I really don't have much to say about tonight's performance. I am not as impressed with Matsuzaka's epic pitching performance as I anticipate Red Sox Nation is at the moment. As I said last night, I am not sold on these Cleveland Indians. To put it bluntly, if I had to pitch to Grady Sizemore or Travis Hafner with the bases loaded and nobody out in the last inning of a game I absolutely had to win, let's just say I wouldn't be quaking in my cleats. Sure they put up good stats, but they don't strike fear into opponent's hearts.

Two years ago, the Indians entered the last week of the season with a shot at catching the Chicago White Sox or maybe the wildcard. And they choked. They fell apart as though it were their sole purpose in life. Signs point to that same outcome for them this season. This looks like the beginning of the end for them.

I finally caught an episode of The Bronx is Burning. I thought it was pretty good. I'm not sure I buy Oliver Platt as Steinbrenner, but other than that I thought it was well cast and well written. And like most of the things I see in the course of a day, it got me thinking about other things.

For instance, if they made a series like that about a Red Sox team from that general era, would it be subtitled: Please put Jim Rice in the Hall of Fame, he had two really good years? Or How I triumphed over an IQ well below my uniform number and became a regional icon because I was mildly developmentally disabled by Bill Lee? Or You guys do realize I played for 20 years after that home run in the 1975 World Series, right by Carlton Fisk? Of course they wouldn't make a series like that about those Red Sox teams because no one would watch it, but a nation can dream, can't it?

Another thing that occurred to me is that Reggie Jackson was a lot like Manny Ramirez back in the day. If only Reggie didn't talk to the press, he might have been Reggie being Reggie long before Manny started being Manny. I also noticed that one of the executive producers of the show is named Joe Davola. Could that be the same guy that inspired the Crazy Joe Davola character from Seinfeld?

This is something that needs further investigation by some enterprising soul more willing to do the research than I am tonight. Because if this Joe Davola is the Crazy Joe Davola from Seinfeld, then there must have been a deal in real life that was kiboshed as the fictitious deal was which triggered Davola's hostility to Jerry and Kramer. I can't help but wonder what that deal could have been. Of course, I also need to get out more, but what can you do?

Finally, I thought it was awfully sporting of Bob Ryan to warn us about the danger of an NBA official fixing games three days after the story broke. I can understand that he wasn't due to write a column between the day it broke and the one that appeared in today's paper. I also think it would have been better not to call said piece a warning. As far as I know, you warn somebody before an event occurs, not after. Then again, what do I know? I'm not in the Max Mercy Hall of Fame.

Oh, and I think I see a way clear for me to be nominated for President of Red Sox Nation. I took a quick look at the celebrity nominations page, and I think I might qualify. Excerpts from my blog have appeared in Worcester Magazine and several times in BostonNOW. That might not be a hell of a lot on which to hang my hat and I'm not bragging about it, but at least I've heard of me. And that's more than I can say for Rob Crawford, Dennis Drinkwater and Rick Swanson.

It's funny to see the way professional sports franchises operate sometimes. The Celtics sinking ship let Sebastian Telfair go because his off court behavior gave them a convenient excuse to drop him without much fanfare. The Patriots reversed field on their operating mantra during this season's draft weekend, forsaking the traditional high character guys fans have grown accustomed to over the last decade and a half for riskier, sketchier players. The NBA equivalent of a chicken running around with its head cut off is trying to take the high road while the NFL's shining city on a hill is suddenly trying to recycle bad citizens. Funny, indeed.

Of course, we all learned recently exactly how significant the decision to cut Telfair is. Bob Ryan emerged from his lair and wrote yet another piece to kick a man while he was down. Anotine Walker, Butch Hobson and Nomar have all merited this treatment in the past, and now it's Telfair's turn. The only thing that amazes me in all of this is that it took an eminent basketball mind like Bob Ryan nearly 10 months to see the flaws in Sebastian Telfair's game.

I suppose I am being somewhat unfair to Mr Ryan and not presenting his entire argument, but this is my blog and I can say what I want. And anybody who has read any of my past material probably can anticipate where this post is heading. Cutting Telfair is just one more in a long line of spectacular personnel failures in this Celtic regime.

The Sebastian Telfair catastrophe is one more step Ainge has taken to step out from under the albatross that was the Antoine Walker trade. Ainge didn't like Walker's game, so he traded him to Dallas for Jiri Welsch and Raef LaFrentz. Jiri added very little value. And Raef's contract was such a nightmare that Ainge unloaded him for a glass menagerie of failure and helped enable Portland to pull off a draft day coup and land Rookie of the Year Brandon Roy.

In the end, I am somewhat disappointed that the Celtics have let Telfair go. He was paid too much, produced too little and served to remind the last few people that really care about the Celtics that the team was in the hands of incompetent morons. Every time he took the floor for the Celtics he was a walking dilemma. He either embodied the fact that the people running the team have no practical conception of how to assemble a basketball team or that the people running the team are deliberately assembling a bad team. Either way, it suited me.

And now the Patriots are rolling the dice with Randy Moss, who has promised to revert to the Randy of old. People can take that one of two ways. Randy Moss will either burn up the league, catching passes, scoring TDs and delivering in big situations or he'll burn down Gillette Stadium. I am more inclined to believe the latter than the former, although the fact that the CHB has thrown down a gauntlet on this deal makes me far less certain of that than I was at this time last night.

I am not now, nor have I ever been a Patriots fan. And even though reports have Moss wowing the assembled luminaries by clocking in at an impressive 4.29 in the 40, I do not find myself convinced that the Patriots are the prohibitive favorites in the AFC. I remember the old Randy from his days with the Vikings. Nobody could run like he did, catch the way he did or terrorize defensive backfields the way he did. But there was always something missing. I think it was courage.

At least, by that I mean the courage to go out and put everything on the line to win a big game. Say what you want about Terrell Owens being a miserable, selfish cancer. But let's not forget that he came back from a broken leg in a month and a half to play in the Super Bowl, signed a waiver and outplayed eventual Super Bowl MVP Deion Branch. And let's not forget that there is no moment like that in the Randy Moss highlight reel. There are no postseason moments in there at all.

That's the Randy I remember. As I talked to my man who is a Patriots season ticket holder, I couldn't help but think of the Randy moments I will never forget. And none of them involved that famous Monday Night game where he punished the Cowboys for passing on him in the draft.

No, when I think of Moss, I'll remember the day a dreadful Giants team earned the right to be destroyed by the Ravens. They shut out the Vikings 41-0. And in all of that, rumor has it Randy sulked all game and didn't perform because he was upset that the powers-that-be in Giants Stadium wouldn't let his kid on the sideline. Truly that is the heart of a champion.

