never heard it much, even on FM radio, once in a while someone would play it late at night ... and you could almost see the marijuana smoke swirling around the room when you heard it.
But hearing it live, sung by Brian Wilson, with all that history ... that was almost too much to take. The audience grew quiet, almost reverential, as the song unfolded. There was literally no noise. I thought I might be in church.
Then (another relic from the past) the matches and lighters came out and there was a sea of flames as Wilson wrapped up the song. And when he finished, the ovation was deafening. And it lasted for a good five or six minutes ... people standing, screaming, some of them even crying. What a moment!
This was not the first stop on the tour. Yet, Brian Wilson sat there ... and I don't think he knew what to do. He's not the most stable person ANYWAY, and I think he just wished it would end so that he could just go back to playing music. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but he accepted it graciously as it waned, and went back to playing music!
The ovation was almost as long, and as long, when he finished "Good Vibrations," too.
But the bonus was after the intermission, he and his band came out and played some real old, vintage Beach Boys material, ending the night with "Surfin' USA" and "Fun, Fun, Fun," with everyone up and dancing in the aisles.
The concert was also noteworthy because it was in July of 2005 ... and Wilson played "Ol' St. Nick." THAT was funny!
So there you have it. Five classic concerts I'll never forget.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Idle Chatter
Idle chatter while waiting for this goddamned winter to finally go away:
* Are people who constantly complain about taxes similarly outraged when they get raises in their jobs, and -- as a result -- the price of their product increases? Something tells me that when the shoe's on the other foot, these people will defend their raises to the death and argue that "if you want good service, you have to pay."
Yet when anyone gets a raise in the public sector, or if the cost of plowing streets, or collecting trash, or heating and maintaining schools goes up due to circumstances beyond anybody's control (have you checked the price for a barrel of oil these days?), the first thing these people worry about is their taxes ... as if that's the ONLY thing that matters. Your school system's books are so archaic that some of them might say "someday, man will land on the moon," yet don't raise MY taxes to update the curriculum.
Silly.
* I do not like Hillary Clinton. To me, she's about as phony as they come. Beyond any of her issues, the reason I don't like her is because when she ran for U.S. Senate in 2000, she went around wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and declaring to everyone that she was always a Yankee fan. Right. Let's see. Born in Illinois, educated at Yale (where, I guarantee you, she didn't know the difference between a New York Yankee and a Minnesota Twin), lived in Arkansas. Spent eight years as the First Lady and -- as far as I or anyonen else can see -- never used the perks of her position to become a fixture at Yankee Stadium, the way her initial opponent, Rudy Giuliani, was.
Sadly, this seems to be 100 percent representative of her. If you look up the word "politically expedient," there's her picture.
Having said all that, I really hate it when people start bringing up how "shrill" she is. There are plenty of other things on which to roast her. Why bring up something she can't help? And if it's not "shrill" it's the "cackle." Here's how answers.com defines "cackle:" To make the shrill cry characteristic of a hen after laying an egg. To laugh or talk in a shrill manner."
In other words, a "cackle" is a sound unique to the female ... not the male.
This is what you call "code." It's the same thing as saying Katie Couric lacks "gravitas." Well, if "gravitas" means having a deep, authoritative voice, then of COURSE she lacks "gravitas." So what? For Chrissakes Ted Baxter had "gravitas" if you want to go by that definition!! It's not politically correct to hate on someone merely because of her gender, so you have to find other reasons that don't sound so politically incorrect -- yet deliver the same subtle message.
This is why someone thought it would be hilarious to post a picture of Barack Obama wearing native Somali attire. You won't get any mileage anymore by comparing "Obama" to "Osama," but if you can show him dressed like a Somali warlord, you get your point across without saying a WORD!!
Look, there are plenty of legitimate reasons not to like Hillary Clinton. I just gave you one of mine, and while it's certainly lame, it's not nearly as lame as saying she lacks "Gravitas" or that she sounds "shrill." And people -- especially women -- who insist on using these code words to describe them you're just playing into the hands of the sexists who resent BOTH of them invading their playing field.
* I was going through a toll booth in Boston Saturday night and -- as always -- I thought of The Godfather and James Caan. Some images are just too indelibly ingrained to escape. I'll always think of Sonny Corleone whenever I go through a toll booth. I'm always expecting the collector to drop my money, bend down to pick it up, only to find an army of machine gun-wielding thugs popping up to blow me away. And there I'll be ... lying in the middle of the street, with blood and glass oozing out of me.
But isn't it funny how you can't avoid certain images. I love piano bars, yet I can't go to a club with a piano players without going up to the piano player and saying "you played it for her, you can play it for me," in my most ridiculous Humphrey Bogart voice.
I can't see anyone hit a ground ball to first base -- at any level -- without AUTOMATICALLY knowing that it's going to go right through the kid's legs. I have Bill Buckner to thank for that.
Whenever I see Bill Belichick, I see him in a captain's uniform on the USS Caine, rattling those ball bearings with his fingers, just like Captain Queeg.
I can't even THINK of Wade Boggs anymore without thinking of Roger Dorn in "Major Leagues."
If I see a picture of anyone in a soldier's uniform, no matter what they're doing, all I see is Mike Dukakis in that damn tank.
I'm sure there are many more of these, but that's all for now.
* I always had a fascination for the Wild West, ever since I was a little kid. I wasn't obsessed with it, and I certainly wan't much for watching westerns on TV (or movies), but the legends themselves always fascinated me. I couldn't have cared less about the latest John Wayne movie. Never saw "True Grit." But the true historic stuff, or the more intelligent movies like "The Oxbow Incident?" Loved those.
I bring this up because during my Super Bowl weekend, I spent a day in Tombstone, Arizona, which -- for those who don't know -- was the site of the famous "Shootout at the O.K. Corral." What amazed me was that the gunfight itself lasted all of about two minutes (if that), with the Earp brothers (Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan), along with Doc Holliday, scoring a decisive rout over Ike Clanton's game. But the fallout from the fight lasted years, with Virgil being wounded and Morgan being killed.
I suppose this particularly skirmish stood out, among all the rest of the lawlessness of the old west, because of the characters involved. Who hasn't heard of Wyatt Earp? or Doc Holliday?
Wyatt Earp is a fascinating study. I guess the best way to describe him was "morally ambiguous." He certainly never let the expediency of the moment bother his conscience. He spurned all offers to become a marshal in Tombstone (after having performed the duties elsewhere) and wasn't happy when his brother, Virgil, became one and outlawed guns in the main part of town as one of his first official acts.
But when the Clanton gang -- with whom the brothers were already feuding -- decided to cause trouble, Wyatt got talked into going down to the area of the corral (along with a very willing Doc Holliday) to disarm the men. Instead, a gunfight ensued and the Clanton gang very much got the worst of it.
I've read about this gunfight for years, been fascinated with it, seen movies about it ... but never really got the FEEL for it until I stood where the shootout actually occurred.
Great stuff.
* And speaking of Arizona, it's a nice state ... when it's not cold (which is was, when I was there in February). There's some beautiful scenery, and Scottsdale is a very trendy city.
But the Valley of the Sun is also rather strange in that its subdivisions are all basically the same. They're all cut out of nothingness. It's as if someone threw a dart at a zone and said "here! Here is where I'm going to build my subdivision," and then went in there, put up a bunch of cookie-cutter houses, and left. In some of these places, you can actually visualize how they looked before they were developed ... because all you have to do is go down the street and see the vast nothingness -- even in built-up places such as Mesa.
What a difference between that and Boston, where there's no rhyme or reason to where houses are built, and no homeowners' associations to govern how uniform they must look. I don't know. Houses are bought and sold up here, too. It would seem to me that if you're going to put down a half million dollars for the house of your dreams, you should have the right to paint it whatever color you want.
That's all for today.
* Are people who constantly complain about taxes similarly outraged when they get raises in their jobs, and -- as a result -- the price of their product increases? Something tells me that when the shoe's on the other foot, these people will defend their raises to the death and argue that "if you want good service, you have to pay."
Yet when anyone gets a raise in the public sector, or if the cost of plowing streets, or collecting trash, or heating and maintaining schools goes up due to circumstances beyond anybody's control (have you checked the price for a barrel of oil these days?), the first thing these people worry about is their taxes ... as if that's the ONLY thing that matters. Your school system's books are so archaic that some of them might say "someday, man will land on the moon," yet don't raise MY taxes to update the curriculum.
Silly.
* I do not like Hillary Clinton. To me, she's about as phony as they come. Beyond any of her issues, the reason I don't like her is because when she ran for U.S. Senate in 2000, she went around wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap and declaring to everyone that she was always a Yankee fan. Right. Let's see. Born in Illinois, educated at Yale (where, I guarantee you, she didn't know the difference between a New York Yankee and a Minnesota Twin), lived in Arkansas. Spent eight years as the First Lady and -- as far as I or anyonen else can see -- never used the perks of her position to become a fixture at Yankee Stadium, the way her initial opponent, Rudy Giuliani, was.
Sadly, this seems to be 100 percent representative of her. If you look up the word "politically expedient," there's her picture.
Having said all that, I really hate it when people start bringing up how "shrill" she is. There are plenty of other things on which to roast her. Why bring up something she can't help? And if it's not "shrill" it's the "cackle." Here's how answers.com defines "cackle:" To make the shrill cry characteristic of a hen after laying an egg. To laugh or talk in a shrill manner."
In other words, a "cackle" is a sound unique to the female ... not the male.
This is what you call "code." It's the same thing as saying Katie Couric lacks "gravitas." Well, if "gravitas" means having a deep, authoritative voice, then of COURSE she lacks "gravitas." So what? For Chrissakes Ted Baxter had "gravitas" if you want to go by that definition!! It's not politically correct to hate on someone merely because of her gender, so you have to find other reasons that don't sound so politically incorrect -- yet deliver the same subtle message.
This is why someone thought it would be hilarious to post a picture of Barack Obama wearing native Somali attire. You won't get any mileage anymore by comparing "Obama" to "Osama," but if you can show him dressed like a Somali warlord, you get your point across without saying a WORD!!
Look, there are plenty of legitimate reasons not to like Hillary Clinton. I just gave you one of mine, and while it's certainly lame, it's not nearly as lame as saying she lacks "Gravitas" or that she sounds "shrill." And people -- especially women -- who insist on using these code words to describe them you're just playing into the hands of the sexists who resent BOTH of them invading their playing field.
* I was going through a toll booth in Boston Saturday night and -- as always -- I thought of The Godfather and James Caan. Some images are just too indelibly ingrained to escape. I'll always think of Sonny Corleone whenever I go through a toll booth. I'm always expecting the collector to drop my money, bend down to pick it up, only to find an army of machine gun-wielding thugs popping up to blow me away. And there I'll be ... lying in the middle of the street, with blood and glass oozing out of me.
But isn't it funny how you can't avoid certain images. I love piano bars, yet I can't go to a club with a piano players without going up to the piano player and saying "you played it for her, you can play it for me," in my most ridiculous Humphrey Bogart voice.
I can't see anyone hit a ground ball to first base -- at any level -- without AUTOMATICALLY knowing that it's going to go right through the kid's legs. I have Bill Buckner to thank for that.
Whenever I see Bill Belichick, I see him in a captain's uniform on the USS Caine, rattling those ball bearings with his fingers, just like Captain Queeg.
I can't even THINK of Wade Boggs anymore without thinking of Roger Dorn in "Major Leagues."
If I see a picture of anyone in a soldier's uniform, no matter what they're doing, all I see is Mike Dukakis in that damn tank.
I'm sure there are many more of these, but that's all for now.
* I always had a fascination for the Wild West, ever since I was a little kid. I wasn't obsessed with it, and I certainly wan't much for watching westerns on TV (or movies), but the legends themselves always fascinated me. I couldn't have cared less about the latest John Wayne movie. Never saw "True Grit." But the true historic stuff, or the more intelligent movies like "The Oxbow Incident?" Loved those.
