This week has provided a few candidates for this blog's Tool of Note segment. In fact, these candidates are so numerous and so outstanding in the realm of tooldom that it seems almost unfair to try to narrow them down and choose just one. So I'm not going to bother trying to pick a single tool, instead I will honor them all.

First, we have Donovan McNabb. My heart bled for him when he was assailed by Terrell Owens. But now, my heart bleeds for him no longer. Unless you live under a rock, you know by now that he has come out and stated that the media and fans place and undue amount of pressure on quarterbacks of African American descent. But for some strange reason, the entire world didn't come to an end.

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, it should be apparent that I have my reasons for disliking Donovan McNabb. I find him to be a whiner who is always ready with a reason for falling short rather than a plan to win the game. Those who would defend him can point to his statistics which are admirable, and the number of Pro Bowls he's been to, but those things aren't the object of the exercise in the NFL.

Even making the NFC championship game four consecutive seasons is a nice accomplishment, but not necessarily a passport to Canton. The thing about getting to the conference championship game a few times in a row is that only a very few people bother to remember it ten years down the road. For instance, from 1974-1979, the then Los Angeles Rams made it to four conference finals in five years. But they only made it to one Super Bowl, and who remembers them?

Perhaps I'm being unfair to Donovan McNabb. After all, he is the most universally reviled quarterback in the NFL at the moment, right? It's not like any other quarterback regardless of his level of success is taking any heat at all, right? Give me a break. Rex Grossman gets murdered in the press and among fans, and deservedly so. He doesn't play well enough to win big games in big situations, so he gets ripped. That's life.

If we look at other African American quarterbacks and how they are treated by the media, the most obvious example that comes to mind is Michael Vick. Before this past offseason and its damaging revelation about his extracurricular activities, Michael Vick was a lightning rod for media attention. For every commentator that praised his unique athletic talents, there was another who ripped him for a low completion percentage, critical turnovers in key moments, inferior pocket passing skills and inability to handle pressure. Never once, however, did I get the sense that they were ripping him because he was black.

Then there is the case of Vince Young. It's too early in his career to get the sense of how he will be perceived in the media. I get the sense that even more will be expected of him than of McNabb and Vick because he came into the league on the heels of a huge win in a national championship game. He is still in the honeymoon phase of his career, so he won't be killed for mistakes like that ill-advised lateral at the end of the Indianapolis game last week for the moment.

I think McNabb ought to add Terrell Owens and Rush Limbaugh to his Christmas card list. They have done more for him through the controversies they created with their comments than McNabb has done for himself with his play on the field. They have made it possible for him to wrap himself in the mantle of his race, which makes it very dangerous for people to criticize him objectively. They will always be afraid of seeming racist when they do.

I don't know what to make of the controversy at quarterback for the Eagles last season. I hate both McNabb and Garcia, and I hate the Eagles. It's hard to argue with the simple fact that the Eagles were 5-5 in games McNabb started, and they finished the season 10-6. I might not be the world's greatest mathematician, but it seems like that might be a little better without McNabb than with him. Is that racially motivated, or just a simple fact?

I also don't think it's racist to wonder whether a man who is supposed to be a world-class athlete should be able to lead a drive from his own five yard line into field goal range at the end of the biggest game of his career even with no timeouts and only a minute to play. Terrell Owens played the game six weeks removed from a broken leg and with a metal pin where his shin bones used to be. But we should give Donovan McNabb a break because his tummy ached?

But Donovan McNabb isn't the only tool in this sordid little affair. I would be remiss if I left the good folks at HBO's Real Sports out of this piece. If there were ever a time when Real Sports had real relevance, I don't remember it. I do admire Bryant Gumbel (and his brother Greg) for laboring on in obscurity even when an entire generation will only remember them from the Gumbel to Gumbel joke in that episode of Family Guy a few years back.

However, it seems highly unlikely that those heady days when Gumbel hosted the Today show and the lions in their den trembled at his approach will come back any time soon. No matter how many sensationalistic pieces that accuse the mainstream sports media and fans of racist tendencies, HBO's Real Sports is never going to be the arbiter of public opinion on any issue. Perhaps Bryant Gumbel and Keith Olberman can get together and start work on a Way Back machine so they can get back to the mid 1990s when they were as kings in the media.