Then there was the tail end of the 2003 season when the Vikings needed to beat the Bears in Chicago to clinch a playoff spot. The Vikings drove down into the red zone, in a goal to go situation, and they looked to Randy Moss on a corner route. The TD would give the Vikings the lead, which would have put them in prime position to make the playoffs. And what happened? Charles Tillman, an unheralded rookie at the time, took the ball away from Randy, who didn't put up much of a fight for the ball and the season, in the end zone. The Bears won the game, the Vikings got a jump on the offseason.

Maybe all the optimism is warranted. Maybe the Patriots can awaken in Moss the fire that never seemed to be there when it really, really, really mattered. Or maybe his production over the course of the regular season will be enough to get the team in prime position for a first round bye and home field throughout the playoffs, so it won't matter if he disappears in the playoffs. Or maybe he won't enjoy playing in balmy Foxboro in November, December and January. Not to mention trips to Buffalo or New York in the dead of winter.

If he is so fragile that he coasted through two dismal seasons in Oakland because he wasn't happy, what will Randy Moss do if he experiences any adversity in New England. Will Stallworth be able to play a full season and be productive? Will Kelley Washington play up to his potential? Will the fact that the Patriots did nothing to shore up a weak offensive line come back to bite this team when they have to play the Colts again this year?

Only time will tell the answers to those questions, and the other fascinating conundrum... can Teddy Bruschi and Mike Vrabel combine to form a serviceable linebacker since they have lost very nearly two steps at this point? And before any Patriots fan reminds me that Matt Light contained Shawne Merriman and was a Pro Bowl alternate last season, think back to how that line held up against the Bears and Colts last season. I think I have a better chance of smiling at the end of this season than Patriots fans do.

This draft was very compelling, and not just because of Brady Quinn's humiliating Green Room experience. It seemed to me like a group of teams got together to see who could make the most spectacular mistakes. Kansas City may very well have pulled it off, passing on Joe Staley to take a wide receiver when they desperately needed to replace Willie Roaf and Will Shields more than they needed a wide receiver. But I think Philly took the cake, trading down to the second round to take Kolb, who looked to have a big future in Canada.

Let's not leave Miami out of this, either. Going with Ted Ginn Jr. will come back to haunt them. They faced a similar situation as the Radiers did this season. Both teams made the wrong QB decision last season, Oakland passing on Leinart and Miami signing Culpepper over Drew Brees. This time out, Oakland owned that mistake and took Russell over Calvin Johnson. Miami didn't own that mistake. In fact, they made it again. Instead of taking Quinn, they took a college receiver who will have more impact returning kicks than catching passes and went with the Mormon Chris Weinke in Round Two.

We also have a tool of note segment or three before I wrap up tonight. First, to Chicago fans who are enjoying the fact that Pat Riley gave them an easy victory in their opening round series, here is an action shot of the broadcasters of the second team in Second City performing the song "Summertime Blues" at a benefit concert. I get the feeling that this song probably made things worse for any one who found themselves feeling any blues, regardless of the season.

There there is this ____________ on Myspace. I really don't know which insult out of my vast store of insults to apply here. This tool transcends words like spaz and dork and tool and fist magnet. Maybe it's because he's Australian. Maybe this is considered cool Down Under. Either way, you'll have to supply your own insult for him, I am just too baffled.

And finally, there is this loser having a go at the eating of meat. Apparently eating meat is not eco-friendly. Apparently it takes too much energy and produces too many carbons. Just for the sake of argument, I wonder how many carbons it takes to produce the synthetic protein supplements that vegetarians often take. Not to mention the fact that there would be a bunch of cows running around once people like me stop eating them. And chemical castration is ever so much more humane and natural than killing them outright and feeding them to people like me.

Orwell himself had very little esteem for vegetarians, whom he deemed "food cranks." In The Road to Wigan Pier, he wrote:

"This kind of thing is by itself sufficient to alienate plenty of decent people And their instinct is perfectly sound, for the food crank is by definition a person willing to cut himself off from human society in hopes of adding five years on to the life of his carcase; that is, a person out of touch with common humanity."

Eating meat is part of what it means to be human. My ancestors scratched and clawed and invented their way to the top of the food chain. And they didn't do it so I could eat lettuce and pop protein pills. And I wonder how much energy and how many carbons will go into caring for generations of vegetarians living to be 100 when all the meat eaters like me have kicked off from coronary thrombosis at age 60.

I am not a nice guy, nor am I tremendously sensitive. But even I have limits, there were some lines that I never intended to cross in this blog. I didn't want to do this, but with the way Red Sox fans find the fact that Matsuzaka hit A Rod and Jeter so piquant, I felt it was time for me to send a more serious message of my own. So without further adieu...

GREAT MOMENTS IN RED SOX HISTORY #7 - 8/18/1967

On August 18 in the middle of the Impossible Dream Season of 1967, Tony Conigliaro came to bat against Jack Hamilton of the California Angels. Hamilton's pitch hit Tony C in the face, causing massive trauma. Tony missed the entire 1968 season. He won the Comeback Player of the Year award, which now bears his name, in 1969, but he was never the same. By 1975 he retired because his eyesight was deteriorating.

Bob Ryan wrote a piece on the tragic event last year on its 39th anniversary. I thought this particular paragraph was worth noting:

But Aug. 18 is always a somber date for me, and, I'm sure, for many others. Tony C is the greatest of all ``What-Ifs?" in Boston sports history. When he stepped into the box in that fateful fourth inning, he was 22 years old. He was the Golden Boy, en route to the Golden Career. Who among us wouldn't have traded places with Tony C?

I just don't see how a fan base which professes to possess a sterling knowledge of baseball history can in one breath lament the pitch that ended Tony C's career but still enjoy the spectacle of Alex Rodriguez or Derek Jeter being hit because they wear another uniform. If Roy Halladay had hit David Ortiz or Manny Ramirez or JD Drew this evening, Red Sox Nation would have deluged Governor Patrick's office with demands that he call out the state militia and declare martial law to punish the offending pitcher.

Is it a really a coincidence that Red Sox pitcher Tim Wakefield has hit more batters than any other pitcher in Major League Baseball since the start of the 2003 season? Is it a coincidence that the Red Sox seem to dominate this Sports Illustrated feature on basebrawls, including this shot of Pedro Martinez getting his just deserts?

Pitchers who have spent significant time on the Red Sox currently rank 2, 3 and 4 in active leaders in hit batsmen.

The guy who comes to me with his Red Sox information has an insufferable bravado he uses when he talks about Red Sox pitchers hitting opposing batters "by accident." He pauses, which would add dramatic emphasis if his rhetorical gifts measured up to his opinion thereof. And it's typical of Red Sox Nation's reaction to the bullying tactics of the Olde Towne Team. And if you don't believe me, look at this shot of the famous moment when Varitek bravely stood up to A Rod.