I bring this up because during my Super Bowl weekend, I spent a day in Tombstone, Arizona, which -- for those who don't know -- was the site of the famous "Shootout at the O.K. Corral." What amazed me was that the gunfight itself lasted all of about two minutes (if that), with the Earp brothers (Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan), along with Doc Holliday, scoring a decisive rout over Ike Clanton's game. But the fallout from the fight lasted years, with Virgil being wounded and Morgan being killed.
I suppose this particularly skirmish stood out, among all the rest of the lawlessness of the old west, because of the characters involved. Who hasn't heard of Wyatt Earp? or Doc Holliday?
Wyatt Earp is a fascinating study. I guess the best way to describe him was "morally ambiguous." He certainly never let the expediency of the moment bother his conscience. He spurned all offers to become a marshal in Tombstone (after having performed the duties elsewhere) and wasn't happy when his brother, Virgil, became one and outlawed guns in the main part of town as one of his first official acts.
But when the Clanton gang -- with whom the brothers were already feuding -- decided to cause trouble, Wyatt got talked into going down to the area of the corral (along with a very willing Doc Holliday) to disarm the men. Instead, a gunfight ensued and the Clanton gang very much got the worst of it.
I've read about this gunfight for years, been fascinated with it, seen movies about it ... but never really got the FEEL for it until I stood where the shootout actually occurred.
Great stuff.
* And speaking of Arizona, it's a nice state ... when it's not cold (which is was, when I was there in February). There's some beautiful scenery, and Scottsdale is a very trendy city.
But the Valley of the Sun is also rather strange in that its subdivisions are all basically the same. They're all cut out of nothingness. It's as if someone threw a dart at a zone and said "here! Here is where I'm going to build my subdivision," and then went in there, put up a bunch of cookie-cutter houses, and left. In some of these places, you can actually visualize how they looked before they were developed ... because all you have to do is go down the street and see the vast nothingness -- even in built-up places such as Mesa.
What a difference between that and Boston, where there's no rhyme or reason to where houses are built, and no homeowners' associations to govern how uniform they must look. I don't know. Houses are bought and sold up here, too. It would seem to me that if you're going to put down a half million dollars for the house of your dreams, you should have the right to paint it whatever color you want.
That's all for today.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
"He's Not the Kind You Have To Wind Up on Sundays"
If you've never heard this fine tune, it's the final song on Jethro Tull's "Aqualung," and it deals with the hypocrisy of people who wear their religion on their sleeves on Sunday ... but basically ignore it every other day of the week.
If you're looking one of the great social shifts in the United States of America in the 21st century, look no further than religion ... or, to be more specific, Christianity.
In 1966, John Lennon said the following: "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that; I'm right, and I will be proved right. We are more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first -- rock'n'roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me."
Now, it's quite possible that Lennon, since he was only 25 years old when he said these words, uttered them in a haze of human hubris. It's doubtful that Lennon had anywhere near the insight, at his age, and regardless of HOW much acid he'd ingested by then, to have been able to predict the controversy that religion has caused in this last decade.
In 1966, the western world was still predominantly, and smugly, Christian. People questioned it, sure. Time Magazine even had a cover story asking if God was dead. There have always been agnostics, athiests, and -- perhaps more important -- people who subscribed to other religions, and other forms of spirituality. But there is no doubt that, back in 1966, that people who argued against school prayer, for example, were clearly in the minority (and by school prayer, I think we can all agree that we were talking about Christian/Catholic school prayer).
I use 1966 is a point of demarkation here because that's the year Time asked if God was dead, and the year that Lennon said the Beatles were bigger than Jesus. Like most everything else about the '60s, attitudes about religion were being re-examined under a different microscope. Maybe, the examinations revealed, it wasn't such a good thing to marry government and religion as freely as we had in the precedingn decades. Maybe, the examination revealed, the first amendment that prohibited the establishment of a national religion REALLY meant that government couldn't coerce its citizens, either overtly or covertly, to subscribe to a specific religion ... and that MAYBE the umbrella under which the amendment protected religious freedom included the banning of school prayer in public schools.
Now, the more introspective Christians (and let's include Catholics here so we don't have to keep saying two words instead of one; Catholics often don't want to be associated with a lot of these right-wing nut Christian sects, even though they're not really bastions of liberalism themselves) among us understand this, and they're all right with it. They see that public schools in the United States, especially in the inner cities, are melting pots whose religions affiliations go in a thousand and one different directions.
The less introspective Christians (and thre are a TON of them!!!!) see this as an example of "Godless Communism."
Now, let's digress for a few minutes and discuss Godless Communism. And let me preface by saying that in no WAY to I think that came out of the Soviet Union after the Russian Revolution was in any way desirable, moral, or even workable (as history has ultimately proven). But I do understand the Soviet Unionn's feeling about religion. Christians don't like hearing this, but religion has been the cause of a lot of pain in this world, from the time of Christ all the way up to now. It causes divisions and rifts among people for no other reason than their chosen paths toward spiritual fulfillment, which is perhaps the WORST reason to divide people. At different times in world history, people have been slaughtered en masse because of religious differences, and the Christians are no less guilty of this -- over the long, long haul -- than the most radical Muslem.
So if the Soviets, in their effort to create a more balanced society, felt that religion unnecessarily divided people -- not to mention got them killed -- then it's certainly understandable. But all the Soviets really did, however, was create a state and it treated like a God, and that's really not much of a difference at all. You'd better not worship God, but you'd better worship the state. That's the worst kind of nationalism there is, and you can see where this system didn't even last through the end of the 20th century.
Back to the subject at hand. The Constitution prohibits the establishment of a national religion, but it doesn't say people cannot practice their religions -- either in their own homes or right out there in public. And while I can see the logic that causes citizens to complain about using public money to put a Christmas creche up in the town square, I cannot see the logic that allows them to complain, and picket, if a private enterprise wants to foot the bill for said creche. We still have religious freedom in this country, not to mention freedom of expression, and if the owner of a department store wants to pay to put a plastic Baby Jesus in a manger, and put it on the town common, well, don't be telling him he can't do it. That's going too far.
On the other hand, when some judge in Alabama, or Mississippi, wants to carve the 10 Commandments on a slate outside his courthouse, that's a not-so-tacit crossing of the line between church and state ... and CLEARLY must be prohibited. Whatever laws we deem to follow on this country, we follow because they're ethically inspired, not religiously inspired. And even if, oftentimes, they're one and the same, that's not the point.
Most of these arguments were in place, and very much in the field of play, when George W. Bush was elected president (well, to be more accurate, was handed the presidency by the U.S. Supreme Court), and brought his born-again philosophy to the White House. Under ordinary circumstances, the excessive tendencies of zealots were to be watched, for sure, but there were all probably deemed harmless in comparison to other issues that greeded the president in 2001.
But then came September 11, 2001. Everything changed. And among the great changes that swept across the country were attitudes toward religion. There were people who dug in, and saw this as the resurrection of an ancient battle between the Moslems and Christians (if you go to Wiki and look up Muhammad, it'll tell you that the Moslems consider themselves the purest form of God's teaching, and that all the rest of the religions are infidels). The more radical Moslems consider it their duty to weed out the infidels (a polite way, I suppose of saying "kill them,") so that the purity of Islam can flourish once again.
This is one attitude.
Others, and I kind of put myself in this boat, suggest that the purity of Islam has very little to do with what's happening, and that all of this terrorism is purely political, borne of the Moslem world's raging resentment over how it's been occupied and exploited by western powers for centuries. There's one thing about religious people that rings true again and again: the most zealous of them are gullible to ridiculous degrees. Tell them if they do this, or that, that they'll be saved for all eternity, and they're on board. Tell someone you're asking to martyr himself for a cause (that -- as any sensible person can see -- is more political and spiritual) that he'll be greeted by seven virgins in paradise, and if that's their ONLY formal education, they may buy into it.
I don't think the people who lead these terrorist cells are as devoutly religious as they are devoutly political. They use religion to twist people into doing their bidding for them the exact same way David Korech and Jim Jones did.
This is no big secret ... at least not to me. So when these hysterical people want to frame this debate as some monolithic religious struggle, I want to scream.
But there's been a curious backlash ... I think, anyway. And it's being borne out by reports, that just came out this week, that people are changing their religions more now than at any other time in U.S. history.
Why is this?
I think it's because for the first time in American history, we see the damaged, up close and personal, that radical religion can cause. There haven't been many times, in the history of this country, where religion has caused serious, historic tragedies. There have been the Jonestowns, and Wacos, and all of that, but these people have always been dismissed as the lunatic fringe. And while it's true ... they ARE the lunatic fringe ... we've always been able to smugly disassociate ourselves from the worst of it. That's not US. No WAY the local Episcopalian church at the corner would ever be on board for THAT. We need not worry. That'll never happen in Smalltown America.
Even after 9/11, as horrible as that was, we could at least say "that's those crazy Moslems. We should just carpet bomb every country over there and exterminate them. Then everything would be OK."
But would it?
I remember a few years ago when a soldier from Marblehead, Massachusetts was killed in Afghanistan, and this small sect called the Westboro Baptist Church, from Kansas, picketed his funeral because, to them, his death was God's way of punishing America for being tolerant of homosexuality.
It didn't surprise me that they picketed. it's America, and Lord knows there are crazies all over the place -- even in America. What bothered me was the stunning silence of more mainstream Christian groups who DIDN'T consider it their duty to set the record straight and say "hey, whoa! They don't represent ME, my CHURCH, or ANYTHING that I think and believe."
As they say, the silence was deafening.
Now, I thought it was every Christian's duty to set the record straight. And that really, really opened my eyes. There are times in this life when you have to set yourself apart from the thundering herd of Rhinoseri careening down the street (a tip of the cap to Eugene Ionnesco). And if there's that much hatred in this world, then if you consider yourself anywhere near a MORAL person, you have to stand up and be counted.
But fringe groups notwithstanding, there was the Roman Catholic pedophilia scandal in which the church was very slow to see what was happening, and even slower to respond. If one of the stated purposes of religion is to set the moral bar high, then how is that possible when your priests (or some of them, anyway) are molesting young boys and your organizational structure will not respond?
Finally, there's the 2004 election, in which the Republican party absolutely co-opted evangelicals all across America. It's one thing to be religious, and it's one thing to apply your religious beliefs to the way YOU live. But for a group of generally extremely right wing religious zealots is allowed to hold that much sway over a national election? That's downright scary.
So I think Americans now see religion with a much more cynical eye. I think people really, and finally, see why it's so important to keep religion out of government, and government out of religion.
Don't forget: the framers of the constitution were only a century and a half removed from persecuting "witches" in Salem, Massachusetts. They were only a century and a half of stockades, and other forms of public humiliation, for religious transgressions. They were only a century and a half of a puritan heritage that actually survives, in many quarters, TO THIS DAY.
There are all kinds of reasons to be concerned about the growing influence of the religious right in American politics, beginning with a general rush to judgment about how we live our lives up to, and including, hijacking Roe vs. Wade.
This examination is long overdue, as this is the single most unsettling development in this country's political history, probably, since the runup to the Civil War.
If you're looking one of the great social shifts in the United States of America in the 21st century, look no further than religion ... or, to be more specific, Christianity.
In 1966, John Lennon said the following: "Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that; I'm right, and I will be proved right. We are more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first -- rock'n'roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me."
Now, it's quite possible that Lennon, since he was only 25 years old when he said these words, uttered them in a haze of human hubris. It's doubtful that Lennon had anywhere near the insight, at his age, and regardless of HOW much acid he'd ingested by then, to have been able to predict the controversy that religion has caused in this last decade.
In 1966, the western world was still predominantly, and smugly, Christian. People questioned it, sure. Time Magazine even had a cover story asking if God was dead. There have always been agnostics, athiests, and -- perhaps more important -- people who subscribed to other religions, and other forms of spirituality. But there is no doubt that, back in 1966, that people who argued against school prayer, for example, were clearly in the minority (and by school prayer, I think we can all agree that we were talking about Christian/Catholic school prayer).