I would also be remiss if I didn't honor Andrew Meyer, who, in getting himself tazed, has done more to deserve tool of note status than most who have been so honored to date.



Maybe I'm out of touch with the youth of America, maybe I'm old fashioned, maybe I'm just a jerk, but I have absolutely no sympathy for this young man. I wonder what gave him the notion to go to a talk by a US Senator and try to pull a prank. It was certainly a terrible idea, but it seems like it will work out better than he could possibly have hoped.

Also deserving this dubious honor are the people who have leaped to this young man's defense. The University of Florida police officers who tazed this tool did not overreact. It is very difficult to conceive of a situation where officers of the law providing security for a once and maybe future candidate for the nation's highest office can overreact to a disturbance that may threaten said individual's safety on a public stage.

With the heightened emphasis on security following the 9-11 attacks and the justified paranoia surrounding security of high-profile elected officials, only a complete moron goes into an event like the one in Florida and acts up at all. And any one who thinks that this kid deserved better treatment should ask themselves what if he had meant Kerry harm and the police didn't act the way they acted. How would that have worked?

What presents the kick in the ass in this whole mess is that this tool is now basically freed from the compulsion of earning a living. The University of Florida will likely settle this case by writing a check to shut his mouth. He will also probably get a show or at least a gig on a show to do stunts like this full-time. And the officers who tazed him are probably going to face severe consequences.

The tool's attorney maintains that the officers tazed the kid after he had been cuffed. Ordinarily, I would find that, if true, to be exceedingly beat. In this case, because Andrew Meyer went into a heightened security environment with the intent to be a dick and because he said "Don't taze me, bro" to the officers, I think summary execution would have been within the realm of acceptable punishment.

In other matters, recently, I have taken to listening to Nights with Alice Cooper. A good friend of mine suggested it almost a year ago, now, and being the stubborn man I am, it has taken me this long to act on the recommendation. I must say, I am pleasantly surprised by his humor, his ability to articulate and his taste in music.

I must confess that I came to the show with preconceived notions because I hate heavy metal music as a rule. And the stage antics for which he is well known did not inspire me to accept Alice Cooper. I guess it was the inclusion of No More Mr. Nice Guy on the soundtrack for School for Scoundrels that started the turn of events that led me to change my mind on Alice Cooper.

This week, Alice answered an email from a high school girl who had questions about growing up when he did versus growing up today. Cooper said the world in which he grew up was better than what we live with now. Even though I am only 27, I found myself agreeing with him.

Some of the reasons he gave were very compelling. Families were closer back then, kids were afraid of their teachers, there were fewer drugs available to kids and schools were much less violent. Alice also said that it was a good thing that people weren't connected to the computer the way they are now. I found that ironic, as he was answering an email at the time. It's also ironic for me to approve of the sentiment as I blog about it.

As with anything else, Alice Cooper and his show are not perfect. I am not a huge fan of Alice's Closet Covers. From what I've gathered he takes obscure songs by obscure artists and plays even more obscure covers by even more obscure artists once a night. Perhaps they will grow on me in time.

A much more ominous sign came this week when Alice intimated that he didn't play enough John Cougar Mellencamp (Alice was polite enough to drop the Cougar, but I'm not). Now if he'd meant that he plays too much Mellencamp by that statement, I'd agree with him. However, he meant that he played too little Mellencamp, and I just don't think that's possible.

I would also be remiss if I neglected to answer the two comments on my last post. To the Kobra Kommander, I have this to say. First, I remember the hype surrounding the release of the Beatles' Anthology. Can you honestly tell me that it was worse than the recent concert tour with a headliner who has been deceased since the heady days of the Carter Administration?

But I spoke too soon in praise of the Beatles. I only assume that my friend the Beatles fan was too busy devoting his attention to the Cubs chase for the NL Central title to inform me that Paul McCartney became first artist on the new Starbucks record label. If it hadn't been for John Cougar Mellencamp, that would have made McCartney the sellout of the year.

And as for my silence on the late season woes of the Boston Red Sox, I seem to recall saying after the last Yankees series that I wasn't going to talk too much about the Sox since the last few times I celebrated their poor play seemed to trigger a depressing run of wins for the Olde Towne Team.

