It's true. I hate strangers because of what they love most.

I'm a reluctant atheist (I wish I had faith in a higher power but haven't managed to find it yet), but I can certainly get behind the belief that hate is never a good thing and should be avoided whenever possible.

I also agree with this church sign when it comes to football season. Football makes it very hard to avoid hate.

Particularly when dealing with the fans of the Jets, Ravens, and any team coached by Rex Ryan.

Today I'll be watching the Patriots battle the Buffalo Bills, a team coached by Rex Ryan. I'll try not to say anything too terrible.

Twenty-five years spent standing in a parking lot

I'll be tailgating in the parking lot at the Patriots game on Sunday. I have seen many things in the decades I have spent tailgating at Gillette Stadium.

Public intoxication. Nudity. Fist fights. Fender benders. Lobster shell distance throws. A Christmas tree labeled "Trebow" that was set afire and nearly burned several dummies to death in the process. 

I've bribed parking attendants. Trudged through snow up to my waist. Sent a soon-to-be-exgirlfriend back to the car at halftime when she could no longer endure the freezing rain and demanded to be brought home. Pushed my pregnant wife up the ramps to our seats with the help of my friend, Shep.   

Even after a quarter century of attending New England Patriots football games, I still see things while tailgating that surprise me.

Like this: 

A comfortable place to sit prior to the game and perhaps an efficient way to get rid of an old piece of furniture at the same time. 

Killing two birds and such.

Policing the national anthem makes you a self-righteous jerk

This isn't a post about the athletes who are kneeling or sitting during the singing of the national anthem. When it comes to that particular form of protest, I would personally prefer that they find a different way to draw attention to a very important issue, but I also recognize and respect their right to protest in the way they choose. 

No, this is about the jackass who was four rows behind me at the Patriots game on Sunday and all the jackasses like him who I have seen and listened to over the years. As the national anthem began to play, this man began shouting at several fans in the seats below us who had forgotten to remove their caps, ordering them to do so in a harsh, arrogant, and unforgiving fashion. 

During the singing of the anthem, mind you.

Most of these fans sheepishly removed their caps, some motioning apologies to the jackass for their mistake, but one man left his hat atop his head. Instead of removing it, he slowly turned and smiled at the jackass behind me, who was still shouting even though the world famous opera singer who was singing the anthem was at least 16 bars into the song by now. 

I don't think the smiling man's refusal to remove his cap was a genuine protest. I don't think he decided to leave his cap on during the singing of the national anthem to make a statement.

I think he just forgot to take it off.  

I also suspect that he was annoyed by the jackass a dozen rows up who had declared himself to be the cap police. I suspect that he - like me - thought that the decision to interrupt the national anthem by barking out orders was more disrespectful to our nation's flag than any failure to remove a head covering. 

I admired the smiling man who chose to leave his hat on. I loved that guy. His was not a protest against police violence or racial disparity or economic inequality. His was a protest against the idea that the guy with the loudest voice and the thickest neck gets to tell anyone what to do, regardless of location or circumstances. His was a protest against the idea that conformity cannot be dictated by some self-righteous, self-assigned arbiter of what is right and wrong.

That smiling man's decision to leave his cap on his head and grin at the jackass was both courageous and admirable. In almost every other circumstance, I would have preferred for the smiling man to remove his cap. But when faced with a barking jackass who thinks he can dictate the behavior of others through volume and aggression, I think he did the right thing. 

Honestly, I almost put my cap back on. Had I been farther away from the jackass and slightly more courageous, I might have done exactly that.

Respect for the nation's flag means removing your cap during the national anthem, but it also means shutting the hell up while the anthem is being sung and allowing people to leave their caps on if they so choose.

There's nothing more enjoyable than watching a beefy, loud-mouthed jerk be neutered by a hat and a smile.     

Country club dress codes treat adults like children, and yet adults continue to be members of country clubs. I don't get it.

My friend's country club does not allow denim to be worn after May 1. 

Women are allowed to wear shirts without sleeves but only if they are also wearing a collar. 

Men must wear collared shirts, and their shirts must be tucked in at all times. 