I use 1966 is a point of demarkation here because that's the year Time asked if God was dead, and the year that Lennon said the Beatles were bigger than Jesus. Like most everything else about the '60s, attitudes about religion were being re-examined under a different microscope. Maybe, the examinations revealed, it wasn't such a good thing to marry government and religion as freely as we had in the precedingn decades. Maybe, the examination revealed, the first amendment that prohibited the establishment of a national religion REALLY meant that government couldn't coerce its citizens, either overtly or covertly, to subscribe to a specific religion ... and that MAYBE the umbrella under which the amendment protected religious freedom included the banning of school prayer in public schools.
Now, the more introspective Christians (and let's include Catholics here so we don't have to keep saying two words instead of one; Catholics often don't want to be associated with a lot of these right-wing nut Christian sects, even though they're not really bastions of liberalism themselves) among us understand this, and they're all right with it. They see that public schools in the United States, especially in the inner cities, are melting pots whose religions affiliations go in a thousand and one different directions.
The less introspective Christians (and thre are a TON of them!!!!) see this as an example of "Godless Communism."
Now, let's digress for a few minutes and discuss Godless Communism. And let me preface by saying that in no WAY to I think that came out of the Soviet Union after the Russian Revolution was in any way desirable, moral, or even workable (as history has ultimately proven). But I do understand the Soviet Unionn's feeling about religion. Christians don't like hearing this, but religion has been the cause of a lot of pain in this world, from the time of Christ all the way up to now. It causes divisions and rifts among people for no other reason than their chosen paths toward spiritual fulfillment, which is perhaps the WORST reason to divide people. At different times in world history, people have been slaughtered en masse because of religious differences, and the Christians are no less guilty of this -- over the long, long haul -- than the most radical Muslem.
So if the Soviets, in their effort to create a more balanced society, felt that religion unnecessarily divided people -- not to mention got them killed -- then it's certainly understandable. But all the Soviets really did, however, was create a state and it treated like a God, and that's really not much of a difference at all. You'd better not worship God, but you'd better worship the state. That's the worst kind of nationalism there is, and you can see where this system didn't even last through the end of the 20th century.
Back to the subject at hand. The Constitution prohibits the establishment of a national religion, but it doesn't say people cannot practice their religions -- either in their own homes or right out there in public. And while I can see the logic that causes citizens to complain about using public money to put a Christmas creche up in the town square, I cannot see the logic that allows them to complain, and picket, if a private enterprise wants to foot the bill for said creche. We still have religious freedom in this country, not to mention freedom of expression, and if the owner of a department store wants to pay to put a plastic Baby Jesus in a manger, and put it on the town common, well, don't be telling him he can't do it. That's going too far.
On the other hand, when some judge in Alabama, or Mississippi, wants to carve the 10 Commandments on a slate outside his courthouse, that's a not-so-tacit crossing of the line between church and state ... and CLEARLY must be prohibited. Whatever laws we deem to follow on this country, we follow because they're ethically inspired, not religiously inspired. And even if, oftentimes, they're one and the same, that's not the point.
Most of these arguments were in place, and very much in the field of play, when George W. Bush was elected president (well, to be more accurate, was handed the presidency by the U.S. Supreme Court), and brought his born-again philosophy to the White House. Under ordinary circumstances, the excessive tendencies of zealots were to be watched, for sure, but there were all probably deemed harmless in comparison to other issues that greeded the president in 2001.
But then came September 11, 2001. Everything changed. And among the great changes that swept across the country were attitudes toward religion. There were people who dug in, and saw this as the resurrection of an ancient battle between the Moslems and Christians (if you go to Wiki and look up Muhammad, it'll tell you that the Moslems consider themselves the purest form of God's teaching, and that all the rest of the religions are infidels). The more radical Moslems consider it their duty to weed out the infidels (a polite way, I suppose of saying "kill them,") so that the purity of Islam can flourish once again.
This is one attitude.
Others, and I kind of put myself in this boat, suggest that the purity of Islam has very little to do with what's happening, and that all of this terrorism is purely political, borne of the Moslem world's raging resentment over how it's been occupied and exploited by western powers for centuries. There's one thing about religious people that rings true again and again: the most zealous of them are gullible to ridiculous degrees. Tell them if they do this, or that, that they'll be saved for all eternity, and they're on board. Tell someone you're asking to martyr himself for a cause (that -- as any sensible person can see -- is more political and spiritual) that he'll be greeted by seven virgins in paradise, and if that's their ONLY formal education, they may buy into it.
I don't think the people who lead these terrorist cells are as devoutly religious as they are devoutly political. They use religion to twist people into doing their bidding for them the exact same way David Korech and Jim Jones did.
This is no big secret ... at least not to me. So when these hysterical people want to frame this debate as some monolithic religious struggle, I want to scream.
But there's been a curious backlash ... I think, anyway. And it's being borne out by reports, that just came out this week, that people are changing their religions more now than at any other time in U.S. history.
Why is this?
I think it's because for the first time in American history, we see the damaged, up close and personal, that radical religion can cause. There haven't been many times, in the history of this country, where religion has caused serious, historic tragedies. There have been the Jonestowns, and Wacos, and all of that, but these people have always been dismissed as the lunatic fringe. And while it's true ... they ARE the lunatic fringe ... we've always been able to smugly disassociate ourselves from the worst of it. That's not US. No WAY the local Episcopalian church at the corner would ever be on board for THAT. We need not worry. That'll never happen in Smalltown America.
Even after 9/11, as horrible as that was, we could at least say "that's those crazy Moslems. We should just carpet bomb every country over there and exterminate them. Then everything would be OK."
But would it?
I remember a few years ago when a soldier from Marblehead, Massachusetts was killed in Afghanistan, and this small sect called the Westboro Baptist Church, from Kansas, picketed his funeral because, to them, his death was God's way of punishing America for being tolerant of homosexuality.
It didn't surprise me that they picketed. it's America, and Lord knows there are crazies all over the place -- even in America. What bothered me was the stunning silence of more mainstream Christian groups who DIDN'T consider it their duty to set the record straight and say "hey, whoa! They don't represent ME, my CHURCH, or ANYTHING that I think and believe."
As they say, the silence was deafening.
Now, I thought it was every Christian's duty to set the record straight. And that really, really opened my eyes. There are times in this life when you have to set yourself apart from the thundering herd of Rhinoseri careening down the street (a tip of the cap to Eugene Ionnesco). And if there's that much hatred in this world, then if you consider yourself anywhere near a MORAL person, you have to stand up and be counted.
But fringe groups notwithstanding, there was the Roman Catholic pedophilia scandal in which the church was very slow to see what was happening, and even slower to respond. If one of the stated purposes of religion is to set the moral bar high, then how is that possible when your priests (or some of them, anyway) are molesting young boys and your organizational structure will not respond?
Finally, there's the 2004 election, in which the Republican party absolutely co-opted evangelicals all across America. It's one thing to be religious, and it's one thing to apply your religious beliefs to the way YOU live. But for a group of generally extremely right wing religious zealots is allowed to hold that much sway over a national election? That's downright scary.
So I think Americans now see religion with a much more cynical eye. I think people really, and finally, see why it's so important to keep religion out of government, and government out of religion.
Don't forget: the framers of the constitution were only a century and a half removed from persecuting "witches" in Salem, Massachusetts. They were only a century and a half of stockades, and other forms of public humiliation, for religious transgressions. They were only a century and a half of a puritan heritage that actually survives, in many quarters, TO THIS DAY.
There are all kinds of reasons to be concerned about the growing influence of the religious right in American politics, beginning with a general rush to judgment about how we live our lives up to, and including, hijacking Roe vs. Wade.
This examination is long overdue, as this is the single most unsettling development in this country's political history, probably, since the runup to the Civil War.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Make the break ... Bill Belichick must go
This is difficult. Bill Belichick is the author of perhaps the great run of success in Boston sports since Red Auerbach coached the Celtics to eight straight NBA championiships (and nine out of 10).
He's almost universally acknowledged, and rightfully so, as the National Football League's pre-eminent coach. The problem is, he's also almost universally acknowledged as the NFL's pre-eminent jerk.
Now, it's no big sin to be a jerk ... as long as you win. Red Auerbach wasn't exactly the most gracious winner in history either. Jeeezus, Red used to light up a cigar -- right there on the floor of the Boston Garden -- when he determined the game was over ... even if there was time left on the clock. Just that alone makes Belichick's one-second-early exit from the University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale, Ariz., in Super Bowl XLII seem almost like a good will gesture by comparison.
Jerks abound in professional sports, and most of the time, the jerks coming out on the winning end of the final score. Just go through the list: Jimmy Johnson, Barry Switzer, Billy Martin, the aforementioned Auerbach, George Steinbrenner ... and that's just a small sampling. Until Herb Brooks coached the U.S. Olympic hockey team to a gold medal in 1980, he was a monumental jerk who, once, kept his team on the ice, skating up and down the ice, until everyone one of those kids was ready to vomit. And that was just after they'd played a game.
It's not such a good thing to be a jerk when you lose, however. Around here John McNamara springs to mind. Johnny Mac may have managed the Boston Red Sox to the 1986 pennant, but then Rich Gedman let the ball get past him, the next ball when through Bill Buckner's legs, and Sox suddenly became an international symbol for having a foreign object lodged in one's throat.
Johnny Mac never stopped being a jerk ... and he was fired a year and a half later. Good guy Joe Morgan took over and probably lasted a few seasons longer than he had a right to expect ... because he was the anti-jerk.
But name me a jerk ... from any era, any city, any sports, and I say Bill Belichick laps the field. Let's start with the obvious: Spygate. This is starting to sound like Roger Clemens (speaking of jerks) and steroids. Everything you hear is worse than the last thing you heard. I doubt Clemens has ever heard of Sir Walter Scott, but perhaps if he'd read a little bit by him he'd know the adage, "oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive."
Ditto Belichick. Way back in September, when this broke, Belichick -- if he had any sense of decency -- would have told NFL commissioner Roger Goodall "ok, you've got me," and taken his medicine. And that medicine should have been a suspension AND a fine.
If either Belichick or Goodall had acted with anything other sweeping this whole thing under the rug in their minds, we wouldn't be listening U.S. Senator Arlen Spector (what DO these people do all day long anyway??) treating this thing as if it's the Nuremberg Trials Redux.
(For that matter, had Clemens been equally forthcoming, he wouldn't have been dragged before Congress so that his stupidity could become an indelible entry into the Congressional record).
Now, if you believe the myriad of anonymous sources and apparent sleazeballs like Matt Walsh, there's so much illicit footage in the Patriots vaults they could make a miniseries out of it. By the time all this "spygate" drama truly unfolds, it's possible that all three Super Bowl victories could be irreparably tainted.
And while I couldn't care less about Belichick's reputation, I do care about Tom Brady's ... and Tedy Bruschi's ... and Adam Vinatieri's ... and Richard Seymour's ... and Mike Vrabel's ... and Rodney Harrison's (even if he DID use HGH ... at least he admitted it). They stand to get swept up in all of this too ... just by association.
"Spygate" is not my only grievance with Belichick (though it's certainly enough of one). He's also, quite simply, an embarrassment ... to himself and the organization he represents. The real tragedy here is that, apparently, he's a very intelligent, and very engaging person when he's among friends, and among people he trusts.
And that just makes his conduct in competitive moments even more puzzling.
I think we can all understand competition. I think we all understand that competitive people get into this "zone," where they're so totally focused that they allow nothing, or no one, to stand in their way.
And I admire that. I think it's great, for example, that David Ortiz can zone out 35,000 people screaming for him to get a hit and concentrate on his battle with the pitcher enough to be one of the best clutch hitters I've ever seen. I love the fact that Larry Bird could go into a hostile arena, with upwards to 18,000 people screaming at him, and sink the two game-winning free throws. And how can you not tip your hat to Brady et al. when they can go into a place like Pittsburgh, or Indianapolis, with all those crazy fans, and win.