And to the anonymous commentator, how am I going to take your opinion on Elizabeth Vargas seriously? First you undermine your own statement since you didn't watch the show. Much like Donnie from the Big Lebowski, you're like a child who has wandered into a movie in the middle and wants to know what's going on even though you have no frame of reference.

As for my relentless negativity, would you rather I took all the negativity I put forth in this blog and unburdened it on people in my day to day life. I feel somewhat reluctant to tell you exactly what you can do with the prayers you offered me. But perhaps you might want to say them for the people who would encounter me if I didn't let my negativity loose in this form.

It is September 8, 2007 and at this point all I have left to which to look forward in this college football is what I am going to bill as the futility bowl. Notre Dame and its catastrophically dreadful offense travels to the Big House to face the tragically inept Michigan defense next Saturday. Both will be coming off embarrassing losses when they meet.

Conventional wisdom tells us that one team will win its first game of the year in this confrontation. The trouble, however, with conventional wisdom is that it is precisely that. Conventional. I don't believe that either team is capable of winning a football game at this point. I don't think either team deserves to win.

Alas, if I were a betting man, I would have to put my money on the Wolverines. Not only because they are the home team, but because the Notre Dame medical facilities will be overwhelmed this week. After the time they have spent on the field in the first two games, I expect at least a half dozen or so members of the Notre Dame defense to be hospitalized for exhaustion. As a result, they will have a tough time fielding an 11 man defensive unit against Michigan.

What I find mind boggling is the extent of the dreadfulness of the Notre Dame offensive line. I remember growing up watching outstanding offensive line play for the Fighting Irish every year. I guess I got as used to it as I did to Red Sox collapses in October and leaves changing color. It's just one more thing that makes me lament the passing of the years.

This current crop of offensive linemen are basically stealing $130,000 from the university. It's not fair, I suppose to shred 18-22 year old kids for not meeting expectations, but then I guess I'm a terrible person. These guys can't run block and they can't pass block. They can't pick up the blitz, but then I can't figure out why opposing teams even bother to blitz Notre Dame, since they haven't shown any capacity to contain even the most basic defensive fronts.

It's also impossible to evaluate the young running backs with defensive linemen and linebackers pouring through the front line as if it weren't even there. It is not impossible to evaluate the performance of Travis Thomas, who still blows. It was, however, awfully nice of him to commit the personal foul on the Penn State punt that seemed to change the momentum of the game in the first half.

Notre Dame did show some signs of improvement. They came oh so close to scoring their first offensive touchdown of the year. Clausen looked good on that drive. I thought Weis should have abandoned the short passing game plan a lot sooner than he did. I think that has been the fatal flaw in this Notre Dame season to date. In their first two games, Notre Dame has always seemed on the verge of having a plan A. They are currently organizing search parties to find traces of a Plan B as we speak.

I am not going to call for Weis' dismissal. Nor am I going to get all nostalgic for the Ty Willingham era. I'm not even going to get slightly nostalgic for the Ty WIllingham era. So what if Weis won with Willingham's recruits? So what if Willingham is 2-0 at Washington this year? Those are nice facts, but they ignore the bigger picture.

Willingham might have recruited the players Weis led to back to back BCS appearances, but he didn't manage to win with thos recruits when he had the chance. While Weis has yet to beat USC, at least he coached a team that fought USC down to the wire once; in his three years at Notre Dame, Willingham never managed to beat the Trojans, a feat that is doubly impossible when you never get within 26 points of said adversary. And Willingham's most successful season came in his first years, with players recruited by Bob Davies. So forgive me if I don't tear up as I remember the Willingham era's abrupt termination.

I do have to question Charlie Weis' judgement. Seeing footage of Jimmy Clausen arriving at his signing press conference in a white Hummer limousine thanks to the ESPN telecast this evening vexed me greatly. Take a limo to the prom. Take a limo to a wedding. Don't take a damn white stretch Hummer to sign a letter of intent. It makes you look like a total douche. Especially if you fall short of expectations. As a coach, it's on Weis to stop foolishness like that from dragging a kid down before he even gets to campus.