It truly takes a brave man to stand up to another man whilst wearing a mask, helmet, chest protector, shin guards and a big leather catcher's mitt. Just ask a Red Sox fan, and that fan will tell you how tough 'Tek is and how that moment was an impressive achievement.

Maybe I'm being a little too harsh in reminding New Englanders of a superstar cut down in his prime and dying before his time because he was hit in the face by a pitched ball. But that is the end result of throwing 96 mile per hour fastballs as you learn to pitch inside, or try to remind the world that you own the inside part of the plate.

I understand that pitching inside is part of the game. But I don't believe that the Red Sox make mistakes when they hit opposing players. I don't know much about baseball as it's played in the Japanese League, but I highly doubt that they only pitch to half of the strike zone in the Far East. I just find myself imagining that it's more than a little coincidental that the two hitters beaned by Daisuke Matsuzaka were either notoriously successful against the Red Sox (Jeter) or on pace to break all records for hitting in the month of April (A Rod) while he learned the subtle nuances of pitching in North American baseball.

I think we all know how Red Sox Nation will react should the next message pitch hurt one of their heroes. What I fear in this situation is that Red Sox Nation will show as much dignity as they have in all of this discussion of the A Rod and Jeter incidents should another unfortunate incident like this

befall and opposing player in Fenway.

So, the Final Four is upon us again. I have been very hesitant to report on Sedition in Red Sox Nation Bracket Challenge of late. Let us just say that I took a man sized beating. The only team I had in the Final Four which ended up making it was Ohio State. Texas, Kansas and Notre Dame were not the best picks, I guess. So I offer congratulations to the Daniel Bellott entry, which according to my calculations is so far ahead at this point that it cannot possibly lose.

If you have the time, and let's face facts if you're reading this you probably do, check out Bob Ryan's take on the Final Four. It's not half-bad. Of course, with the magnitude of the Final Four, you know that I have to offer my irrational and quite possibly insane prediction for the event's outcome.

Watching this tournament, I finally realized why I hate Joakim Noah. He's a giant tool who celebrates every little thing like he just cured cancer. It's not just that he celebrates a dunk, or a big shot or block or assist. But he emerged from one exchange against Butler where a guy four inches shorter than him pushed him as they battled for a loose ball pounding his chest and screaming.

It got me thinking what is he like off the court? Does Noah beat his chest and scream to celebrate waking up in time for class because he set his alarm clock correctly for daylight savings time? If he gets his whites whiter and his brights brighter in the laundry room does he take a victory lap and taunt his neighbors? He needs to take it down a notch, or 12.

I think UCLA will beat Florida this time out. I don't want to see either team win, but one of them has to. I don't think Humphries will be as hot as he was last game (or in last year's championship game, for that matter), and I don't think UCLA will be anywhere near as cold. Plus UCLA improved by leaps and bounds over last year's team. Never has addition by subtraction accomplished so much as it did when Jordan Farmar went pro.

I am not comfortable with either of the coaches in this matchup. Ben Howland is bald. My sources tell me that bald people have tremendous difficulty with idea retention, what with not having hair to keep the thoughts from wafting up through the top of their head and all. On a more serious note, I think the slow-down defense first style can choke all the life out of your offense if one or two of your players isn't hitting shots.

Then there's Billy Donovan. Outside of the fact that he's a Pitino disciple, and I hate Pitino (a vestige of my days as a Celtics fan), there's the fact that he looks like Matt Damon. And not so much Matt Damon the actor as Matt Damon the puppet doppelganger from Team America who couldn't say anything beyond shouting his own name. For some reason that's all I've been able to think about as Billy Donovan attempted to sidestep the Kentucky rumors this past week.

I simply do not like Georgetown. I was 6 when they last made a Final Four, so I don't remember the Ewing Sr. teams. I do remember the teams with Mourning and Dikembe Mutumbo who underachieved like crazy. But more than just the basketball team, I don't like the school.

If you're from the Northeast, it's reasonable to assume that you went to high school with a guy who ended up going to Georgetown or really wanted to. Think back on that guy, and what a tool he was. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that that guy was a sort of arrogant sycophant. When it couldn't possibly hurt him, he was a tough guy, but when there was a grade to be grubbed or a chance that he could catch a beating, then our Georgetown guy was not so formidable. I do know a few guys who attended Georgetown and were good guys, but they are the overwhelmingly small minority.

That sort of arrogant sycophant is a type that gravitates to the Catholic schools of the Northeast, and it not a phenomenon exclusive to Georgetown. BC is packed to the rafters with them. And Holy Cross has produced the two most visible, the dueling lizard kings of the arrogant sycophants in the CHB and Bill Simmons. If you don't believe me, think about the CHB's dust up with Jurassic Carl Everett. Or Bill Simmons full on retreat from Isiah Thomas.

To make a long story short, I see Ohio State beating Georgetown. Oden (provided that he stays out of foul trouble) can shut down the Georgetown's inside game. And I'm not buying a team with the son of Doc Rivers as a championship contender. To say nothing of how sickening the montages of John Thompson Jr/Patrick Ewing Sr. and their sons will be.

And I think Oden is strong enough to shut down the middle against UCLA too. I've heard roughly one billion times in the last five years that the NCAA tournament is all about guard play. So let's agree now to call this year the exception that proves the rule when Oden leads Ohio State to the title.

After the last 50+ years, I think the last thing the Boston Celtics should want to do, from an organizational standpoint, is make franchise history. After the 16 titles, 11 in a 13 year span and all the facts that you already know, it's almost impossible to break any of the positive records. Unfortunately, what will go down in history as the 3rd consecutive year Danny Ainge should have been fired (even the year they went to the playoffs should have cost him his job, nothing says I have no idea what I'm doing like reacquiring Antoine Walker) will have seen two milestones in Celtics history eclipsed.

The franchise record losing streak was bad enough. But these things happen. The worst thing about is that the Celtics are going to play the Sixers tonight without Paul Pierce. And at stake is the fifth 50 loss season in franchise history. But I'm the only guy who thinks Ainge is the problem...

Well, after the first day of the tournament, my bracket isn't quite the smoking ruin I feared it would be at this point. I lost a few games, but only one of my Elite Eight was eliminated. It served me right for picking Texas Tech, but what can I say? I like Bob Knight, and I'd rather have my bracket die than pick BC over any team of his.