But do you know what's greater about David Ortiz? When the Red Sox lose, and the game's over, he acts like a gentlemen. Larry Bird may not have enjoyed dissecting a game after the Celtics lost, but he did it ... and intelligently, too (this business about him being the hick from French Lick was so phony). Win or lose, Brady, Bruschi, and Harrison stand up and answer questionsn intelligently and civilly.
Even when the Patriots win, Belichick acts like you're trying to extract valuable information out of him. When they lose, he acts like Captain Queeg. You can almost see the ball bearings.
Well, you say, who cares about how he treats the news media? They're all out to rip him anyway, so why should he be civil to them? It's a point well taken. The media are frustrated when it comes to dealing with Belichick. It's not a very pleasant task. The media's job is to relay information to the fans who pay for tickets, buy merchandise, and whose interest in the team makes it worth what it is today.
There's no other way to get information. And while it's understandable that the Belichick doesn't want to give away the store, with regards to injuries, some of the questions he dodges, and the lengths to which he goes to dodge them, is absurd. And this was never more evident than it was last September when he flat-out refused to discuss the developing Spygate story.
Excuse me, Coach, but you don't get to make that decision. If you don't want to discuss the severity of Brady's ankle sprain (which was probably way worse than anyone let on, judging by the way he played in the Super Bowl), that's fine. But when you violate the rules and get caught -- especially by the guy who used to work for you (and, for all any of us know, did the dirty work himself back in the day) -- then you don't get to decide when the story's run its course. That's just arrogant.
But arrogant, thy name is Belichick. Let's talk about Eric Mangini. Apparently, Belichick didn't think Mangini was ready to coach in the NFL when the Jets approached him about taking the job. Well, isn't this just every office conflict that's ever come down the pipe? Isn't there always a boss, somewhere, who stands between you and advancement ... and for some ridiculous reason (such as "you're too valuable and I can't afford to lose you").
Right.
The difference between you and Mangini, though, is that Mangini got an offer he couldn't refuse. And he took it. The problem is that while all this was going on, the Patriots were getting ready for the 2005 playoffs -- where they lost in the second round to the Denver Broncos. Mangini, or so the rumors say, tried to talk to potential Patriots free agents on his way out the door ... another thing that chapped Bill's buttocks.
So now it's 2006, and you have to drag Mangini's name out of Belichick as if saying it will mean instant death. He refers to Mangini as "the Jets' coach." THEN, the Jets beat the Patriots in Foxborough and Belichick doesn't even shake Mangini's hand.
Now Lord knows, this is not a requirement. It's not in the list of "thou shalts and thou shalt nots" governing the conduct of NFL coaches (the way filming defensive signals from the sidelines is). But it is accepted protocol, and it's widely practiced. Allowing yourself to be seen as a churl, on national TV, indicates a remarkable lack of respect for your owner ... the guy who's paying you all this money (we'll get to Bob Kraft in a minute).
The coda to this story, of course, is that the Patriots beat the Jets in the playoffs, and Belichick, so anxious was he to be seen as the ultimate gracious winner, bowled over a photographer (shoved him out of the way, actually) so he could offer Mangini a hearty handshake.
If that's not irony, I don't know what is!
Let's cut to San Diego, where some of the Patriots players displayed an uncharacteristic lack of class and stomped on the Chargers' logo after upsetting them in the divisional round of the playoffs.
Afterward, LaDanian Tomlinson -- clearly upset and stunned by the loss -- said that the Patriots players probably got their lack of class from their coach. I can't see how he could have POSSIBLY made that connection, can you?
Let's talk about this season.
After Spygate broke, Belichick apparently saw as his mission to humiliate the entire NFL as a means of payback. Week after week, the team went out and bludgeoned a series of hapless opponents (well not all of them were hapless; the Redskins, 52-7 losers, actually made the playoffs; and the Browns came close). The only close game was the 24-20 come-from-behind win over the Colts.
And you have to ask: Was all that bludgeoning really necessary? Did it serve any useful purposes, other than to make the Patriots the most hated franchise in the NFL? Did it help establish them as a superior team? Or did it result in having a bull's eye painted on their backs?
Whatever the psychological ramifications of those bludgeonings were, the PR effect was disastrous. The Patriots were seen as bullies, and Belichick came across as Dr. Evil with a hoodie. Except that Dr. Evil was funny, and Belichick isn't.
By the time the season ended, and the Patriots finally got roughed up a little, there was an air of vulnerability to them. They absolutely limped to their 16-0 regular season record, seemingly getting worse instead of better ... as is the usual formula for success in the NFL. If there was ever a team ripe to being upset by a hungry, nasty and motivated team like the Giants, it was the Patriots.
This of course brings up another absolutely unlikeable Bill Belichick trait: Hubris. This man wrote the book (or, at least, he co-authored it with George W. Bush, who seems to have an overabundance of it himself).
Hubris is basically an unjustified belief in yourself. It is not hubris, for example, to say "I'm a good enough coach, or a good enough player, that I'm capable of going out there on any given Sunday and winning the game." Why play at all if you think you're going to lose?
It is hubris, on the other hand, to say "I can strip mine my team yearly, let go of valuable free agents, bring in lesser players and teach them MY system ... but it's MY system, and not the athletes, who have won these three Super Bowls."
After all Adam Vinatieri did for the franchise, why is he playing for the Indianapolis Colts? After all Deion Branch did for this franchise, why is he with the Seattle Seahawks?
If Adam Vinatieri was so expendable, why is that Belichick was afraid to have Stephen Gostkowski kick a field goal on a fourth-and-13, from the 31-yard line -- IN A DOMED STADIUM, no less -- that would have given the Patriots a 10-3 lead in a game where points had been non-existant since the first quarter? Do you think he'd have snubbed Vinatieri in that situation?
When Belichick allowed BOTH starting receivers to walk after the 2005 season, that spoke volumes about how he treats loyal players. I'm not talking about either Branch or Givens. I'm talking about Tom Brady, who gave money BACK to the team when he signed his last contract so it could sign talented players and stay within the salary cap.
Belichick rewarded him by taking away his two best receivers and then replacing them with the likes of Reche Caldwell. I can still see Caldwell dropping a pass that would have been a sure touchdown in the AFC championship game in Indianapolis. Just about everyone else on the field was in Ohio. That's how wide-open Caldwell was.
These are small transgressions, and, taken separately, they're certainly not grounds for dismissal. Coaches have to make personnel decisions every day, and they're not all going to be strokes of genius.
And there probably isn't a coach out there who hasn't acted like an ass at least once ... unless it's St. Tony Dungy (let's everyone pause for a minute and genuflect).
But Belichick's hubris, arrogance, blatant disregard for even common civility, and -- of course -- his spectacular disregard for the rules of the NFL -- add up to a man who has overstayed his welcome here. If I were Bob Kraft, I'd be embarrassed beyond words by this guy. Sure, he's won Kraft three Super Bowls, but he's also left a ton of wreckage in his wake. If we were talking economics here, he's reached the point of diminishing returns.
Because Belichick was much more interested in stonewalling, and since Goodall was equally interested in doing the same thing, this Spygate issue is not going to go away. It'll be like the drip, drip, drip of some bizarre water tortue drill (waterboarding in super-slow motion?).
And by the time it really explodes, Kraft may have no choice but to rid himself of the problem's head: Bill Belichick.
They all said Bobby Knight would ever get fired ... he did. The New York Yankees fired Billy Martin after he won a World Series. Woody Hayes was enabled by Ohio State so much that he apparently thought it was OK to punch an opposing player out after he'd intercepted a pass. That one got him canned.
Jerks whose surly behavior ultimately haunt their teams like a hulking ghost DO get shown the door. And perhaps it's time to point Bill Belichick in that general direction.
He's almost universally acknowledged, and rightfully so, as the National Football League's pre-eminent coach. The problem is, he's also almost universally acknowledged as the NFL's pre-eminent jerk.
Now, it's no big sin to be a jerk ... as long as you win. Red Auerbach wasn't exactly the most gracious winner in history either. Jeeezus, Red used to light up a cigar -- right there on the floor of the Boston Garden -- when he determined the game was over ... even if there was time left on the clock. Just that alone makes Belichick's one-second-early exit from the University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale, Ariz., in Super Bowl XLII seem almost like a good will gesture by comparison.
Jerks abound in professional sports, and most of the time, the jerks coming out on the winning end of the final score. Just go through the list: Jimmy Johnson, Barry Switzer, Billy Martin, the aforementioned Auerbach, George Steinbrenner ... and that's just a small sampling. Until Herb Brooks coached the U.S. Olympic hockey team to a gold medal in 1980, he was a monumental jerk who, once, kept his team on the ice, skating up and down the ice, until everyone one of those kids was ready to vomit. And that was just after they'd played a game.
It's not such a good thing to be a jerk when you lose, however. Around here John McNamara springs to mind. Johnny Mac may have managed the Boston Red Sox to the 1986 pennant, but then Rich Gedman let the ball get past him, the next ball when through Bill Buckner's legs, and Sox suddenly became an international symbol for having a foreign object lodged in one's throat.
Johnny Mac never stopped being a jerk ... and he was fired a year and a half later. Good guy Joe Morgan took over and probably lasted a few seasons longer than he had a right to expect ... because he was the anti-jerk.
But name me a jerk ... from any era, any city, any sports, and I say Bill Belichick laps the field. Let's start with the obvious: Spygate. This is starting to sound like Roger Clemens (speaking of jerks) and steroids. Everything you hear is worse than the last thing you heard. I doubt Clemens has ever heard of Sir Walter Scott, but perhaps if he'd read a little bit by him he'd know the adage, "oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive."
Ditto Belichick. Way back in September, when this broke, Belichick -- if he had any sense of decency -- would have told NFL commissioner Roger Goodall "ok, you've got me," and taken his medicine. And that medicine should have been a suspension AND a fine.
If either Belichick or Goodall had acted with anything other sweeping this whole thing under the rug in their minds, we wouldn't be listening U.S. Senator Arlen Spector (what DO these people do all day long anyway??) treating this thing as if it's the Nuremberg Trials Redux.
(For that matter, had Clemens been equally forthcoming, he wouldn't have been dragged before Congress so that his stupidity could become an indelible entry into the Congressional record).
Now, if you believe the myriad of anonymous sources and apparent sleazeballs like Matt Walsh, there's so much illicit footage in the Patriots vaults they could make a miniseries out of it. By the time all this "spygate" drama truly unfolds, it's possible that all three Super Bowl victories could be irreparably tainted.
And while I couldn't care less about Belichick's reputation, I do care about Tom Brady's ... and Tedy Bruschi's ... and Adam Vinatieri's ... and Richard Seymour's ... and Mike Vrabel's ... and Rodney Harrison's (even if he DID use HGH ... at least he admitted it). They stand to get swept up in all of this too ... just by association.
"Spygate" is not my only grievance with Belichick (though it's certainly enough of one). He's also, quite simply, an embarrassment ... to himself and the organization he represents. The real tragedy here is that, apparently, he's a very intelligent, and very engaging person when he's among friends, and among people he trusts.
And that just makes his conduct in competitive moments even more puzzling.
I think we can all understand competition. I think we all understand that competitive people get into this "zone," where they're so totally focused that they allow nothing, or no one, to stand in their way.
And I admire that. I think it's great, for example, that David Ortiz can zone out 35,000 people screaming for him to get a hit and concentrate on his battle with the pitcher enough to be one of the best clutch hitters I've ever seen. I love the fact that Larry Bird could go into a hostile arena, with upwards to 18,000 people screaming at him, and sink the two game-winning free throws. And how can you not tip your hat to Brady et al. when they can go into a place like Pittsburgh, or Indianapolis, with all those crazy fans, and win.