Another sparkling example of poor judgement on Weis' part was his decision to pursue the malpractice suit against the doctors who performed his gastric bypass surgery. I understand the anger that would remain after he nearly died from the surgery. But after the first trial ended in a mistrial because the doctors intervened to save the life of a juror who was having a heart attack, it was time to punt on the legal system. That was a bad omen, and there was no way people weren't going to be prejudiced going into a jury pool, no matter what we pretend about the legal system and impartiality.

There are some who would say showing up in the white stretch limo is like talking smack before the first game of a fantasy season. However, when your running backs are LJ, Cedric Benson and Travis Henry and the best player on the opposing team is Laurence Maroney, it's hard not to talk trash. Of course, there is a distinct possibility that I could recant this time tomorrow with Tony Romo as my QB, but I doubt it.

Since my last post, I've been doing some thinking about the whole John Cougar Mellencamp problem. I realize I have absolutely no influence with any group of people anywhere in the world as I write this, but I think it's time we called for a boycott of Mellencamp. Let him go back to his little pink house and get misty as he remembers Jack and Diane. He can come out of his cave to help the farmers, but the rest of the year he should just lurk in his lair.

God knows, he must have made enough of whoring his terrible little ode to America to hock shitboxes which will be recalled in 2 years for Chevrolet and appearance fees for events that would have been better served had he stayed at home that he's not going to go hungry. Plus the longer he stays out and visible, the less effective he'll be as a spokesperson for the Democratic drive for the White House in 2008.

You'll have to forgive me for violating my ban against obscenity. Notre Dame taking a second consecutive savage beating has taken the jam out of my doughnut. Hell, I'm sitting here wasting a Saturday night blogging when I could be getting drunk. It's even taken the wind out of the Orioles "tuning up" Red Sox pitching in the words of the guy I go to for my Red Sox info.

I must apologize for not posting in the last few days. I've been feeling a little depressed, what with Notre Dame collapsing against Georgia Tech and the Red Sox temporarily returning to form after the sweep at the hands of the Yankees. I had been looking forward to this evening and the beginning of the NFL regular season, but then I guess I'm too much of an optimist for my own good.

First, I must confess, I now spend about 2 minutes a day looking forward to a time when America can experience an important event in the realm of popular culture without the immortal John Cougar Mellencamp. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe his music did somehow improve as though by magic because his politics are acceptable to a large enough segment of the populace. Perhaps I ought to give up my reluctance to discuss political issues in this blog and embrace an anti Bush stand in this space.

I don't know if I heard things properly, between the waste of time that was the concert and the disappointment I felt as they unfurled the Indianapolis Colts World Champions banner. But I could swear that I caught the strains of "Won't Get Fooled Again" by the Who. Now I enjoy the song as much as the next person, I just think people ought to choose songs more carefully. It will serve the Colts right if the song jinxes their campaign to defend that championship.

Tonight has also made it clear that I have to spend more time and more space ripping the NBC studio show for its dreadful NFL coverage. Even tonight, with an understrength booth and a show mercifully shortened for the affront against good taste that was the concert, the show managed to fall short of mediocrity by a wide margin. It seems like every personality and every segment the producers add takes things away from the table with an almost mystical capability to make bad worse.

Keith Olberman is now back into sports broadcasting in a very small way. He has adapted his Worst Person in the World segment from his show no one watches on MSNBC to the context of the NFL. So every time we tune in to the NFL on NBC we will be subjected to Keith Olberman's version of the Worst Person in the NFL. I guess it could be worse, we could have the "Cris Collinsworth Introspective on How to Bear up Under the Strain of Being the World's Biggest Douche" segment.

Tonight, Keith Olberman pronounced himself the Worst Person in the NFL. Interestingly, I had considered using that as a joke because I assumed that he would pronounce some other deserving tool as the worst person in the NFL. I was going to dismiss the notion out of hand because Olberman really isn't in the NFL. He is only tangentially connected to the NFL. Apparently his ego didn't see it that way.

I think it would be nice if some concerned soul in Olberman's inner circle could take ten or so seconds to point one salient fact to the anchor. Just as Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco, Keith Olberman left whatever small glimmer of relevance and legitimacy he had behind when he left ESPN. Maybe Keith is so insulated in his own ego that he hasn't noticed that his subsequent career ventures haven't exactly been unbridled successes, or even bridled successes (if such a thing exists).