These are just a few of the ridiculous rules imposed on members of this country club, which leads me to ask:

Why?

Why can women wear denim on April 30 but not on May 1?

To what purpose does it serve to require men to tuck in their shirts?

Don't the people who established and enforce these rules understand how elitist, sexist, and arbitrary they make their country club appear? Are they blind to the snobbery and exclusivity that they are promoting?

But more importantly:

Why would anyone who is paying thousands of dollars per year to belong to a country club allow themselves to be subjected to dress codes that infantilize their choice over how they present themselves to the world?

Why would someone subject themselves to this kind of treatment?

There are very few times in life when we allow someone to dictate what we wear without paying us for our time:

• When we are children
• When we allow our significant other to determine what is appropriate for a specific occasion
• When we're asked to serve as a bridesmaid or groomsman, pall bearer, or the like 
• When we join a country club, and when we visit establishments like fancy restaurants that are closely akin to country clubs in terms of their elitism and snobbery

That might be it. These might be the only times when someone requires us to dress a certain way without paying us for that privilege. 

And in only one of these instances are people actually paying large sums of money in order to be told what to wear.

I have always felt that when you allow someone to tell you what to wear without compensation of any kind, you're allowing yourself to be treated like a child. You're allowing someone else to assume the role of Mommy and Daddy. It's one of the reasons why I bristle at every attempt to control my clothing choices in any way.

If you're not paying me, don't even think about telling me what I should wear. 

I also think (as you may already know) that this inane, materialistic, unnecessary focus on clothing and the condescending determination by others about what fashion choices are appropriate are things that should have been left behind in junior high school. 

I think this would be the case if not for a special breed of elitist jackass who thinks they they have the right to tell some that it's not appropriate to wear denim in the summer or that a man must play golf with his shirt tucked in.

You know the type. Just imagine the worst person you knew in high school. The one who wore the most stylish clothing and made fun of those who didn't.

They exist, even in adult form. 

I know these dress codes exist in many, many places. I know that they are commonplace in almost every country club in the world. But I also think that they are the direct result of a a lot of elitist jackasses who are hell-bent on ensuring that their kind of people don't accidentally become confused with any other kind of people. These dress codes serve to denote and separate the members of these country clubs from the heathens outside their pristine walls. They seek to elevate the image of the club and its members above the kind of thing you might see at a less-than-classy public golf course or a less-than-exclusive restaurant. 

I think that these things are decidedly less-than-noble goals, and they come at the expense of personal choice and treating adults like adults.  

The members of my friend's country club (and all country clubs) are adults. Hard working, well respected men and women who pay large fees in order to be members of this institution. They are all presumably successful people by any standard. Yet they allow their physical appearance to be dictated by who?

• The anal-retentive snobs who run the place?
• A conservative, stick-up-their-ass rules committee? 
• The members themselves, who cast sidelong glances at the ladies who dare to wear denim, gossip about men when their shirts come untucked, and turn in their fellow members to whatever parental-like standards squad who is charged with enforcing this nonsense?

I know that most if not all country clubs have dress codes. My friend's country club is not alone in its buffoonery. I have played golf at some of these clubs and conformed to the dress code because a friend has invited me and I choose to respect my friend's wishes and their standing in their club.  

But I think these dress codes are almost always stupid. As adults, we are supposed to be able to wear whatever the hell we want. While I understand a country club requiring members to wear something, the banning of denim or the tucking requirement are examples of a system gone amok.

It's also a system predicated entirely on sexism and gender inequality.  

When women can wear a sleeveless shirt, for example, and a man cannot, the ridiculous double standards and sexist attitudes of the past are proven to be surprisingly alive and well in some corners of the world. 

But even more baffling and disturbing to me is the contingent of people who want to be members of an exclusive country club badly enough to allow nameless, faceless, elitist strangers to tell them what to wear based upon the day of the year and the genitals that they happen to be equipped with at the moment.

Is there no attempt at rebellion?
No effort to force a rule change?
No declaration that "I'm an adult, damn it, and I will wear whatever I want, whenever I want!"