But do you know what's greater about David Ortiz? When the Red Sox lose, and the game's over, he acts like a gentlemen. Larry Bird may not have enjoyed dissecting a game after the Celtics lost, but he did it ... and intelligently, too (this business about him being the hick from French Lick was so phony). Win or lose, Brady, Bruschi, and Harrison stand up and answer questionsn intelligently and civilly.
Even when the Patriots win, Belichick acts like you're trying to extract valuable information out of him. When they lose, he acts like Captain Queeg. You can almost see the ball bearings.
Well, you say, who cares about how he treats the news media? They're all out to rip him anyway, so why should he be civil to them? It's a point well taken. The media are frustrated when it comes to dealing with Belichick. It's not a very pleasant task. The media's job is to relay information to the fans who pay for tickets, buy merchandise, and whose interest in the team makes it worth what it is today.
There's no other way to get information. And while it's understandable that the Belichick doesn't want to give away the store, with regards to injuries, some of the questions he dodges, and the lengths to which he goes to dodge them, is absurd. And this was never more evident than it was last September when he flat-out refused to discuss the developing Spygate story.
Excuse me, Coach, but you don't get to make that decision. If you don't want to discuss the severity of Brady's ankle sprain (which was probably way worse than anyone let on, judging by the way he played in the Super Bowl), that's fine. But when you violate the rules and get caught -- especially by the guy who used to work for you (and, for all any of us know, did the dirty work himself back in the day) -- then you don't get to decide when the story's run its course. That's just arrogant.
But arrogant, thy name is Belichick. Let's talk about Eric Mangini. Apparently, Belichick didn't think Mangini was ready to coach in the NFL when the Jets approached him about taking the job. Well, isn't this just every office conflict that's ever come down the pipe? Isn't there always a boss, somewhere, who stands between you and advancement ... and for some ridiculous reason (such as "you're too valuable and I can't afford to lose you").
Right.
The difference between you and Mangini, though, is that Mangini got an offer he couldn't refuse. And he took it. The problem is that while all this was going on, the Patriots were getting ready for the 2005 playoffs -- where they lost in the second round to the Denver Broncos. Mangini, or so the rumors say, tried to talk to potential Patriots free agents on his way out the door ... another thing that chapped Bill's buttocks.
So now it's 2006, and you have to drag Mangini's name out of Belichick as if saying it will mean instant death. He refers to Mangini as "the Jets' coach." THEN, the Jets beat the Patriots in Foxborough and Belichick doesn't even shake Mangini's hand.
Now Lord knows, this is not a requirement. It's not in the list of "thou shalts and thou shalt nots" governing the conduct of NFL coaches (the way filming defensive signals from the sidelines is). But it is accepted protocol, and it's widely practiced. Allowing yourself to be seen as a churl, on national TV, indicates a remarkable lack of respect for your owner ... the guy who's paying you all this money (we'll get to Bob Kraft in a minute).
The coda to this story, of course, is that the Patriots beat the Jets in the playoffs, and Belichick, so anxious was he to be seen as the ultimate gracious winner, bowled over a photographer (shoved him out of the way, actually) so he could offer Mangini a hearty handshake.
If that's not irony, I don't know what is!
Let's cut to San Diego, where some of the Patriots players displayed an uncharacteristic lack of class and stomped on the Chargers' logo after upsetting them in the divisional round of the playoffs.
Afterward, LaDanian Tomlinson -- clearly upset and stunned by the loss -- said that the Patriots players probably got their lack of class from their coach. I can't see how he could have POSSIBLY made that connection, can you?
Let's talk about this season.
After Spygate broke, Belichick apparently saw as his mission to humiliate the entire NFL as a means of payback. Week after week, the team went out and bludgeoned a series of hapless opponents (well not all of them were hapless; the Redskins, 52-7 losers, actually made the playoffs; and the Browns came close). The only close game was the 24-20 come-from-behind win over the Colts.
And you have to ask: Was all that bludgeoning really necessary? Did it serve any useful purposes, other than to make the Patriots the most hated franchise in the NFL? Did it help establish them as a superior team? Or did it result in having a bull's eye painted on their backs?
Whatever the psychological ramifications of those bludgeonings were, the PR effect was disastrous. The Patriots were seen as bullies, and Belichick came across as Dr. Evil with a hoodie. Except that Dr. Evil was funny, and Belichick isn't.
By the time the season ended, and the Patriots finally got roughed up a little, there was an air of vulnerability to them. They absolutely limped to their 16-0 regular season record, seemingly getting worse instead of better ... as is the usual formula for success in the NFL. If there was ever a team ripe to being upset by a hungry, nasty and motivated team like the Giants, it was the Patriots.
This of course brings up another absolutely unlikeable Bill Belichick trait: Hubris. This man wrote the book (or, at least, he co-authored it with George W. Bush, who seems to have an overabundance of it himself).
Hubris is basically an unjustified belief in yourself. It is not hubris, for example, to say "I'm a good enough coach, or a good enough player, that I'm capable of going out there on any given Sunday and winning the game." Why play at all if you think you're going to lose?
It is hubris, on the other hand, to say "I can strip mine my team yearly, let go of valuable free agents, bring in lesser players and teach them MY system ... but it's MY system, and not the athletes, who have won these three Super Bowls."
After all Adam Vinatieri did for the franchise, why is he playing for the Indianapolis Colts? After all Deion Branch did for this franchise, why is he with the Seattle Seahawks?
If Adam Vinatieri was so expendable, why is that Belichick was afraid to have Stephen Gostkowski kick a field goal on a fourth-and-13, from the 31-yard line -- IN A DOMED STADIUM, no less -- that would have given the Patriots a 10-3 lead in a game where points had been non-existant since the first quarter? Do you think he'd have snubbed Vinatieri in that situation?
When Belichick allowed BOTH starting receivers to walk after the 2005 season, that spoke volumes about how he treats loyal players. I'm not talking about either Branch or Givens. I'm talking about Tom Brady, who gave money BACK to the team when he signed his last contract so it could sign talented players and stay within the salary cap.
Belichick rewarded him by taking away his two best receivers and then replacing them with the likes of Reche Caldwell. I can still see Caldwell dropping a pass that would have been a sure touchdown in the AFC championship game in Indianapolis. Just about everyone else on the field was in Ohio. That's how wide-open Caldwell was.
These are small transgressions, and, taken separately, they're certainly not grounds for dismissal. Coaches have to make personnel decisions every day, and they're not all going to be strokes of genius.
And there probably isn't a coach out there who hasn't acted like an ass at least once ... unless it's St. Tony Dungy (let's everyone pause for a minute and genuflect).
But Belichick's hubris, arrogance, blatant disregard for even common civility, and -- of course -- his spectacular disregard for the rules of the NFL -- add up to a man who has overstayed his welcome here. If I were Bob Kraft, I'd be embarrassed beyond words by this guy. Sure, he's won Kraft three Super Bowls, but he's also left a ton of wreckage in his wake. If we were talking economics here, he's reached the point of diminishing returns.
Because Belichick was much more interested in stonewalling, and since Goodall was equally interested in doing the same thing, this Spygate issue is not going to go away. It'll be like the drip, drip, drip of some bizarre water tortue drill (waterboarding in super-slow motion?).
And by the time it really explodes, Kraft may have no choice but to rid himself of the problem's head: Bill Belichick.
They all said Bobby Knight would ever get fired ... he did. The New York Yankees fired Billy Martin after he won a World Series. Woody Hayes was enabled by Ohio State so much that he apparently thought it was OK to punch an opposing player out after he'd intercepted a pass. That one got him canned.
Jerks whose surly behavior ultimately haunt their teams like a hulking ghost DO get shown the door. And perhaps it's time to point Bill Belichick in that general direction.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Let's hear it for February!
The conventional wisdom in New England is that February is the worst month of the year. It's cold, stormy, and even though it's the shortest month of the year, it seems to take the longest to complete.
I would disagree with that. For whatever reason, March seems longer; and January is much colder, and much darker. Actually, as months go, December is probably the toughest one on me emotionally because the days get inexorably darker, whereas once you hit January, and especially February, things lighten up.
But this essay is on February. And while everything everybody says is true ... it's cold, it's stormy, and all that ... there are also aspects about it that -- to me -- make it go by faster.
Some of these things are local; some are national, and some, believe it or not, are meteorological. But put them together, and you have a month with plenty to look forward to.
First, the local. The first two Mondays of February feature the Beanpot Hockey Tournament. This is one of those parochial, local events that pits Boston's four Division 1 colleges -- Boston College, Boston University, Harvard and Northeastern -- against each other for the city championiship.
On one hand, the Beanpot has been a constant bane of my existance. I went to Northeastern (graduated in 1976) and while I was there, we never won it. In fact, we didn't win it for the first time since 1980 when Wayne Turner scored an overtime goal to beat BC. We won it three more times in the 80s (the last championship being in 1988) and haven't won it since.
Usually, Boston College or Boston University (mostly BU) win it. Now, before I go one, what -- you may ask -- is the difference between BC and BU? One's Catholic and one's not. That would appear to be it. They're both private institutions, both cost a fortune, and both award doctorates.
BC is, at the moment, the largest Catholic institution of higher learning in the United States. That is correct. It even has Notre Dame beat. There are two very large, and very prestigious, Catholic colleges in Massachusetts: BC and Holy Cross, which is in Worcester. Holy Cross is older, and at the time BC was established, Holy Cross was considered a school for elites while BC catered to the sons and daughters of Irish immigrants.
That's certainly not the case today. BC is every bit as elitist as Holy Cross. They're both extremely difficult to get into, and if you graduate from either institute, you're set for life unless you're the world's biggest moron. As with Harvard, you reap the benefits of at BC or Holy Cross education for the networking that results from it, if not the actual LEARNING.
Boston College is also an athletic factory -- at least in comparison to the other three. Actually, in comparison to other, REAL athletic factories in the United States, BC is probably a lot more responsible about its connection between athletics and academics. It has rigid standards for acceptance, and that includes athletes. Naturally, coaches complain about that, but I'm on the side of the school. If you've paid close to $200,000 -- by the time it's all said and done -- for a BC degree, you certainly don't want it cheapened by some idiot who can't spell Boston getting a scholarship.
BC borders Boston's suburbs of Brookline and Newton. It's on a nice piece of land, with a beautiful campus. On a picturesque autumn day, it's postcard perfect.
Boston University is a city school, as is Northeastern. Acutally, they're not that far apart, nestled in the bowels of Boston's Back Bay (on either side of Fenway Park). BU, in its own right, is a very prestigious university -- every bit as academically challenging as BC. Tuition at the two schools is comparitively similar. The only thing it really lacks is the sports pedigree BC has. The two schools are rivals only in hockey, where BU has poured virtually ALL of its athletic money. When the U.S. Olympic hockey team won the Gold Medal in 1980, four of its players -- including captain Mike Eruzione -- were BU graduates (so was goalie Jim Craig, as well as Dave Silk and Jack O'Callaghan).
BU and BC are the only schools that, year in and year out, can compete with the Minnesotas, Wisconsins and North Dakota States of the country.
Northeastern has worked awfully hard to re-establish itself as an institute of serious learning, and seems to be getting there. For a while, it was definitely No. 4 out of 4, with a huge gap between itself and No. 3. When I went there, it as old, bloated, and -- I think -- out of touch with the city and academia in general. To give you an example, three of these four schools had extensive plans on how to celebrate the country's bicentennial in 1976. Northeastern had to be dragged kicking and screaming into doing something.
Now, there's less of a gap academically. NU and BU contain two of the best journalism schools in the Northeast (right up there with Syracuse and Columbia Universities). BC and Harvard are more business and law oriented.
Of course, there's Harvard. It's not REALLY a Boston school, per se, as most of it is in Cambridge (with parts of it that spill over). Like BC and Holy Cross, the biggest advantage in going to Harvard is the opportunity to network. Graduate from Harvard and you've got it made. It is also one of the better schools athletically ... not so much for the power rankings of its teams, but for the fact that Harvard treats athletics as something to do to round out your education. The school does not award scholarships based solely on athletic ability (though if it finds a kid who can play quarterback, it'll certainly HELP him). All of its teams compete in the Ivy League, which will never be compared favorably to the Big Ten.