I don't want to give the impression that I am one of the legion of tools who rhapsodize about the Olberman-Patrick era of Sportscenter the way Donovan sang about Atlantis. I'll leave that to Bill Simmons and his disciples. I thought they were adequate, very average. They told me what the out of town scores were, but I could have done without the affected, cynical ennui repartee they used to charm the masses. Maybe if I were the sort of person who cared more about the personalities behind the curtain, I would have gone into mourning, but that's just not who I am.

I might be wrong in this, it's not something that I cared enough about to research. But I blame the Olberman-Patrick era of Sportscenter for the abomination that was the Aaron Sorkin show Sportsnight. Even though the world was crying out for a vision of what a sports highlight show produced by hipsters for hipsters, I think the world would not be a better place if it were still on the air. Nor would much have been lost if it had never seen the light of day.

All that on the NFL on NBC, and we haven't even mentioned Tiki Barber's latest cloying, attention seeking cry for help. As I may have mentioned, I don't like Tiki Barber. Nor do I like Tom Coughlin. As much as I like seeing Coughlin criticized, I don't like to see ungrateful frauds reposition themselves via revisionist history.

It seems almost universally conceded that Tom Coughlin is not a very cool guy. Most people don't like playing football for him. However, there is a substantial body of empirical evidence to show that he had a profound effect for the better on Tiki Barber's career. Before Coughlin came to the Giants, Tiki was an inveterate fumbler. It was his trade mark.

Under Coughlin's reign of terror, whatever else might have happened, Tiki fumbled quite a bit less than he did previously. I don't know how much of that was directly due to Coughlin's intervention, but it doesn't seem like a simple coincidence. No matter how you look at it, Tiki was not mentioned as any kind of Hall of Fame candidate in the Jim Fassel era. It was only in the Coughlin era that Tiki blossomed into a very, very, very marginal candidate for the Hall of Fame.

We all could have done without Tiki Barber's memoirs. We all could have done without Tiki Barber bashing Tom Coughlin for triggering his early retirement. FOr my part, I have believed that Tiki's retirement was a calculated ploy. Not just a career change to the lucrative and far less physically demanding world of the TV journalist, but his only shot at the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

His numbers were good, but not really great. His early fumble troubles were always going to haunt him. He never really excelled in the postseason. The only way he'd get in to Canton is if he had a mystique attached to his name, like Lynn Swann with his amazing postseason performances trumping subpar regular season numbers or Gayle Sayers with his impressive highlights and lamentable injury history killing a promising career. So walking away before his perceived time was the only way for Tiki to become a Hall of Famer. Too bad for him this negative notoriety is murdering that slim chance as we speak.

In other news, a game was played and, alas, the Colts won. So much for the Saints as a Super Bowl contender. I was impressed by their run last year. I never thought they could duplicate it, though. First, their schedule is a lot harder. And they had a lot of breaks go their way, and I don't see it happening a second time. The blocked punt TD against Atlanta in their Monday Night home opener last year was a big catalyst for the magic season. That atmosphere will not be replicated, though.

I stil hate Peyton Manning. I do applaud Sprint. In their new commercial series, they have stumbled on something I believed to be as rare as a Jurassic Era remnant still walking the earth - Peyton Manning's mind. Between the Manning omnipresence in every commercial under the sun and the teethmarks John Mellencamp will leave on this reincarnated fame he enjoys when it too disappears, I foresee dark times for Sedition in Red Sox Nation.

For a little while, I found myself wondering whether I had been a bit unfair in my diatribe against the state of Connecticut. However, it is with a clear conscience and a wish that I could add even more unpleasant things to what I said earlier that I sit down to write this post tonight. You see, today I found myself driving through Connecticut and stuck in a traffic jam because for some reason, the right hand lane of I-95 North had to be closed so that the grass on the shoulder could be manicured with a weed whacker.

Now of all the days to do this, a Friday in the summer seems like an extremely poor choice. Perhaps no one alerted the powers-that-be in the CT Highway Department, but people like to flee NYC for summer destinations on Friday at noon. So closing off a lane of traffic so that a guy could trim the grass is not tremendously cool. Especially since that artificial traffic jam south of New Haven at noon puts people heading for Boston, the Cape or points north in pole position to hit traffic coming through Providence and then again as they get closer to their ultimate goal.