Maybe you're a guy who likes his shirt tucked in at all times, so the rule isn't a problem for you.

Maybe you're a woman who despises denim. 

But still, even if you happen to conform to every inane dress code rule out of personal preference, doesn't it enrage you to think that someone is taking your money and telling you what to wear?

It would enrage me.
Every day I would be enraged.

I am not at the point in life when I can afford a membership to a country club. Perhaps someday I'll be able to, and being a golfer, I think I'd enjoy a membership a great deal. But when and if that day comes, I will be faced with a Devil's bargain, as so many have undoubtedly been before me:

Become a member and dress as I am told. Dress in ways that I do not like. Allow elitism, snobbery, and buffoonery into my life.

I love golf. Truly. And I have always enjoyed the time I have been able to spend at my friend's country clubs. I would like to be a member, but when push comes to shove, I don't think I could do it. 

I'm an adult. When I play golf or sit by the pool or eat lunch on a terrace, I will wear whatever I damn well please, and if that does not conform to the expectations of the elitist, snobbish club officials, to hell with them. 

I'll continue to play with the riff-raff on public courses and swim in public pools, and I will like it. 

7 much-needed rules for golf according to me (which makes them absolutely correct)

Putt every putt. If the six inch putt is a forgone conclusion, then just putt the damn thing. Conceding putts only serves to assist the players who can't putt or those who suffer from the yips while marginalizing the advantage of players who excel under pressure. 

_________________________

Every golfer should have a system for not forgetting their wedge by the green. If you forget your wedge more than once during a single round of golf, you must forfeit ownership of the club to a fellow player for one calendar year.  

_________________________

Handicaps are fine for determining tournament seeding and groupings, but they should never be used in actual competition. No other sport artificially adjusts the score to accommodate for a lack of skill. Also, claiming victory over your opponent thanks to the advantage of a handicap is pathetic and shameful. You honestly shouldn't be allowed to play golf ever again.  

_________________________

Every golfer should be allowed to chop down one tree in his or her life without penalty. This must be done with an axe. Chainsaws are too easy, and nothing about golf should ever be easy.  

_________________________

Players who roll their balls out of divots are breaking the rules, regardless of weather or season. These players are also fancy-pants golfers who require the ground to be pristine in order to swing, which is lame and stupid. Hit the damn ball where it lies. That is the essence of golf. 

As an alternative, go play mini golf. There are no divots amongst the windmills and water features of a mini golf course, and you can usually get an ice cream cone after the round.

_________________________

Dress codes are nonsense and should be eliminated entirely. They serve no useful purpose and only cause golfers to be perceived as elitist jackasses. Dress codes are also nonexistent at many public golf courses, so don't allow your pretentious friends to bully you into colored shirts and plaid pants when playing these courses. Wear whatever the hell you want. You're an adult, goddamn it. 

_________________________

No mulligans. Ever. There is nothing uglier and more idiotic on a golf course than a golfer taking a mulligan. 

Why I think professional wrestling is stupid

My friends who watch professional wrestling have long argued that watching a fake sporting event is no different than watching a fictional television show like Breaking Bad or Mad Men. 

And it's true. As long as they are willing to acknowledge that all professional wrestling is staged for the sake of the storylines being written behind the scenes. this argument seemed to make sense to me.

Logically, it passed muster. 

Still, I couldn't help but think that professional wrestling was stupid. More stupid than even the worst scripted television program. But I couldn't put my finger on exactly why.

At last I have found the reason. 

The difference between professional wrestling and a show like Breaking Bad is that Breaking Bad doesn't pretend to exist in our world. It is a clearly taking place in a fictionalized world, even if that world closely resembles our own. We know that the locations in the show do not exist as we see them on the screen. We know that the show is probably filmed in a place other than where the characters claim to be. Fans of the show don't drive to New Mexico hoping to see Walt and Jesse cooking up meth in the desert. There is no implication that the characters or settings or events in the television show are taking place in the world in which we live.