As it so happens, there is only one sport in which these four schools are equally competitive, and that's hockey. BC surpassed the rest in football and basketball years ago, and BU doesn't have football or baseball programs. Hockey is the only sport that unites these four schools.
So each year, on the first two Mondays of February, we have the Beanpot Hockey Tournament ... and every year, Northeastern loses (which it did this past Monday -- one day after the Big Super Bowl El Foldo by the You-Know-Whos).
February is especially interesting this year because it's a presidential election season. Ordinarily that means nothing in Massachusetts, but this year it actually did. First, Mitt Romney is not wildly popular in Massachusetts, even if he was our governor for about a minute and a half. A lot of Massholes (like me) took out Republican ballots at last Tuesday's primary and voted for McCain just so we could case one FINAL vote against Mitt).
That's the Republicans. As for the Democrats, Hillary Clinton won our state and it's significant because both she and Obama need every vote they can get to stay afloat. Rarely in this political culture is Massachusetts ever a player in the elections because a) it almost always goes Democrat (remember "Don't Blame Me, I'm From Massachusetts?); and b) by the time our primary takes place, there's usually a clearly-established front-runner and we just hop on board.
That wasn't the case this time. There is no Democratic front runner, and perhaps there will not be one until the summer. All of which makes every primary from hereon out crucial to both Clinton and Obama. So it was refreshing, for a change, to be in a political atmosphere that radiated excitement instead of resignation.
Valentine's Day falls right in the middle of February. Now don't look at ME if you're trying to find some hopeless and helpless romantic who sees Valentine's Day and gets all kinds of lumps in his throat. It's definitely a Hallmark Holiday.
But it falls RIGHT SMACK in the middle of the month, and in my mind, anyway, once Valentine's Day passes, I consider it the turning point of winter. It's all downhill from here, baby.
This doesn't necessarily mean winter's over. But in most years, the worst of it is over. Not always. But usually. Besides, by February 14, the sun's higher in the sky, the days are longer, and whatever snow you DO get melts faster.
Which brings me to another thing about February that people tend to forget. Unless it's snowing, or unusually cold, you get spectacular weather in February. It's great month of you're an outdoors person of any kind. You get crisp, clear days, all the fresh air you could ever want, and they last right on through the work day (as opposed to December and January, where it's dark by 4 p.m.). And this is going to sound absolutely perverse, but there are years (and many of them, too) where the weather's better in February than it is in April.
Finally, and this is strictly local, the high school winter sports tournaments begin in February. If you do what I do, this is the most fun you have all year. Throw a pro sports event at me, and the tournament has it beat. It's three weeks of absolute madness, and by the time it's over, we're on the threshold of spring.
I don't know whether it's because these games are indoors, which rachets up the intensity, or what it is. But all I know is that there's nothing quite as exciting as seeing a bunch of boys and girls playing for the honor of their school. In many ways it's a throwback to a (perhaps) more innocent time in this country. It certainly has a small-town America feel to it. And you know? Sometimes, especially in this day and age, that's pretty cool.
And, on top of everything else ... the truck left Fenway Park today for Ft. Myers, Florida. It's time for baseball!!
So that's my hymn to February.
I would disagree with that. For whatever reason, March seems longer; and January is much colder, and much darker. Actually, as months go, December is probably the toughest one on me emotionally because the days get inexorably darker, whereas once you hit January, and especially February, things lighten up.
But this essay is on February. And while everything everybody says is true ... it's cold, it's stormy, and all that ... there are also aspects about it that -- to me -- make it go by faster.
Some of these things are local; some are national, and some, believe it or not, are meteorological. But put them together, and you have a month with plenty to look forward to.
First, the local. The first two Mondays of February feature the Beanpot Hockey Tournament. This is one of those parochial, local events that pits Boston's four Division 1 colleges -- Boston College, Boston University, Harvard and Northeastern -- against each other for the city championiship.
On one hand, the Beanpot has been a constant bane of my existance. I went to Northeastern (graduated in 1976) and while I was there, we never won it. In fact, we didn't win it for the first time since 1980 when Wayne Turner scored an overtime goal to beat BC. We won it three more times in the 80s (the last championship being in 1988) and haven't won it since.
Usually, Boston College or Boston University (mostly BU) win it. Now, before I go one, what -- you may ask -- is the difference between BC and BU? One's Catholic and one's not. That would appear to be it. They're both private institutions, both cost a fortune, and both award doctorates.
BC is, at the moment, the largest Catholic institution of higher learning in the United States. That is correct. It even has Notre Dame beat. There are two very large, and very prestigious, Catholic colleges in Massachusetts: BC and Holy Cross, which is in Worcester. Holy Cross is older, and at the time BC was established, Holy Cross was considered a school for elites while BC catered to the sons and daughters of Irish immigrants.
That's certainly not the case today. BC is every bit as elitist as Holy Cross. They're both extremely difficult to get into, and if you graduate from either institute, you're set for life unless you're the world's biggest moron. As with Harvard, you reap the benefits of at BC or Holy Cross education for the networking that results from it, if not the actual LEARNING.
Boston College is also an athletic factory -- at least in comparison to the other three. Actually, in comparison to other, REAL athletic factories in the United States, BC is probably a lot more responsible about its connection between athletics and academics. It has rigid standards for acceptance, and that includes athletes. Naturally, coaches complain about that, but I'm on the side of the school. If you've paid close to $200,000 -- by the time it's all said and done -- for a BC degree, you certainly don't want it cheapened by some idiot who can't spell Boston getting a scholarship.
BC borders Boston's suburbs of Brookline and Newton. It's on a nice piece of land, with a beautiful campus. On a picturesque autumn day, it's postcard perfect.
Boston University is a city school, as is Northeastern. Acutally, they're not that far apart, nestled in the bowels of Boston's Back Bay (on either side of Fenway Park). BU, in its own right, is a very prestigious university -- every bit as academically challenging as BC. Tuition at the two schools is comparitively similar. The only thing it really lacks is the sports pedigree BC has. The two schools are rivals only in hockey, where BU has poured virtually ALL of its athletic money. When the U.S. Olympic hockey team won the Gold Medal in 1980, four of its players -- including captain Mike Eruzione -- were BU graduates (so was goalie Jim Craig, as well as Dave Silk and Jack O'Callaghan).
BU and BC are the only schools that, year in and year out, can compete with the Minnesotas, Wisconsins and North Dakota States of the country.
Northeastern has worked awfully hard to re-establish itself as an institute of serious learning, and seems to be getting there. For a while, it was definitely No. 4 out of 4, with a huge gap between itself and No. 3. When I went there, it as old, bloated, and -- I think -- out of touch with the city and academia in general. To give you an example, three of these four schools had extensive plans on how to celebrate the country's bicentennial in 1976. Northeastern had to be dragged kicking and screaming into doing something.
Now, there's less of a gap academically. NU and BU contain two of the best journalism schools in the Northeast (right up there with Syracuse and Columbia Universities). BC and Harvard are more business and law oriented.
Of course, there's Harvard. It's not REALLY a Boston school, per se, as most of it is in Cambridge (with parts of it that spill over). Like BC and Holy Cross, the biggest advantage in going to Harvard is the opportunity to network. Graduate from Harvard and you've got it made. It is also one of the better schools athletically ... not so much for the power rankings of its teams, but for the fact that Harvard treats athletics as something to do to round out your education. The school does not award scholarships based solely on athletic ability (though if it finds a kid who can play quarterback, it'll certainly HELP him). All of its teams compete in the Ivy League, which will never be compared favorably to the Big Ten.
As it so happens, there is only one sport in which these four schools are equally competitive, and that's hockey. BC surpassed the rest in football and basketball years ago, and BU doesn't have football or baseball programs. Hockey is the only sport that unites these four schools.
So each year, on the first two Mondays of February, we have the Beanpot Hockey Tournament ... and every year, Northeastern loses (which it did this past Monday -- one day after the Big Super Bowl El Foldo by the You-Know-Whos).
February is especially interesting this year because it's a presidential election season. Ordinarily that means nothing in Massachusetts, but this year it actually did. First, Mitt Romney is not wildly popular in Massachusetts, even if he was our governor for about a minute and a half. A lot of Massholes (like me) took out Republican ballots at last Tuesday's primary and voted for McCain just so we could case one FINAL vote against Mitt).
That's the Republicans. As for the Democrats, Hillary Clinton won our state and it's significant because both she and Obama need every vote they can get to stay afloat. Rarely in this political culture is Massachusetts ever a player in the elections because a) it almost always goes Democrat (remember "Don't Blame Me, I'm From Massachusetts?); and b) by the time our primary takes place, there's usually a clearly-established front-runner and we just hop on board.
That wasn't the case this time. There is no Democratic front runner, and perhaps there will not be one until the summer. All of which makes every primary from hereon out crucial to both Clinton and Obama. So it was refreshing, for a change, to be in a political atmosphere that radiated excitement instead of resignation.
Valentine's Day falls right in the middle of February. Now don't look at ME if you're trying to find some hopeless and helpless romantic who sees Valentine's Day and gets all kinds of lumps in his throat. It's definitely a Hallmark Holiday.
But it falls RIGHT SMACK in the middle of the month, and in my mind, anyway, once Valentine's Day passes, I consider it the turning point of winter. It's all downhill from here, baby.
This doesn't necessarily mean winter's over. But in most years, the worst of it is over. Not always. But usually. Besides, by February 14, the sun's higher in the sky, the days are longer, and whatever snow you DO get melts faster.
Which brings me to another thing about February that people tend to forget. Unless it's snowing, or unusually cold, you get spectacular weather in February. It's great month of you're an outdoors person of any kind. You get crisp, clear days, all the fresh air you could ever want, and they last right on through the work day (as opposed to December and January, where it's dark by 4 p.m.). And this is going to sound absolutely perverse, but there are years (and many of them, too) where the weather's better in February than it is in April.
Finally, and this is strictly local, the high school winter sports tournaments begin in February. If you do what I do, this is the most fun you have all year. Throw a pro sports event at me, and the tournament has it beat. It's three weeks of absolute madness, and by the time it's over, we're on the threshold of spring.
I don't know whether it's because these games are indoors, which rachets up the intensity, or what it is. But all I know is that there's nothing quite as exciting as seeing a bunch of boys and girls playing for the honor of their school. In many ways it's a throwback to a (perhaps) more innocent time in this country. It certainly has a small-town America feel to it. And you know? Sometimes, especially in this day and age, that's pretty cool.
And, on top of everything else ... the truck left Fenway Park today for Ft. Myers, Florida. It's time for baseball!!
So that's my hymn to February.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Super? Hardly
We need to make one thing clear right away: The Super Bowl -- which is certainly a uniquely American spectacle -- is not about football. In fact, I'd submit to you that the game is irrelevent in the big picture.
Oh, it's certainly a part of the day ... a very large part, too, since without it there would be no vehicle for the wretched excess that goes with it. But in a curious sort of way, once we acknowledge how important the game is, it quickly sinks below the surface of what has become one of the most celebrated days of greed and excessive consumerism ever foisted upon the American public.
You get a sense of this when you watch the Super Bowl on television. Maybe one in five people watching actually care about the game. The other four watch for the commercials, or the halftime show, or the pregame show. I liken it to the Kentucky Derby because even people who know next to nothing about horse racing watch it because, heck, it's the KENTUCKY DERBY!
Only the Super Bowl is worse. Name me one other television show where the topic of conversation the next day centers around the commercials. Most of the time, commercials are an annoying necessity. We tune them out, or we take care of our physical needs, or we go out to the kitchen and make a sandwich. But in the Super Bowl, we stick around and rate the commercials as if they're up for academy awards.