Of course I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that the Massachusetts transportation bureaucrats managed to turn the terrible tragedy of the manhole cover on 128 North into a traffic catastrophe of epic proportions today. But to be fair to MA, that was an unforeseen event that called for an immediate reaction and not a poor decision by a bureaucrat.

But there are other things to talk about tonight. We have one more feud where it seems impossible to take a side. Barry Bonds didn't like the Bob Costas show about him, so he called Costas a midget. Costas shot back that he may be all of 5-6 and 150, but he came by that physique naturally. Personally, I think some kind soul out to play the scene from Full Metal Jacket where the Drill Sergeant has unkind words for the Texan who tried to exaggerate his height for Mr. Costas, but that's just me.

I don't like feuds like this because they put me in a position of choosing between two people that I can't abide. In this instance, I think I have to be with Bonds because I hate Costas even more than I hate Bonds. Costas is a whiny midget and a jock-sniff who desperately tries to bring gravitas to the stories he covers. Unfortunately for him, pipsqueaks can't bring gravitas to much of anything. Thanks, though, for carrying your Mickey Mantle card in your wallet for so many years. That gives you street cred...

In other news, we can leave off worrying about the surging New York Yankees. Curt Schilling was phenomenal in his second rehab start. The season is once again over. One good thing about the return of Big Schill is that we now have a ballpark date for when the World of Warcraft craze will end. 38 Studios comes out with their own game along that line (but allegedly much better) sometime in 2010. So America's fascination with these games will end sometime about a week before the 38 Studios title hits the shelves.

I thought it was mighty decent of the Globe to throw the picture of Schilling's image as Everquest character on the front page of the business section. Since he's been on the DL, I've had very few opportunities to criticize Humpty Dumpty. But seeing his animated likeness in a suit of red armor, that's like a gift from Heaven. You didn't hear it from me, but rumor has it he chose Everquest over World of Warcraft because his online persona lives in mortal fear of our old friend Leeroy Jenkins and his penchant for leading unsuspecting gamers into ambushes.

Finally, tonight marks an auspicious night for the performing arts in the Greater Boston Area. Not in the 377 years since the Puritans settled Boston has one night seen such cultural significance as tonight, and maybe tomorrow. Two acts of tremendous eminence will grace stages in our city and we can tell our grandchildren we lived to see it.

In case you can't tell, I am unimpressed with the two showstoppers playing the Tweeter Center and the House that John Henry uses to shake down New England. I am so unimpressed that I am having a hard time determining which show impresses me the least. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have to say Kenny Chesney, as he basically ripped off his entire musical persona from Jimmy Buffet (whom I do not particularly like, as I don't smoke dope and prefer beer to tropical drinks) without the redeeming quality of having received a beating from the real life inspiration for the sheriff from Walking Tall (as Buffet did).

But the Police are impressing me less than Kenny Chesney at the moment. First, they were never that good, not even in the 1980s. Their hits are vastly overrated. Roxanne isn't good, it's annoying. Every Breath You Take was actually improved by Puff Daddy when he covered it. Take a minute to let that sink in. That's how bad the song was. A notorious cheese ball like Puff Daddy made the song better.

But since the Police had the good manners to have a controversial break up and flirt with this reunion tour for the last 20 years, people forget just how pathetic they were. Let's not forget, either, that Sting was in Dune. It's like the John Cougar Mellencamp comeback all over again. These frauds stay away for so long that people forget how bad they were, then people realize they like the political stances the artists have taken and next thing you know, the inherent artistic deficiencies are dismissed and we have this comeback.

Without a doubt, what bothered me the most about this Police appearance at Fenway is the fact that all of a sudden tickets for the previously sold out shows all of a sudden went on sale again 10 days ago. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling that something underhanded is going on here. I don't buy the cover story that due to a change in the positioning of the stage more seats suddenly became available. I think the shows weren't selling out, so they pulled back some tickets and trumped up this little gimmick to add a sense of surprise and urgency to unload tickets at the last minute.