Professional wrestling is very different. It is a fake sport that exists in our real world. Wrestlers want you to think that they are real and that their sport is real. Wrestlers never break character, even after the match is long over. You can go to a professional wrestling match and watch these actors pretend to compete. If you're a fan, you'll likely cheer on your favorite wrestler. Stand up. Shout. Pump a fist or two. I would argue that it's also likely that many of the fans will unknowingly suspend their disbelief at times, cheering their favorite wrestlers as if the competition was real. Fans of wrestling treat an admittedly fake show as if it's real by playing a significant role in the staging of the match.

They are a part of the show.

Imagine if Breaking Bad was shot before a live studio audience. 

No one would be cheering their favorite character. No one would ever think of Walter White as a real person.

The camera would never pan over the studio audience. Even if it was a comedy that was clearly being filmed before a live studio audience - an audience you could hear laughing - the camera would never pan over that audience. The fourth wall would never be broken. 

That would be insane.

Seeing the studio audience would break the fictional world of the show. It would somehow bring the characters into our world and turn them into actors instead of the people who we know and love. 

This is the difference between watching a fictional television show and professional wrestling. 

Fictional television creates world in which its characters operate.

Professional wrestling uses our real world to stage fiction that is often misconstrued as real. 

This is why I this it's stupid. 

Also, it's inherently a fairly stupid form of entertainment. 

There was a lot wrong with the 1970's, but these two things might have made up for it.

The 1970′s may have been bathed in second hand smoke and disco, and the dominant political figure of the decade may have been Richard Nixon, but people didn't speak about hummus like it was a religion, and travel soccer did not exist.

So maybe not so bad after all.

A Giants fan enacts a random and nonsensical act of football hatred upon a Patriots fan

I found this in my classroom on Monday morning following the Patriots loss to the Denver Broncos in the AFC Championship game. 

The balloons, the orange soda, and the poorly sprayed silly string on my chair are the work of a New York Giants fan who cares absolutely nothing for the Broncos.

This person also wore Broncos colors to work that day, which left me wondering:

How self-loathing must a person be to embrace the colors of a football team for which he feels no allegiance and would be rooting against in any other circumstance?

How oddly fixated on the football allegiance of others must a person be in order to spend time and money do something that is completely unrelated to his own team?

How disturbingly affectionate must a person feel about the suffering and disappointment of others to engage in this kind of mean-spirited behavior?

Just imagine how psychologically broken a person must be to go through all this effort when his team had been home for more than three weeks after failing to post a winning record in the regular season.  

It's slightly reminiscent of Red Sox fans chanting "Yankees suck!" when their team is playing the Minnesota Twins or the Baltimore Orioles.

If you're directing your chants at a team playing hundreds of miles away while ignoring the opponent in front of you, you have problems.

Perhaps not as unfortunate and odd as the person who filled my room with orange and blue, but close. 

Football hurts me. Serious injuries. Still, who wants to play tackle football with me?

With the exception of an annual teacher-versus-student annual flag football game, I have played football exactly twice in five years despite my desire to play much more often.

What I really want is to play tackle football, but as a man in his forties with friends about my age or older, this has been impossible to do. Even the handful of millennials who I count as friends do not want to play tackle football with me (which should come as no surprise).

Though I would play tackle football in a heartbeat if asked, perhaps my inability to find such a game has been a blessing. 

Almost five years ago I played a flag football game with friends that led to a collision between my head and my friend's torso. I don't actually remember the collision and was likely concussed (but after a few minutes continued to play), and my friend was X-rayed three days later and discovered that he had two broken ribs. 

In October, I played a game of two-on-two touch football. On the first play from scrimmage, I dove for a sideline pass and hurt my shoulder. It was hurt ever since. Two weeks ago, I began physical therapy on what may be a torn rotator cuff.

I love football, but perhaps football doesn't love me. 

Or maybe I should stop playing the game as if a Super Bowl title is on the line. 

Either way, I'm still looking to play. Two hand touch, flag, or tackle. Whatever I can find.

But tackle would be great. 

Rugged good looks. Beautiful wives. No java.

I used to think that Patriots quarterback Tom Brady and I only had our rugged good looks and coincidentally beautiful wives in common.

Not true. 