Bob Ryan had a good piece on Knight in the Globe to get the readers ready for the BC-TT game. Every now and then he almost makes me forget that he called Antoine Walker a punk when Ainge traded him to Dallas. I like Bob Knight because he is honest. He might be a mean old man who doesn't waste his time working the media, but he says what he feels. That's why the media doesn't like him. Not because he threw chairs or choked a player, but because he doesn't make tearful apologies and he doesn't show any deference to the press.

I didn't have enough confidence in VCU to pick them over Duke in one of my brackets, and I'm too lazy to check the other right now. I was rooting for them big time, and I'm thrilled that they won. I hate Duke almost as much as I hate BC. Duke well may be the Harvard of the South, but what exactly does that mean? Do they play Dueling Banjos with a chamber orchestra?

I hate Duke basketball because they're frauds. Every Duke player flops with far too much frequency to suit me. They work the officials, they whine and that's not how the game is meant to be played. Just about every questionable call seems to go their way. Three quarters of the national media fawn over them. And the limited success enjoyed by Duke players on the next level goes to show that their skills don't translate to the pro game. The best NBA players from Duke are invariably the ones who leave early. Look at Elton Brand and Deng.

I get so sick of people praising Shane Battier. He's not a great defender. He is a master of clutching and grabbing and flopping. The US National team had no business taking him to the World Champions over Gilbert Arenas. But when you hear the national television commentators discuss him, you'd think he was one of the 50 greatest players of all time. He isn't even one of the 50 best players in the NBA right now.

But then, I have problems with the cottage industry of basketball experts. I haven't criticized Ric Bucher in a while, I've had other things on my mind. But last week, he said Shaq ranked below Kareem on the list of all time centers because Shaq played with superstars like Kobe and D Wade on his championship teams. This is an excellent point, because it is a little known fact that not only did Kareem never play so much as a second of basketball with another star on his team, but the NBA insisted that his teams always play with 4 players rather than the standard 5 because Kareem was so amazingly talented. Give me a break. Kareem played with Magic, Worthy and the Big O (the real Big O, not Glen Ordway). What are they? Chopped liver?

I should have more to say after the rest of the first round games are played. I have a bad feeling that something terrible is going to happen to my brackets this weekend. And by that I mean something worse than the death of an Elite Eight team on the first day.

I realize I'm somewhat late to the party, talking about the FIBA World Championship basketball tournament two weeks after it ended. Other things have intruded. But I have a few things to say and a few minutes to say them now.

First things first. This edition of Team USA had no business coming in third. This team should have won, plain and simple. Yes, it wasn't perfect. Yes, a pure shooter might have been a nice complement to Wade, James and Anthony. A player like Bruce Bowen might have provided a more dependable perimeter defender than some of the team members. But there is no way that there was another team that was as talented, and as deep as the US.

Our old friend Bob Ryan was determined to let those of us who were not sufficiently initiated into the mysteries of Dr. Naismith's sport and so deemed this third place finish a disaster know that he was right and we were wrong. The phenomenon of basketball globalization is to blame for Team USA's recent lack of success in international competition. In short, players all across the world are better now than they ever were in the past.

Of course, it is widely acknowledged that Pau Gasol is 18 to 20 times better than the best American playing in the NBA, which accounts for the amazing run of success his teams have enjoyed in their postseason forays. To date, they have yet to win a single game. And I was just one of many who pointed out that Dirk Nowitzki came up small in the biggest moments of this season's NBA Finals. Foreign players are better than the teams that the US squashed in 1992 and 1996 and beat in 2000. But are they better than Americans? I don't think so.

We know that there was one key decision that set the US up for failure. They didn't include one pure shooter on the roster. There is a little known fact that only men like Bob Ryan know. A pure shooter can never go cold. A guy like Reggie Miller or Michael Redd would never have had a game where they shot 0-10 or 1-11 when the team needed him. Reggie Miller would have shot 11-10 or 13-8 or some other percentage which is patently impossible for the other 6 billion or so individuals who are bound in space and time by the laws of physics and nature.

Of course there are those who know how to fix things. Mark Cuban revealed his a ten point plan in an interview which he reprinted on blogMaverick. His first point is that one set of rules should prevail in basketball, either play American basketball by international rules or international basketball by NBA rules. That makes some sense, but athletes like the ones who made up this team should be able to adapt in short order. It's not exactly like the officials and the other teams made up the rules as they went along.

Another point is that the US sent its first Dream Team into a vacuum, following the implosion of the Soviet Union. I would be willing to bet that that team would have devastated any team of professionals from any country, even if they were forced to play shorthanded. That team had incredible talent, incredible competitiveness and incredible leadership. They would have found a way to beat anybody.

One guy who has gotten a pass in this disaster is the legendary coach. Where was Coach K when we needed him? This team seemed like they were well prepared for every eventuality but one. They weren't ready for some team to weather their run, and they come back swinging like the Greeks did, hitting their first 10 shots of the third quarter. And here's an idea...if your team isn't shooting well from three point land, maybe you could tell them not to take so many three point shots. Believe it or not, there are other ways to score in basketball.

I thought Elton Brand did a nice job summing up what the US team needs going forward. Particularly because he discounts the value of the designated savior (take your pick from Kobe, KG, Ray Allen, Gilbert Arenas or Player X). If there is one guy who needs to go, it's Battier. Without Duke getting calls by reputation, he (and Coach K) aren't the dominant forces that some believed they might be. Bruce Bowen is a better defender. Not much of an offensive player, but he might know a bit about the pick and roll.

More zone is a good idea. More size to counter the pick and roll is also a good plan. But it doesn't necessarily mean bringing in new people. Maybe Elton Brand could have played more minutes, and less center. Of course, one can easily forgive Coach K for not utilizing Brand as effectively as he could have. After all, with the healthy culture that pervades youth basketball and college recruiting, it's not like Coach K saw the balance of Brand's high school games. Oh wait, he did. Instead of adding more weapons, it might be a good idea to use the ones you have. And a halftime adjustment or timely timeout might not hurt.

I really don't like posting twice on the same day. It provides yet one more conformation that I have no life. When I saw that LeBron had yet to agree on the extension with Cleveland I just had to get something up on that topic. I'm also sorry that I didn't provide many links for my wild speculations. It was just something that occurred to me, and I thought I should run with it. I think I might just be the first guy to get anything on the possibility (albeit a very slim one at best) that LeBron could one day wear a Celtics uniform.

This post has been in the works since last night, and now that we've put basketball aside for the moment, I can return to attacking the Red Sox for an evening (which is, after all, the stated purpose of this site). This has been quite a series down in Tampa. The local nine have dropped three straight to the lowly Devil Rays. Bob Ryan says it's too early to panic, and he's right. But it still has to hurt a bit, especially when someone like me throws a little salt in the wound.