That bothers me to no end. I can't really fault the Red Sox or the promoter who came up with that little scheme. It's a nice one, after all. If Red Sox fans weren't sheep, the team ownership would have a lot of trouble shearing them. But Red Sox fans are sheep, so management can manipulate them and shake them down as they see fit.

In a recent comment about my last post, a reader took issue with my criticism of the Red Sox for failing to come back to win more than one game in their final at bat this season. His rationale was that the stat itself was not particularly useful. As he said most teams lose in that situation. Now, I tend to pay surprisingly little attention to what I say from one post to the next, but I'm pretty sure that I said that I expected the Sox to lose much more than they win when they trail after 8, but I could be wrong. Stranger things have happened, like America's prosecutor Fred Thompson turning out to have been a mole undermining his committee's case during the Watergate investigation.

I do, however, believe that it is a relevant stat. The playoffs are an entirely different dynamic than the regular season. Should the Red Sox encounter the Detroit Tigers in an opening round series, for instance, they will face a team with better starting pitching and a deeper offensive lineup. To beat a team that is as good as your squad, you need to be battle-tested. Beating the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, even with Wakefield on the mound doesn't make count.

When you consider the fact that the Red Sox have come back in their last at bat to win a game only once this season and that it was against the Baltimore Orioles and that the game in question was the catalyst for the epic losing streak that cost the manager his job, this Red Sox team ceases to impress. Let's not forget that the travesty in 2004 was built on late inning rallies, prevailing against the odds and Kevin Millar being the single dumbest human being to escape a Darwin award.This current edition of the Boston Red Sox has yet to prove that it has heart, guts, balls or any other anatomical feature that can stand in for constancy, courage or any of the other cardinal virtues in a half-assed metaphor. They just might want to do that before all of the chips are down.

Of course, I suspect that my reader is lashing out at me to exercise his angst that the Celtics have compensated for their lack of success by whoring out the image and likeness of Red Auerbach so that Adidas can throw his face on some special basketball shoes. I think that just clinched the Rookie of the Year and multiple MVP awards for Jeff Green. As though Red weren't suffering enough in his twilight years between Banner 17 gutting the team and adding cheerleaders, now they have to make his stay in the afterlife unpleasant?


But back to Red Sox fans. On Sunday, the guy who comes to me with his Red Sox info (my own personal answer to questions I've never asked) came into my home. Where I sleep. Where I come to play with my toys. And he was sickeningly full of that which makes the grass grow green. The Red Sox game was on, JD Drew was coming to the plate and he hit me with the buzz kill.

He got into the classic Red Sox fan argument position, thrust his chin forward as though he were capable of bringing the pain should the situation require it and said in his big boy voice that if I were to look at the numbers over the course of his career, JD Drew's stats were comparable with A Rod's. On some level, I imagine that they are comparable. In the same way that a kick in the groin is comparable to a steak dinner.

As we live and breathe, Alex Rodriguez is batting .314 with 28 HR and 80 RBI. JD Drew is breathing down his neck with a robust .261 batting average, an awe-inspiring 6 home runs and 33 RBI. I'm not a mathematical genius, but I don't think those statistics are comparable at all, except of course by our old friend the inequality.

Now, I imagine I would be irresponsible if I were to allow the fact that I just used a very small sample size to contrast the performance of two ten year veterans. So here you go, sticklers for statistical accuracy, go to Baseball Reference and tell me their career numbers are comparably in the good way. JD Drew has only just managed to hit more home runs in his entire career than A Rod hit as a member of the Texas Rangers. A Rod has batted in nearly three times as many runs as JD Drew managed to this point. The fact that A Rod has played 800 more games than Drew isn't enough to offset the fact that A Rod has 330 more career home runs than Drew and is only two years older.

Of course, this is a guy who maintains that Jim Rice was the most feared right handed hitter of his era. And he defends his position when one mentions Mike Schmidt by pointing out that Rice had a much higher batting average. Which is true, although it leaves out the fact that Schmidt played in a much bigger ball park against the National League (which was the stronger league at the time) and with a dead spot in the lineup where the pitcher batted. And it also leaves out the fact that Schmidt his 160 more home runs than Rice did in 400 more games. All while playing a much more demanding defensive position and winning Gold Gloves. Jim Rice might belong in a Hall of Fame, but it just isn't the one in Cooperstown.