According to Yahoo sports:  

“Don’t expect to see Tom Brady at his local coffee shop anytime soon.

The 38-year-old star quarterback for the New England Patriots told radio station WEEI’s “The Dennis and Callahan Show” in Boston that he has never drank coffee in his life. Never even tasted it.

”I never had any coffee or anything like that,” Brady said. “I just never tried it.”

Brady admitted to indulging in “burgers or ice cream” when asked about his food weaknesses.”

— https://gma.yahoo.com/tom-brady-claims-never-tried-coffee-203649743--abc-news-celebrities.html

Not only are burgers and ice cream two of my favorite foods, but as you may know, I have also never tried coffee or anything like it. 

Great minds think alike. 

My 13 New Year's resolutions for the NFL

On the heels of my own list of New Year's resolutions comes my proposed resolutions for the National Football League.

There are many serious issues that the NFL needs to address. This list does not touch upon the more complex and serious issues facing the NFL but seeks only to increase a fan's enjoyment of the game.

Most of these proposals are relatively simple to adopt and should be implemented immediately.   

1. Digitize NFL tickets. The fact that NFL ticket holders must possess a physical ticket on game day in order to gain access to the stadium is ridiculous. 
2. Play at least one NFL game on Christmas Day regardless of the day of the week. 
3. Play at least one NFL game on New Year's Day regardless of the day of the week.
4. Broadcast two 1:00 games and two 4:00 games every Sunday without exception. Why this isn't happening already is beyond me. 
5. Increase the height of the goal post by at least 20 feet. Someday soon, an important playoff game will be decided by a questionable field goal that is kicked higher than the current goal posts and will be misjudged by the referees. Field goal kicks above the posts are also not reviewable. 
6. Expand NFL rosters by at least 10 players. Injuries play too important a role in the fates of NFL teams. Mitigate this impact as much as possible with expanded rosters.  
7. Build a tunnel under Route 1 or a foot bridge over Route 1 adjacent to Gillette Stadium in at least three locations so pedestrians from the parking lots can cross the road without having to stop traffic. (Apologies. I know this is very New England Patriots specific).
8. Allow NFL fans to vote out one NFL commentator per year if he or she receives at least 25% of the vote.
9. Cease all mention of the preempting of 60 Minutes during the 4:00 CBS telecast. NO ONE IS EVER WONDERING WHY 60 MINUTES HASN'T STARTED.
10. Cease all commercial breaks immediately following a kickoff.  
11. Cease all indoor football games. Football is meant to be played outdoors. If they can play football outdoors in Green Bay, Wisconsin, it can play it anywhere. 
12. Modify the pass interference penalty. Pass interference penalties shall no longer be spot fouls. The subjective nature of this penalty too often flips the field and completely changes the game based upon the opinion of a referee. Pass interference should be penalized as half the distance of the intended pass with a minimum of 10 yards and an automatic first down.
13. Offer Super Bowl tickets to the fans of the Super Bowl teams first.

The Patriots lost yesterday. I'm a happy Patriots fan today. You should be, too.

As a Patriots fan who spent yesterday evening in Gillette Stadium, watching his beloved team blunder their way to a second straight loss, you might think that I would be upset today. Depressed. Annoyed. Outraged. Discouraged. Disheartened. Even angry. Enraged. 

You might think that the flood of messages that I received from joyous Giants, Jets, and Philly fans just after the game would have set me on edge. Primed me for sadness or rage.

These would all be reasonable expectations, But you would be wrong.

Perhaps it's because of the way the Patriots lost the game yesterday. They were not dominated on offense or defense. They were not pushed around and overmatched. They may not even have been the worst team on the field yesterday. 

Three plays caused The Patriots to lose yesterday. 

• A blocked punt returned for a touchdown. 
• A punt return for a touchdown. 
• A 100 yard interception return for a touchdown. 

Take away one of these plays - unusual plays which you almost never see and truly never see in one game - and the Patriots win easily. Two of the plays resulted in 10 and 14 point swings respectively, and the third play put seven points on the board for the Eagles. 