The Devil Rays may be better than you think. Weird things can happen in the course of a long season like the catch Crawford made against Youkilis last night. But the Red Sox were red hot, winning 15 of 16 before they came to Tampa. They had, prior to this series, lost 4 of their last 6 in Tampa. But the Devil Rays are a last place team. Unless of course they win tonight and the Orioles lose to the White Sox (or as they'll be called on this site henceforth, the Real Sox).

The Sox seemed like they had good reason to feel optimistic entering this series, with Josh Beckett starting the first game and Schilling starting game 2. I bet no one would have thought that the last line of defense against a Tampa Bay sweep would be Tim Wakefield. Of course, no one expected that the mighty Red Sox lineup would be 2 hit by Scott Kazmir. Or that Big Schill would allow 3 home runs. But these things happen.

As for Big Schill himself, I'm still waiting for his response to Mitch Williams. I hate to link to the androidsdungeon so soon after the whole Dr. Who episode, but it was the first place where I found the reference to Mitch Williams calling Schilling out. Quite literally. After the blown save that blew the 1993 World Series, Wild Thing took issue with comments Big Schill made. According to him, Big Schill had best borrow some guts and meet the Wild Thing outside. I am not commenting on the truth of this story, necessarily. I like to take things like this with a grain of salt. I just bring it up to be a thorn in the side of Red Sox fans. And, lest we forget, they say a charge not answered is a charge believed. For what that's worth...

Carl Crawford quite literally stole the show last night. It's not every day that you see a guy steal home. In fact, it hasn't happened to the Sox since 2000. It was such big news, it even made it into a nice little featurette in the KC Star, where Crawford revealed that no one had pitched from the windup with him on 3rd base until Schilling did it 2 nights ago. Then Jason Johnson, he of the notorious ability to lose games, did it. The rest, as they say, is history.

Then there was the wacky play where Crawford caught a ball that Kevin Youkilis hit off a catwalk in the outfield (see the bottom of this piece for "keen" analysis). The Greek God of Walks screamed bloody murder that he should not have been called out. Unfortunately, according to the ground rules, he was out. Francona called it "putt-putt golf stuff" and said it had no place in baseball. I disagree. Crawford made one hell of a play on that ball. To break back and catch a ball fading away from you after it hit a catwalk is worthy of an out.

And for all you Red Sox fans, before you agree with Francona and lobby for rules changes in Tampa, ask yourself whether or not you'd agree with Carl Crawford being called out had it been him at the plate and Manny Ramirez made a catch like that in left field. From time to time, a little intellectual honesty is good for the soul (for those few Red Sox fans that have one). I doubt you'd rally for justice had the shoe been on the other foot.

Meanwhile, I address my parting shot at Kevin Youkilis. In a somewhat ironic gesture, he threw a tantrum at the call. Without the field being miked, it seems that he may have done a bit more to get himself ejected than Jorge Cantu did, but that's neither here nor there. Of late at Fenway, Youke has been coming to bat to the dulcet and underplayed tones of "Jump Around" by House of Pain. And, work with me here Red Sox fans (I'll try to use simple words and write slowly, lest you think too hard and sprain something), here's where we reach the ironic part.

In the intricately composed opus with which Youkilis gets himself in the hitting zone, there is this line: "I ain't goin' out like no punk b----." In my way of thinking that is ironic, since that is exactly how he went out after that call.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it's been a while since I posted an update on my blog. Rest assured, I have my reasons. My computer is in the weeds with what I assume is a virus problem. I have a theory or two to account for this problem. If you visit Mark Cuban's blog (Bear in mind, you do so at the risk of your own intellectual well being) with its continual critique of journalism such as it is, perhaps you might see where I'm coming from. If you can find the point in the latest entry, I think you win a prize.

Is it a coincidence that my computer is wracked with a virus while Mark Cuban treats a topic (Ozzie Guillen's recent verbal verbal misstep) covered in agonizing detail by a site in which Mark Cuban himself has been the subject of a vicious attack? Most likely, it is a coincidence. We here at Cincinnati Kid Industries do endorse most forms of paranoia. Particularly the delusional variety.

There is also the possibility that the Red Sox themselves are tired of me, the lone voice of truth in a sycophantic region devoted to glossing over their foibles. As was the case in the Seinfeld episode where Kramer tried to scam the Post Office into replacing Jerry's stereo, the Red Sox just might be endeavoring to drag the Cincinnati Kid from his cushy lair and force me to rely on internet cafes to expose me to the harsh, clear light of day as the monster I am. A monster so vile...

Whatever the case may be, I ought not rule out coincidence, especially as I am a great believer in Ockham's Razor. The likelihood of Mark Cuban or the Red Sox knowing who I am and what I write is pretty slim. My fame has yet to measure with my capabilities as a writer. I realize that, but I can live with it. But I am still paranoid. And yet, I am not quite prepared to rule out the possibility that I am right and you all are out to get me. For my part, I believe that paranoid and arrogant is a winning combination, although it might explain why I'm still single. I've also been told that I'm immature and afraid of commitment. It just might take that weird cult leader from eHarmony.com to get me off the market. Then again, I think I'd rather be single than go through a process like Warren Beatty went through in the Parallax View. I wouldn't want to live in a world where I might come out the other side of the looking glass a Red Sox fan, or worse.

The real subject of my post should have been up a week ago, when it was relevant. Alas, it has little to do with Scott Kazmir markedly outpitching Josh Beckett. I'm going to hold off on commenting on Curt Schilling's brilliant effort for a little while, too. Nor is the pathetic weakness of the NL East my concern on this fine evening. I must confess, that there was very little to say toward the stated purpose of this site with the recent wining streak ruining my days. And I have nothing patriotic to say to celebrate America's 230th birthday. Tonight my subject is Danny Ainge, and the inexplicable lack of criticism for his stewardship of the Celtics.

From what I saw of the NBA Draft (and I watched until Dee Brown was off the board because I thought he was vastly underrated), it seemed to me that Danny Ainge set out to make himself the worst GM in NBA history. Alas, Isaiah Thomas stole his thunder. No one will criticize Ainge when they can wonder why Isaiah picked Renaldo Balkman at 20. For those of you scoring at home, Balkman would almost assuredly have been available in free agency. After this, it mattered little whom Mr. Thomas selected with the 29th pick. For all the good this draft will do the Knicks, Isaiah might as well have drafted me.

The real issue is how poorly Ainge manipulated the draft process. In hindsight, the Cs could have ended up with Randy Foye or Brandon Roy, based on what Portland and Minnesota did with the 6th and 7th picks. For my part, I think that if Sebastian Telfair is all hype. Without that documentary film on ESPN, how many people would know him if they fell over him? And then there's Theo Ratliff. Who knew he was still alive, let alone still in the league? Read the last portion of this passage to get a realistic assessment of this trade.