What bothers me most about my friend tormenting me with his Red Sox absurdities is that he lacks a sense of honesty and even worse irony where the local nine are concerned. JD Drew's numbers might compare favorably with A Rod's when you throw in all kind and manner of qualifiers and modifiers to adjust for the fact that JD Drew has only a slightly smaller chance of becoming the next pope than he does of finishing a season. But qualifying and modifying stats undercuts the argument in the first place. It's like saying that if grasshoppers were armed with automatic weapons, they wouldn't be on the bird's dinner menu.

As for the sense of irony, I seem to remember A Rod as the villain in the il-conceived farce that is Red Sox Nation. I am constantly being told that A Rod is the embodiment of all that is wrong in baseball today and when so inclined, he eats unattended children for a light snack. But it's OK to pay a right fielder $14 million to hit .260 with 6 home runs and 33 RBI because his numbers can be compared to A Rod's? Maybe I'm missing the facility for intellectual dishonesty and mental gymnastics that enables a man to be a Red Sox fan, but I just can't buy it.

Before I sign off, I have to weigh in on the Boston Pops performance this evening. I have a bachelor party, a golf game and a wedding in the next three days, so I don't know when I'll get another chance to post. And if I do get the chance to post in that time, I'm sure that I will be past the point where I can blog coherently. So it's now or never.

I must say, I was colossally disappointed with the concert. From the get-go, I didn't see the point of the whole set up. Why John Cougar Mellencamp? I am not one of the Bill Simmons disciples who found the Sports Guy's cute little epigrams mocking Our Country particularly piquant. I hate the song, but no more or less than any other song appearing in an overexposed commercial campaign. But why is he coming back?

I try to keep my political views distinct from my aesthetic judgements. I don't care that John Cougar Mellencamp has become a darling of the anti-war movement. That doesn't change the inherent merits (or utter lack-thereof) of his music. Mellencamp was a very inferior Midwestern version of Bruce Springsteen, in much the same way as Jon Bon Jovi is a very, very inferior New Jersey knock-off of the Boss. His music was (and is) blue collar, but generic, cliched and without the thinking-man rebel's edge one can find Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town, the River and the rest of Springsteen's music. In short, John Cougar is basically Bill Simmons to Bruce Springsteen's F. Scott Fitzgerald.

But enough on John Cougar. During the fireworks display, there were various recordings played over the loudspeaker system. Rest assured, I am scandalized with that decision on two levels. First, nobody went to the Esplanade or turned their TVs on to see some tool's i-Pod. The damn Boston Pops could have learned/rehearsed 3-4 more songs (or is an orchestra of that eminence confined to using selection to refer to the material they play?), after all it's not like this was an impromptu gig. The Fourth of July happens every year. Right in the same spot on the calendar too, not like Labor Day which skulks its way through that first week of September.

In addition to being scandalized by the fact that the Pops let recorded music be played at their signature concert, I was also deeply disappointed by some of their choices. Kenny Chesney was on the play list, and while he might be elevated in the esteem of New Englanders because he rocks a Red Sox hat from time to time, it doesn't change the fact that his music is shallow and childish even for a country singer. I could have done without the Sesame Street theme as well, but such is life.

Far worse, in the collection of "patriotic" music played throughout the program, the Battle Hymn of the Republic didn't make the cut. Of course very few songs manage to offend the real core of America the way that song does. For Southerners and racists, it calls to mind places like Antietam, Gettysburg, Shiloh, Vicksburg and Appomattox, and God forbid we hurt their feelings. And then the overt religious sentiments of the song offend Massachusetts residents who wear their atheism as a badge of honor. But we did have 3, maybe 4 different George M. Cohan selections. Kind of warms the cockles, doesn't it?

And finally, I found myself wondering what a British soldier might have felt seeing the Middlesex Volunteers march onto the stage at the beginning of the festivities. I'm betting that a member of the Queen's Own Closet Case Grenadiers must wonder why his great-great-great-grandfather lit out running so fast from a rabble like that in Concord. And in case you're wondering, I am, in fact, aware that John Cougar Mellencamp has dropped the Cougar from his stage name, but I'm not going to let him get away with that.

All that, and I didn't even take the CHB to task for acting like he's broken a story on Julio Lugo's offensive struggles.