And notice I said "television show." That was not a mistake. The Super Bowl is a television show, and that's why -- after having seen one without the benefit of commercials to compensate for the ennui of inaction -- I can no longer take it seriously as an American SPORTING event.
American ENTERTAINMENT event ... yes. You have to respect the Super Bowl for the sheer power of the money it hauls in. But it's time we all got the stars out of our eyes when it comes to the importance of the GAME, as opposed to the importance of the EVENT.
Here is the Super Bowl in 2008: One giant cacophony of NOISE. There is no way to filter this noise out, either. There is no time to just sit in the stands and be allowed to take it all in on your own terms. You are assaulted with noise from the time you get there until the time you leave.
The jumbotron scoreboard goes non-stop. NFL season highlights, advertisements, interviews with players, non-stop NFL self-promotion. And -- worst of all -- non-stop NFL self-congratulations for what wonderful people they all are.
These messages are repeated over and over again at ear-piercing decibels, with loud music, loud percussion, and loud narration. As soon as the action stops, the noise begins. It was so bad this year that Tom Petty's four-song halftime set was actually quiet by comparison.
This brings us to the commercials. I will concede that when it comes to creativity, Super Bowl commercials bring out the A-game in every advertiser. Some of them are pretty clever, some of them are funny, and, conversely, some of them overreach beyond comprehension. But you have to admire the effort.
But if you're at the stadium, you don't see the commercials. You hear excessively loud noise that launches a wholescale assault on your eardrums ... and you hear it for the entire time the rest of the country is entertained by those commercials.
What probably made it worse this year was that the first quarter flew by -- thanks to a nine-plus minute drive by the New York Giants that opened the game. That must have had the FOX honchos screaming. I know they'd have given anything to stick a four-minute block of commercials in there while Eli Manning was leading the Jints upfield, but even the NFL isn't that shameless.
That meant that FOX was left to squeeze them in basically over three quarters instead of four. That meant longer delays down there on the field. And it meant more noise everywhere else.
What does all this mean? It means the Super Bowl isn't a football game as much as it is a television show. Now before anyone accuses me of being naive, I understand that just about ALL sports these days are like this. Whenver the Boston College football team has a nationally televised game, there's a man in a red jacket who stands out there on the 20-yard line, with a set of headphones in his ears, and in a bright red jacket, and he's the guy who signals the referee that it's OK to start playing again.
However, the Super Bowl is essentially that times about a hundred. About the only thing I could ever compare it to was the time I went to see Bozo the Clown when I was a little kid ... and became horribly disillusioned at how absolutely FAKE it was ... the forced spontaneity ... all of it. Everything was choreographed right down to the last second, including the enthusiastic cheer the children gave Bozo. Even that had to be rehearsed.
That's how intricately choreographed the Super Bowl is. And if just went to Glendale to see a game -- as I did -- it is horribly frustrating to have to sit through all that noise, all that mindless spectacle, just for the honor of watching a football game.
I didn't have to pay a cent. I got a press credential so I didn't measure my experience in terms of dollars and cents. But had I spent up to five figures for a good seat, I'd be thinking that I got zero bang for my buck.
People ask me, often, how I can go from covering the AFC championship game, or the Super Bowl, or the World Series to going to Saugus High on a Saturday morning to watch the Sachems match wits with Winthrop. And the answer is easy. It may be a miniature version of what went on this past Sunday, but it's just as real to the kids who play high school ball on a Saturday afternoon in Saugus as it is to Tom Brady and Bill Belichick. And I am privileged to be able to treat it as if it's every bit as real.
People always want to know "what is it like" covering the Patriots and Red Sox. It's WORK. Your average Patriots game -- for me -- starts at 9 a.m. on a Sunday when I have to leave for Foxborough ahead of the traffic. It ends somewhere around 9 at night when I'm finally pulling into my driveway. When they're home, and when they're playing their normal 1 p.m. game, they cost me an entire Sunday. If they play at 4 p.m., or at night, it's worse. There's nothing like driving up to your house in Lynn at 3 a.m. after having covered a Sunday or a Monday night football game in Foxborough.
I'm not complaining. It's work a lot of people would kill to be able to do. It's certainly not boring. Even the dullest game is better than sitting around an office from 9 to 5 every day, going to endless meetings and listening to executives drone on and on about God knows what. Covering pro sports has given me some pretty big thrills. And even though I was certainly not rooting for the Giants Sunday, how can you not walk away from a game where the pivotal play involved a receiver catching the ball off his HELMET without being eternally grateful that you were THERE to see it?
I just wish there was more of that Sunday and less needless noise. Because at the end of the day, we may have witnessed one of the true upsets in the history of the National Football League. But it was all buried beneath the symphony of noise, consumerism, excess and greed that, all rolled up into one, makes up the Super Bowl.
Oh, it's certainly a part of the day ... a very large part, too, since without it there would be no vehicle for the wretched excess that goes with it. But in a curious sort of way, once we acknowledge how important the game is, it quickly sinks below the surface of what has become one of the most celebrated days of greed and excessive consumerism ever foisted upon the American public.
You get a sense of this when you watch the Super Bowl on television. Maybe one in five people watching actually care about the game. The other four watch for the commercials, or the halftime show, or the pregame show. I liken it to the Kentucky Derby because even people who know next to nothing about horse racing watch it because, heck, it's the KENTUCKY DERBY!
Only the Super Bowl is worse. Name me one other television show where the topic of conversation the next day centers around the commercials. Most of the time, commercials are an annoying necessity. We tune them out, or we take care of our physical needs, or we go out to the kitchen and make a sandwich. But in the Super Bowl, we stick around and rate the commercials as if they're up for academy awards.
And notice I said "television show." That was not a mistake. The Super Bowl is a television show, and that's why -- after having seen one without the benefit of commercials to compensate for the ennui of inaction -- I can no longer take it seriously as an American SPORTING event.
American ENTERTAINMENT event ... yes. You have to respect the Super Bowl for the sheer power of the money it hauls in. But it's time we all got the stars out of our eyes when it comes to the importance of the GAME, as opposed to the importance of the EVENT.
Here is the Super Bowl in 2008: One giant cacophony of NOISE. There is no way to filter this noise out, either. There is no time to just sit in the stands and be allowed to take it all in on your own terms. You are assaulted with noise from the time you get there until the time you leave.
The jumbotron scoreboard goes non-stop. NFL season highlights, advertisements, interviews with players, non-stop NFL self-promotion. And -- worst of all -- non-stop NFL self-congratulations for what wonderful people they all are.
These messages are repeated over and over again at ear-piercing decibels, with loud music, loud percussion, and loud narration. As soon as the action stops, the noise begins. It was so bad this year that Tom Petty's four-song halftime set was actually quiet by comparison.
This brings us to the commercials. I will concede that when it comes to creativity, Super Bowl commercials bring out the A-game in every advertiser. Some of them are pretty clever, some of them are funny, and, conversely, some of them overreach beyond comprehension. But you have to admire the effort.
But if you're at the stadium, you don't see the commercials. You hear excessively loud noise that launches a wholescale assault on your eardrums ... and you hear it for the entire time the rest of the country is entertained by those commercials.
What probably made it worse this year was that the first quarter flew by -- thanks to a nine-plus minute drive by the New York Giants that opened the game. That must have had the FOX honchos screaming. I know they'd have given anything to stick a four-minute block of commercials in there while Eli Manning was leading the Jints upfield, but even the NFL isn't that shameless.
That meant that FOX was left to squeeze them in basically over three quarters instead of four. That meant longer delays down there on the field. And it meant more noise everywhere else.
What does all this mean? It means the Super Bowl isn't a football game as much as it is a television show. Now before anyone accuses me of being naive, I understand that just about ALL sports these days are like this. Whenver the Boston College football team has a nationally televised game, there's a man in a red jacket who stands out there on the 20-yard line, with a set of headphones in his ears, and in a bright red jacket, and he's the guy who signals the referee that it's OK to start playing again.
However, the Super Bowl is essentially that times about a hundred. About the only thing I could ever compare it to was the time I went to see Bozo the Clown when I was a little kid ... and became horribly disillusioned at how absolutely FAKE it was ... the forced spontaneity ... all of it. Everything was choreographed right down to the last second, including the enthusiastic cheer the children gave Bozo. Even that had to be rehearsed.
That's how intricately choreographed the Super Bowl is. And if just went to Glendale to see a game -- as I did -- it is horribly frustrating to have to sit through all that noise, all that mindless spectacle, just for the honor of watching a football game.
I didn't have to pay a cent. I got a press credential so I didn't measure my experience in terms of dollars and cents. But had I spent up to five figures for a good seat, I'd be thinking that I got zero bang for my buck.
People ask me, often, how I can go from covering the AFC championship game, or the Super Bowl, or the World Series to going to Saugus High on a Saturday morning to watch the Sachems match wits with Winthrop. And the answer is easy. It may be a miniature version of what went on this past Sunday, but it's just as real to the kids who play high school ball on a Saturday afternoon in Saugus as it is to Tom Brady and Bill Belichick. And I am privileged to be able to treat it as if it's every bit as real.
People always want to know "what is it like" covering the Patriots and Red Sox. It's WORK. Your average Patriots game -- for me -- starts at 9 a.m. on a Sunday when I have to leave for Foxborough ahead of the traffic. It ends somewhere around 9 at night when I'm finally pulling into my driveway. When they're home, and when they're playing their normal 1 p.m. game, they cost me an entire Sunday. If they play at 4 p.m., or at night, it's worse. There's nothing like driving up to your house in Lynn at 3 a.m. after having covered a Sunday or a Monday night football game in Foxborough.
I'm not complaining. It's work a lot of people would kill to be able to do. It's certainly not boring. Even the dullest game is better than sitting around an office from 9 to 5 every day, going to endless meetings and listening to executives drone on and on about God knows what. Covering pro sports has given me some pretty big thrills. And even though I was certainly not rooting for the Giants Sunday, how can you not walk away from a game where the pivotal play involved a receiver catching the ball off his HELMET without being eternally grateful that you were THERE to see it?
I just wish there was more of that Sunday and less needless noise. Because at the end of the day, we may have witnessed one of the true upsets in the history of the National Football League. But it was all buried beneath the symphony of noise, consumerism, excess and greed that, all rolled up into one, makes up the Super Bowl.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The anticipation grows
It's shortly after 1:15 on Sunday afternoon, and Gillette Stadium as empty, save for the crew that'll be charged with maintaining law and order during the AFC championship game between the Patriots and San Diego Chargers.
By 3 p.m. the stands will be filled and there will be an air of frenzied electricity.
The Patriots take the field knowing that everyone outside of New England wants them to lose. Their national reputation is that they're joyless, robotic, bullies, and -- perhaps worst of all -- cheaters. If there is a taint to this so-far perfect season, it's that a) the Patriots somewhat compromised their usual lofty ideals when it comes to player personnel (especially with the latest hoo-hah surrounding Randy Moss); b) they blatantly went out and bought this team with as much ruthlessness as anything George Steinbrenner could have pulled off; and c) you can't be sure what's real accomplishment and what's been derived by violating NFL rules.
Ordinarly, that wouldn't matter much. If this were Al Davis, and we were talking about the Oakland Raiders, no one would care. Al's motto was "just win, baby," and tacit in that exhortation is that he didn't care what kind of miscreants his players were. In fact, the Raiders always rounded up the castoffs and turned them into winners. That's as much a part of their legacy as Ken Stabler and John Madden.
But we're talking about Bob Kraft, whose wife practically forced him to rescind a draft choice a decade ago because of his history of violence toward woman. The Patriots set lofty goals with regards to player personnel, and that leaves them open to all kinds of criticism when they fall short of these standards.
Since Bill Belichick took over the football operation, the Patriots have always been seen -- and emulated -- as a team that paid prudent attention to how it valued players ... and one that never overpaid. Be it Lawyer Milloy, or Deoin Branch, or David Givens, or Willie McGinest or Adam Vinatieri, the Patriots always drew the line and never crossed it. The only exception to that, maybe, was Tom Brady and, well, what do you do when your quarterback continues to make that line move? He is the one indispensable player on that team.