If you read the article in the last link in the preceding paragraph, you'll find that Bob Ryan gave this draft an F-, and the two guys at the bottom of the piece have problems with Ainge's moves. But Peter May is willing to give Ainge the benefit of the doubt, and Shira Springer is guardedly optimistic. I hate to say this, but I agree with Bob Ryan. That is becoming a disturbing trend in this blog.

As for Rajon Rondo, according to Shira Springer, Ainge had him ranked 7th overall. Of course, Shira also pointed out that Danny Ainge has as much use for media mock drafts as he did for Antoine Walker. While the pro-Antoine anti-management bias of this site is overt, that doesn't mean that we are opposed to showing some consideration to those harboring opposing views. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to ask where Ms. Springer has been for the last several weeks.

In case she didn't notice, Antoine Walker earned a championship ring. As far as I know, not being familiar with the owners of the Pistons or the Heat, I cannot say the same for Danny Ainge as an executive. If I owned the Pistons, I would have been sure to give Danny a ring for the Rasheed Wallace trade where the Cs took spare parts (I will admit that Lindsay Hunter has been a solid player for a number of years, but how can he count when he never played for the Cs?) and Detroit took the O'Brien Trophy. As for the Heat's owner, I think he might make a nice gesture as Bob Kraft did on his visit to Russian head of state Vladimir Putin. After all, two of the players who helped win him the title had spent last season helping the Celtics to achieve their lone playoff appearance in the Danny Ainge Era.

Antoine Walker is vastly underappreciated as a basketball player. He can be arrogant. He misses a lot of shots. In many ways, he reminds me of me. People in Boston that think they know the Celtics, or think they know basketball still use his name as a punchline. To them, he's a poster boy for what's wrong with the NBA. And yet, he was a contributing member of a championship team. It is true that Danny Ainge was also a contributing member of the Celtics' dynasty of the 1980s, but what has he accomplished since then?

In the Miami Herald piece I linked above (see underappreciated), there are two paragraphs that need to be quoted:

In explaining the trade of a seven-year veteran and Celtics co-captain, Ainge reportedly told the media that Walker's leadership "stifled'' other players' leadership and had a ''grasp'' on the Celtics franchise that wasn't ``a positive thing.''

Walker pointed out, ``Look at Boston, look at me right now. Last time I checked, I don't think Boston's had that great a record since I've been gone.''

That speaks for itself. Perhaps Antoine Walker wasn't stifling the leadership of his former teammates. Perhaps there was no leadership there to be stifled. The Celtics cannot ignore the fact that Danny Ainge is a terrible GM. His hat hangs on his draft record. But the team is young, and as yet unproven. They have a great deal of potential, but the trouble with potential is that more often than not it is never reached.

And yet, there is no serious criticism of Danny Ainge the GM. Bill Simmons almost seemed like he wanted to go there in his Draft Diary. Instead, he chose a far easier target in Isaiah Thomas. To be fair, Isaiah's decisions are so bad that they demand immediate response and often overshadow the folly of those around him. I even considered inducting the Sports Guy into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame for leaving Ainge out of the bad GM summit he wrote a few months back (there is no link to this piece, Cincinnati Kid Industries cannot afford the archive subscription fee at ESPN.com). I had to rule against it, since I laugh out loud when I read his stuff. So for the immediate future, Bill is immune to the Max Mercy HOF, especially since the next inductee deserves a special ceremony.

As I said before, Shira Springer blithely said that mock drafts rank up there in Ainge World with Employee Number Eight. So I will wrap up this post with some cheerful thoughts for the last remaining Celtics fans. Danny Ainge elected to pay the money the Suns owed Brian Grant to sit home and watch TV (as he retired on June 28). For the record, that is $1.8 million to a guy who won't even play a game of basketball, let alone play for Boston and a first round pick next year (granted, it comes from Cleveland so that it won't be all that great unless King James vanishes from the material sphere) for Rajon Rondo, a point guard who prompted this reaction from Bill Simmons in his running diary:

9:40 -- Just when this draft couldn't get any crazier, my beloved Celtics just bought the 21st pick from Phoenix to take Rajon Rondo, the Kentucky guard who Chad Ford touted all summer because he mistakenly thought Rondo was foreign. Unfortunately, Rondo can't shoot. This is an understatement. As Bilas says, "Teams in the SEC didn't even guard him." Put it this way: The list of NBA teams that won an NBA title with a point guard who couldn't shoot looks like this:
1. (empty)2. (empty)3. (empty)
On the other hand, my Celtics moles told me that Rondo absolutely DESTROYED Foye and Williams in their workout a few weeks ago. So who knows?
God, I'm a sap ...
9:43 -- My dad's reaction: "So we have two new point guards, but one of them's 5-foot-11 and the other one can't shoot? And I'm supposed to be happy about this?" Tough to argue with that one. I'm not even going to bother telling him about Rondo's freakishly long fingers. Maybe tomorrow.

At least the Celtics will have a dance team for the first time in franchise history in the coming season. It's almost ironic that two teams broke tradition in a big way in the last few months. Boston, with it's arena rafters filled with championship banners and the retired numbers of past heroes now has cheerleaders. Miami, the former expansion team whose first ever field goal came from the immortal Rory Sparrow, made its first finals appearance and won its first title. But I'm wrong about Antoine Walker, and Danny Ainge is right.

And Sebastian Telfair and Rajon Rondo will be a championship back court one of these days.

In the immortal words of country music legend George Strait: "I've got some ocean front property in Arizona. From my front porch you can see the sea. I've got some ocean front property in Arizona. An' if you'll buy that I'll throw the Golden Gate in free."

While I am two days late to the party, I really meant to post this after Miami won. Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance because I had to get up early in the morning to TCB (not that I own any TCB memorabilia, but Elvis' motto should be good enough for anyone). Then I started watching Firewall last night, and just didn't feel like posting last night. But it's official now, the Heat are the champions of the NBA.

Antoine Walker has a championship ring, and Danny Ainge is locked up in a secure location planning to draft the player that will cost the most money, take the longest to develop and compete for playing time at the 2 or the 3, like 9 other players on the current roster. There is always the possibility that Kevin Pittsnogle could be available. What a compliment he'd make to Raef LaFrentz (he's far too awful to get a link from this site). They'd have the tallest, softest front line that the NBA has seen in many a year. Read the profile in the link above and see if this is a fair synopsis: "He'd be a pretty good pro player, if he didn't suck." BTW, that site with his profile has Pittsnogle going to Charlotte at #50. Ainge won't let that happen.

