Monday, January 22, 2007
There is no joy in Mudville (or Wrentham)
All through the real New England, not the picture post card one of quiet ponds, sandy beaches, and picturesque main streets, but the one of a seemingly endless array of Dunkin'Donuts franchises with foggy windows and all Portuguese-American employees, three tenement houses with backyards the size of postage stamps, piss ugly strip malls overflowing with fetid fast food emporiums, Asian buffets and discount box stores; all through that New England, hearts are heavy, stomachs are churning and heads are pounding under a clammy alcoholic haze--The Pats choked and the perennial chokers the Colts brought it home. From a substantial half time lead to a tiny 3 point lead with 2:17 left the game shoulda, coulda been in the veteran hands of the Patriots who somehow, just COULDN'T"T CLOSE THE DEAL. It's simple, no excuses, no bemoaning the absence of Rodney Harrison or fixating on some ref's call, when the air finally escaped from that fugly dome Coach Hoodychek had found no magic, Tommy Sawyer Brady didn't do his Joe Montana imitation, and Teddy Bear Bruschi's boys couldn't hold 'em one last time, so Pasty Peyton and Nice Guy Dungy are movin' on, and working class New England (of all Boston sports franchises, The Pat's are easily the most blue collar)is stuck with settling for another medium regular and a soggy jelly stick.As Dan Shaughnessy reports in this morning's Globe, Red Sox pitchers and catchers report February 16th my pallies.