Then they lost to the Indianapolis Colts in the final minute of last year's AFC championship game. If you want to go by what happened on the field, the defense -- which is aging -- couldn't stop Peyton Manning and the Colts in the final two quarters.
But it goes deeper than that. Brady had no first-class weapons to work with. Belichick played hardball with both his receivers -- Givens and Branch -- and as a result, the Patriots had neither. They made do with Reche Caldwell and Jabbar Gaffney, along with Troy Brown, but nowhere was there a guy like Branch, who could stretch the field.
The Patriots won 12 games on the back of a solid defensive line and an all-pro season by Ty Warren, combined with an easier-than-expected schedule. But against Indy, things broke down badly. It couldn't have been lost on Belichick that of all the gaffes in that game, the biggest one, on offense anyway, was Caldwell dropping an easy pass that clearly would have resulted in a touchdown. When he came back to the huddle, his eyes were as wide as the UFO in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
After addressing a huge problem at linebacker (by signing Adalius Thomas), Belichick retooled his receiving corps by signing, or acquiring, Moss, Donte Stallworth and -- for money -- the most valuable addition to the team, Wesley Welker.
I've always like Welker -- and hated him. When he was on the Miami Dolphins he was a pest. On third down, he was unstoppable, and I'd just explode at the TV when I saw this teeny-weeny little guy catching passes and running all over the field.
Well, now he's OUR teeny-weeny little guy and he's been so valuable to the Pats. He gives them a tremendous weapon on third-and-crucial plays. Even when he doesn't catch the ball ... even when it's not thrown to him ... he's a weapon. Go back to that final regular season game in New York, when Brady and Moss hooked up on that spectacular touchdown pass that put the Patriots ahead for good, and it happened because of Wesley Welker.
It was a third-down play, and the Giants double-teamed Welker because they were sure he was going to get the ball.
Surprise.
Brady went up top to Moss and that was the ballgame.
If the Patriots are guilty of having spent themselves into this position, they can at least be secure in the knowledge that they spent wisely.
This brings us to point No. 3: Spygate.
It goes without saying that Belichick got caught exhibiting a generous dose of both arrogance and hubris. With this offense, he didn't have to cheat. He may be right by saying all NFL teams resort of some kind of skullduggery. But the NFL told teams specifically NOT to film the other team from the sidelines. So no matter what Belichick says, he shouldn't have authorized this.
While this doesn't negate everything the Patriots have done, it does add to the ambivalence much of the country has displayed toward them. It adds to the litany of reasons people have to despise them.
But wherever you want to put "cheating" on the list of grevious offenses, the bottom line is that the Patriots are hated more because of the robotic way they win than anything else. Some teams win a lot, and you just can't bring yourself to hate them. For example, I always like watching the San Francisco 49ers win because -- to me -- they weren't obnoxious about it. Joe Montana didn't talk a whole lot, but he went out there and won.
I loved the old Oakland Athletics teams of the mid-70s, but for a different reason. They may have been Team Turmoil, but when they weren't fighting, the A's had fun. They played like they had fun, too.
I look back and it seems to me that most of the time, I hated show-off teams like the A's. But watching Reggie Jackson was always fun to me ... even when he played for the Yankees ... because you never knew what was coming. He was worth the price of admission even when he was striking out.
On the other hand, I hated ... HATED the Dallas Cowboys. There was never anything about them to like. Tom Landry, the coach, was just like Bill Belichick ... a dour, humorless man who just couldn't seem to connect with people on any kind of a level. And whether it was Don Meredith or Roger Staubach (both obviously at opposite end of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes extreme), I hated them both. I especially hated Staubach, who, to me, epitomized the goody-two-shoed, holier-than-thou athlete who always droned that God was on HIS team.
I loved it when the Cowboys lost. God must have been a Green Bay Packers fan because whenever the Cowboys got into big game against the Packers, Green Bay won.
The Cowboys, of course, cemented their place in the coldest regions of my heart when the junked Landry in favor of America's favorite tonsorial specimin, Jimmy Johnson.
Johnson won two Super Bowls with the Pokes (I rooted against him both times) and his hair never got mussed up until one of his players poured water all over it and mussed it up on national TV.
And if hiring Johnson wasn't bad enough, we won't even get into Barry Switzer.
I put Belichick in the Landry category with one glaring exception: Landry, as bland and robotic as he was, was not a churl. Belichick is ... at least that's his public personna. I've read stories about what a wonderfully funny guy he is when he's with his friends, but I just don't see it. You watch him on TV, or on the sidelines, and he looks like he's going to growl and snarl at you. There doesn't seem to be a happy bone in his body.
This is why -- if you talk to anyone whose parochial emotional investment isn't tied up with the Patriots -- everyone would just love San Diego to win this game. The Chargers are the white knight; the Pats wear the black hat.
The Chargers are Luke Skywalker; the Patriots are Darth Vader. The Chargers are George Bailey; the Patriots are Mr. Potter.
So if it seems today as if the network boys are silently (or maybe even not-so-silently) rooting for the Chargers, it's probably because they are.
As Wilt Chamberlain once observed, "nobody roots for Goliath."
By 3 p.m. the stands will be filled and there will be an air of frenzied electricity.
The Patriots take the field knowing that everyone outside of New England wants them to lose. Their national reputation is that they're joyless, robotic, bullies, and -- perhaps worst of all -- cheaters. If there is a taint to this so-far perfect season, it's that a) the Patriots somewhat compromised their usual lofty ideals when it comes to player personnel (especially with the latest hoo-hah surrounding Randy Moss); b) they blatantly went out and bought this team with as much ruthlessness as anything George Steinbrenner could have pulled off; and c) you can't be sure what's real accomplishment and what's been derived by violating NFL rules.
Ordinarly, that wouldn't matter much. If this were Al Davis, and we were talking about the Oakland Raiders, no one would care. Al's motto was "just win, baby," and tacit in that exhortation is that he didn't care what kind of miscreants his players were. In fact, the Raiders always rounded up the castoffs and turned them into winners. That's as much a part of their legacy as Ken Stabler and John Madden.
But we're talking about Bob Kraft, whose wife practically forced him to rescind a draft choice a decade ago because of his history of violence toward woman. The Patriots set lofty goals with regards to player personnel, and that leaves them open to all kinds of criticism when they fall short of these standards.
Since Bill Belichick took over the football operation, the Patriots have always been seen -- and emulated -- as a team that paid prudent attention to how it valued players ... and one that never overpaid. Be it Lawyer Milloy, or Deoin Branch, or David Givens, or Willie McGinest or Adam Vinatieri, the Patriots always drew the line and never crossed it. The only exception to that, maybe, was Tom Brady and, well, what do you do when your quarterback continues to make that line move? He is the one indispensable player on that team.
Then they lost to the Indianapolis Colts in the final minute of last year's AFC championship game. If you want to go by what happened on the field, the defense -- which is aging -- couldn't stop Peyton Manning and the Colts in the final two quarters.
But it goes deeper than that. Brady had no first-class weapons to work with. Belichick played hardball with both his receivers -- Givens and Branch -- and as a result, the Patriots had neither. They made do with Reche Caldwell and Jabbar Gaffney, along with Troy Brown, but nowhere was there a guy like Branch, who could stretch the field.
The Patriots won 12 games on the back of a solid defensive line and an all-pro season by Ty Warren, combined with an easier-than-expected schedule. But against Indy, things broke down badly. It couldn't have been lost on Belichick that of all the gaffes in that game, the biggest one, on offense anyway, was Caldwell dropping an easy pass that clearly would have resulted in a touchdown. When he came back to the huddle, his eyes were as wide as the UFO in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
After addressing a huge problem at linebacker (by signing Adalius Thomas), Belichick retooled his receiving corps by signing, or acquiring, Moss, Donte Stallworth and -- for money -- the most valuable addition to the team, Wesley Welker.
I've always like Welker -- and hated him. When he was on the Miami Dolphins he was a pest. On third down, he was unstoppable, and I'd just explode at the TV when I saw this teeny-weeny little guy catching passes and running all over the field.
Well, now he's OUR teeny-weeny little guy and he's been so valuable to the Pats. He gives them a tremendous weapon on third-and-crucial plays. Even when he doesn't catch the ball ... even when it's not thrown to him ... he's a weapon. Go back to that final regular season game in New York, when Brady and Moss hooked up on that spectacular touchdown pass that put the Patriots ahead for good, and it happened because of Wesley Welker.
It was a third-down play, and the Giants double-teamed Welker because they were sure he was going to get the ball.
Surprise.
Brady went up top to Moss and that was the ballgame.
If the Patriots are guilty of having spent themselves into this position, they can at least be secure in the knowledge that they spent wisely.
This brings us to point No. 3: Spygate.
It goes without saying that Belichick got caught exhibiting a generous dose of both arrogance and hubris. With this offense, he didn't have to cheat. He may be right by saying all NFL teams resort of some kind of skullduggery. But the NFL told teams specifically NOT to film the other team from the sidelines. So no matter what Belichick says, he shouldn't have authorized this.
While this doesn't negate everything the Patriots have done, it does add to the ambivalence much of the country has displayed toward them. It adds to the litany of reasons people have to despise them.
But wherever you want to put "cheating" on the list of grevious offenses, the bottom line is that the Patriots are hated more because of the robotic way they win than anything else. Some teams win a lot, and you just can't bring yourself to hate them. For example, I always like watching the San Francisco 49ers win because -- to me -- they weren't obnoxious about it. Joe Montana didn't talk a whole lot, but he went out there and won.
I loved the old Oakland Athletics teams of the mid-70s, but for a different reason. They may have been Team Turmoil, but when they weren't fighting, the A's had fun. They played like they had fun, too.
I look back and it seems to me that most of the time, I hated show-off teams like the A's. But watching Reggie Jackson was always fun to me ... even when he played for the Yankees ... because you never knew what was coming. He was worth the price of admission even when he was striking out.
On the other hand, I hated ... HATED the Dallas Cowboys. There was never anything about them to like. Tom Landry, the coach, was just like Bill Belichick ... a dour, humorless man who just couldn't seem to connect with people on any kind of a level. And whether it was Don Meredith or Roger Staubach (both obviously at opposite end of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes extreme), I hated them both. I especially hated Staubach, who, to me, epitomized the goody-two-shoed, holier-than-thou athlete who always droned that God was on HIS team.
I loved it when the Cowboys lost. God must have been a Green Bay Packers fan because whenever the Cowboys got into big game against the Packers, Green Bay won.
The Cowboys, of course, cemented their place in the coldest regions of my heart when the junked Landry in favor of America's favorite tonsorial specimin, Jimmy Johnson.
Johnson won two Super Bowls with the Pokes (I rooted against him both times) and his hair never got mussed up until one of his players poured water all over it and mussed it up on national TV.
And if hiring Johnson wasn't bad enough, we won't even get into Barry Switzer.
I put Belichick in the Landry category with one glaring exception: Landry, as bland and robotic as he was, was not a churl. Belichick is ... at least that's his public personna. I've read stories about what a wonderfully funny guy he is when he's with his friends, but I just don't see it. You watch him on TV, or on the sidelines, and he looks like he's going to growl and snarl at you. There doesn't seem to be a happy bone in his body.
This is why -- if you talk to anyone whose parochial emotional investment isn't tied up with the Patriots -- everyone would just love San Diego to win this game. The Chargers are the white knight; the Pats wear the black hat.
The Chargers are Luke Skywalker; the Patriots are Darth Vader. The Chargers are George Bailey; the Patriots are Mr. Potter.
So if it seems today as if the network boys are silently (or maybe even not-so-silently) rooting for the Chargers, it's probably because they are.
As Wilt Chamberlain once observed, "nobody roots for Goliath."
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)