Something occurred that was slightly more important than Antoine earning a measure of redemption (yes, his shooting percentage was everything the CHB et al. could have hoped for, but he played defense very well and he did pull 11 boards in game 6). The hexagonal conspiracy against Mark Cuban claimed another victory, although it was by the slimmest of margins. Mark Cuban served notice that he was through taking crap from David Stern's minions by staring the commissioner down after Game 5. Stern, however, seems not to have received the memo that Mark Cuban was not a man to be trifled with lightly. Game 6 went off according to plan, Miami won. Dallas lost. Wait till next year? Justice delayed is justice denied.

Every thinking person in America knows that Dallas should have won the series. Not only that, but they should have accomplished that feat in five games. No less a light than Ric Bucher said so on Sportscenter at the start of the series. Alas, he didn't say it in print on the ESPN site, so you have to take my word for it. And we all know that Ric is never wrong. Just ask him, and he'll tell you so.

For his part Mark Cuban denied that he stared the commissioner down, and denied that he ever said the series against Miami was rigged. You really have to read the blog to get a sense of the level of oppression endured by the Benefactor on the course of a given day. Tears sprang to my eyes when I read his impassioned plea to the editors/publishers/fact checkers at the Miami Herald to take the time to find out whether or not he owned a boat. It is a pleasant surprise to see Mark Cuban react to the events of these playoffs with everything but magnanimity. It makes it so much easier to criticize him.

blogMaverick is a treasure-trove for someone like me, who cannot stand its author. Aside from the fact that he's whiny and has a morbid aversion to the apostrophe, there is so much to criticize. This particularly entry, on the merits of cursing, Cuban comes off like a 12 year old talking trash to an authority figure to make his friends think he's hard. The Benefactor says he has no patience with people who waste his time. I wonder what else he had to do other than answer a simple question. A reporter asked him if the loss in question was the worst loss ever. Not the most intelligent of queries, I concede, but it was a chance for Cuban to drop an F bomb.

The Benefactor announced that he was commencing a crusade against corporate crime on HDNet in a recent post. It was unclear from his language whether his sale of broadcast.com to Yahoo! will be among the topics covered. According to his bio on NBA.com, broadcast.com is the "leading provider of multimedia and streaming on the Internet." Wikipedia does not present such a rosy picture. Here is an interesting case study of the build-up to the Yahoo! acquisition of broadcast.com. This guy seems to share my opinion of Cuban's business acumen, although it would be nice if he knew Jerry Jones owned the Cowboys and not Jerry Johnson.

The level of discourse present in the comments section of blogMaverick is pathetic. So pathetic in fact the author has discontinued them. But if you look on some of the older entries I linked up above. It seems that there is an infinite number of Dallas/Cuban fans willing to massage his ego and drink his Kool Aid. But based on the fact that they've met their demise, I must not have been the only person that had a problem with them. Perhaps Mark Cuban has at long last learned that the postings of a legion of sycophants in Dallas aren't enough to get a billionaire into a trendy New York City night club.

While I don't much care for the journalistic integrity of the New York Post, every now and then there's a gem like this in there. Read it to unearth tidbits like Mark Cuban seemingly making reference to his endowment (or lack thereof). Gossip must be taken with a grain of salt, and hearsay and conjecture aren't admissible in a court of law. Of course, this blog isn't a court of law. To me, the story has the ring of truth because I won't give the Benefactor the benefit of the doubt and because nothing can make Mark Cuban look more ridiculous than his own actions. All the money in the world, but not much in the way of class.

Mark Cuban was quick to declare that Bill Simmons is his new hero (based on the way his superstars played in crunch time against the Heat, he needed one) . Of course supporting almost everything Mark Cuban says is the surest path to wisdom. The Sports Guy's claim to that pinnacle rests on this plaintive lament about the future of the NBA. Of course, his statement that a Dallas victory might be better for the NBA because Miami riding Wade's success would inspire imperfect imitators (Vince Carter, Paul Pierce, Gilbert Arenas, et al.).

These would-be Wades will drive into the teeth of the defense time and time again at crunch time with their teammates watching them in Simmons' nightmare scenario. Dallas, in his view, is a much better role model because their offense is more diverse than that. So many players can shoot and score they never become a one man team. Of course, one could easily posit the argument that no one on the Mavs is man enough to take over a game when it really matters which is why their offense didn't stagnate at the end of the game vs. Miami. It disappeared entirely.

Yet one more reason to go after Mark Cuban is that he inspired Bob Ryan to write this column, which very nearly made me regret inducting him into the Max Mercy Hall of Fame. This particular tidbit just might be the second best evaluation of the Benefactor's behavior:

Each time a call is made against the Mavericks, [Cuban] stared intently at the big screen to see the replay. Invariably, he reacted to what he had seen by a) making a face, b) shaking his head vigorously, c) making a face while shaking his head vigorously, or d) spinning wildly while making a face and shaking his head vigorously.

I don't think that captured the ridiculously childish behavior of the Mavs owner as well as the quote I used from "As I Please 6," where George Orwell described someone as "looking more like a monkey on a stick than you would think possible for anyone who is not doing it on purpose." That is Mark Cuban in a nutshell.

I think by now I've spent enough time on the Benefactor, so I will move on to the series in general after a parting shot. This link will take you to an article by Jason Whitlock where he argues that the NBA ought to suspend Mark Cuban for a period of time to get him to tone down his criticism of officials. I think the writer overstates his case, but the parallel between Artest and Cuban is not entirely unreasonable. I think (perhaps hope might be a better word) that an owner cannot incite a riot. But the idea of banning the Benefactor from the arenas until he can behave like an adult is intriguing. Also, since I pride myself on giving the devil his due, I must applaud Cuban for his charity work on behalf of families who have lost loved ones in the ongoing unpleasantness overseas.

I noticed that the Maverick PA system played the Eye of the Tiger down the stretch in a timeout. Would that it had worked out to inspire the team. While Dwyane Wade came up big, the Dallas stars came up small (no pun was intended on the performance of the Dallas Stars hockey team who also came up small this postseason). I saw a woman in the crowd wearing a Nowitzness shirt. I hope the round-trip tickets to St. Louis, KC, San Antonio or Houston (courtesy of the Benefactor and American Airlines from Fan Appreciation Night) are enough to console the fans of the Mavs who found themselves Nowitzless in the 4th quarter.

I will not jump on the Wade bandwagon. He is a great player who was unbelievably clutch in this series, but I am not a bandwagon jumper. Never have been, never will be. I will dwell some more on the Mavs. Dirk did have 29 points in Game 6, but he went 0 for from the field in the 4th quarter and only had 2 points. He helped cause a turn over late in the 4th when he threw a relatively difficult pass to Erik "Hands of Stone" Dampier rather than take a shot himself. And when the Mavs were down 3, it was Jason Terry who took the last shot, not Dirk.

I understand that Miami took great pains to keep the ball out of Dirk's hands as much as possible. That said, great players are expected to find a way to lead their teammates to the promised land. Look at the lyric sheet for Springsteen's Promised Land, and tell me whether Dirk qualifies as a boy or a man. Miami got big contributions from role players. Haslem shot very well, Antoine got some big rebounds. Without Marquis Daniels, who knows if Dallas could have kept it close.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison: "when the music's over, turn out the light." As the lights go out on the Mavericks, they and their can take consolation from the fact that it took all the Commish's horses and all the Commish's men to get Miami the title. That should tide them over, provided that they don't dwell on the infinite improbability that they are the only victims of human error in officiating.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you might have expected that there would be no post this evening following the unfortunate Tiger collapse. But more important events have induced me to launch the new feature I have been promising for quite some time now. Miami defeated the Pistons and eliminated them from the NBA playoffs. More importantly, Antoine hit a devastating 3 down the stretch, and I saw a sight that could make up for any number of late inning rallies by my mortal enemies. The Walker Wiggle was seen tonight. And, for the purposes of this site, it couldn't have come at a better time. Without further eloquence (or whatever quality I possess that stands in the stead of eloquence)...

THE MAX MERCY HALL OF FAME INAUGURAL EDITION

For those of you who don't know, Max Mercy is the parasitic sports writer from the classic Bernard Malamud novel The Natural ( proper MLA documentation eludes my skill as a writer in the present format, forgive me for not pacing greater emphasis on the title). He is played quite well by Robert Duvall in the film version.

Max Mercy is a weasel, a scumbag (and yes, I'm aware of that word's original meaning) and a jock sniff. For those qualities and more, in my way of thinking, he stands as a perfect avatar for the modern sports journalist. There are obvious exceptions, who may be named later provided that I have more time and am infused with a sudden influx of industry. Furthermore, as long as the Red Sox manage to win more than they lose, there is no place in this site for positivity.

Based on the preceeding paragraph, and the earlier posts (if you're crazy enough to have read them), you might expect the first member of the Max Mercy Hall of Fame to be the CHB. I do have a number of problems with the CHB as a writer, and rest assured he will be enshrined in this pantheon eventually. Tonight's lucky inductee came to the Boston Globe from New Jersey, via Boston College, and that about sums it up for him. He is...
Bob Ryan.

As a writer, Bob's prose style is no worse than any other sports journalist. His voice does have a nasal quality that resembles a dentist's drill in the middle of a root canal. It can be particularly annoying when he forgets to use his inside voice in one of his inexplicably frequent television appearances. All of these are reasons to dislike someone in Cincinnati Kid land (for those of you keeping score at home, that is how I refer my own little corner of paradise, the island of normalcy in Red Sox Nation).

My biggest problem with Bob Ryan, and the reason he vaulted over the CHB (and others who will join them in time), is his delight in kicking someone when he (or she, I can't think of an instance when Bob's done this to a woman, but I'm sure an enlightened gentleman like him wouldn't discriminate based on gender) when he is down.

A case in point is the recent (and long delayed) departure of Nomar. I don't know whether he was the first, but Bob Ryan hinted that some of Nomar's injury problems might be related to steroid use. I don't know whether Nomar did or did not use steroids. I never liked him. I was glad to see him go. I don't miss the braying morons screaming "Nomahhh." I am quietly amused a how quickly the morons who insisted that Nomar was better than Jeter shut their faces.

I still don't like Nomar. But even more than I hated him, I hate it when a guy facing a deadline throws somebody under the bus because they lack creativity and the effort that it takes to do legitimate research (this blog is exempt from that statement, as it is a monument to my misanthropy, bitterness, negativity and above all insanity). That is what our beloved Bob Ryan did with that one, as far as I can tell.

Then there is Butch Hobson. I was too young to remember him as a player. I do remember him as Red Sox manager, and I remember wishing ill on him professionally. I had no real interest in seeing him suffer personal tragedies, I just wanted the Red Sox to lose every game. Then one night, he was arrested for cocaine possession. Here in Cincinnati Kid land, we do not condone the use of illegal drugs, but the man was going through a rough patch.

In minutes, it seemed, a column appeared under the Bob Ryan byline in the Boston Globe. In it, we found out that Butch Hobson the player was not a very savory character. Among his great sins, Butch never seemed to miss a last call. Intead of asking questions like how would Bob Ryan know he never missed a last call, I, good guy that I am, assume that Bob Ryan acquired that red nose of his picking cherries (if you don't know that expression, feel free to look it up) and not frequenting the same drinking establishments that Mr. Hobson visited. Butch had enough problems without Bob Ryan taking his soap box and getting all moral majority on us.

Then there is the case of Antoine Walker. When Danny Ainge is his infinite incompetence traded Employee Number 8 to Dallas for magic beans, of course Bob had an opinion there. He called Antoine a punk. Brave words, indeed, when over a thousand miles intervene. I will not go into a long discourse on Antoine's virtues. Bill Simmons did that over a year ago (I might be inclined to quote him if the ESPN archive fee weren't infinitely in excess of this site's current budget).

I merely offer this as an illustration of how much it meant to Antoine to play in Boston. The day after his trade was announced, he put his ad in the Boston newspapers thanking the fans and the organization. Johnny Damon signed with the Yankees on December 23. His ad ran in the local papers in February. Only a cynic would assume that the erstwhile darling of the Inside Track and the 80 IQ set in Fenway deliberately waited until the weeks between the Super Bowl and March Madness to ensure his artificial display of magnanimity received the most media attention.

Watching Antoine do his wiggle tonight, and seeing him go to the Finals with a new team should have hurt. It didn't. Celtics fans have Wyc and Irv and Danny, a veritable confedracy of dunces. Boston fans didn't appreciate him because he shot a low percentage and complained to the officials (no more than most players, and much less than the more visible stars like Kobe and Dirk). The Boston media didn't appreciate him either, ostensibly for the same reasons he didn't inspire the fans but more likely because he refused to pay homage to the graven image of each individual writer.

This was quite a post, in addition to attacking a famous writer from a major metropolitan newspaper, I think I worked in some nice touches. There was at least one use of the royal/editiorial we in there. A couple of references to myself in the third person brought a lot to the table. But I have to say, I was glad I managed to throw a furthermore and an erstwhile in there. Words like that really dress up a post. Throw in a Warren Harding allusion (he ran for the White House in 1920 advocating a return to normalcy) and you're off and running. Good night and go Tigers.