When your team makes dumb mistakes and loses, it's perhaps easier to feel okay about the loss. It's not a sign that my favorite team is physically inferior or less talented. It's not a signal of things to come. It's simple stupidity. The inability to execute. 

In short, dumb mistakes. 

And perhaps it's easier to accept the loss when your team's record is still 10-2. Had the loss ruined my team's chances to make the playoffs (like the Giant's loss did yesterday), perhaps I would not be feeling as good as I do today.

And perhaps the fact that the Patriots' best receiver, the other best receiver (and one of the best players in all of football), the best running back, the best offensive lineman, and the best linebacker are injured (with three of the five expected back by the playoffs) helps to dampen the pain of the loss. While it's universally acknowledged that all football teams suffer injuries by December, it's also been universally acknowledged that the Patriots rash of injuries this year has been extreme. 

We've lost without some of our best players on the field. Of course we struggled. Just wait until they are back.

All of these reasons may help me to feel better this morning, but here is what I think is the real reason:

I enjoyed the game yesterday. I did not enjoy the final play or the final score, but the game was exciting. The final score was not 35-7 or even 35-14. It was 35-28, and with a minute to go, my team had roared back and was threatening to tie and maybe win. 

It was a thrilling fourth quarter. 

The Patriots scored two touchdowns in the final five minutes.
They recovered an onside kick. 
They forced a fumble with under a minute to play to get the ball back.

They also ran a double reverse which led to stone-footed Tom Brady catching a 36 yard pass. 

This was not a team that laid down and died. They fought. They fought like hell.  

When the Patriots scored on a Tom Brady one yard run with 3:00 minutes to go, the faithful who had not already fled the stadium erupted in cheers. The concrete and steel beneath my feet began to shake. I was jumping in the air, pumping my fist, offering high-fives to anyone I could find. Still down by a touchdown with three minutes to play and only two timeouts, the chances of tying or winning were still slim. The Patriots needed the ball back.

A recovered onside kick. 
A defensive stop.
A turnover.

They got the turnover, but they could not manage to drive the field.

We lost.

But those final five minutes... the joy, the hope, the possibility. It was amazing. It was a feeling that can only be experienced if you have been in the depths of despair. It was like watching a phoenix rising from the ashes. It was hope where there was once none.

These are not everyday feelings. These are momentous emotions.  

When the Patriots scored with three minutes to go, I turned to my friend - a man who once told me that I live in the moment more than anyone he has ever known - and said, "Listen. We probably aren't going to win this game. But please, don't forget this moment. This moment of joy and possibility. Don't let the depression of a loss steal this moment of happiness from you."

I was actually screaming these words to him over the roar of the crowd and the music, and I was holding onto him. Squeezing his shoulders and chest. Trying to force my words into his body.

My friend - who was also attending his first professional football game ever - did not heed my advice. He was not able to hold that moment of joy and hope in his heart. He grumbled on the way home. Told me that it's the end result that matters. That moments of possibility are meaningless when they don't result in a win.

I suspect that many Patriots fans will be feeling similarly today. They will be angry or annoyed or depressed today and perhaps tomorrow and maybe all week. 

I understand that, too. Had the Patriots lost 35-7 in a game that offered nothing by way of excitement and joy, I would be feeling the same way. 

But that's not what I watched yesterday. I felt joy in that stadium yesterday. Hope filled my heart. I witnessed an almost remarkable comeback by a team of determined football players.

For a short time, I was as happy as a person can be. 

And I got to see a crazy double reserve pass to the quarterback, too.  

Too often we forget the small moments of happiness and hope when the end result is less than we expected or desired.

Perhaps my friend is right. Maybe I am able to live in the moment more than most, but even more important than living in the moment is remembering those moments long after they have passed. It's honoring them. Recognizing them as important and blessed events in our lives. Acknowledging the great fortune to be able to exist in that moment, experiencing the kind of hope and joy that can be so elusive for so many.

I'm okay today. I didn't like the final score, and I wish that the Patriots comeback would have been complete, but the moments along the way were magical. Unforgettable. I'll keep them close to my heart and leave the final score for someone else to wallow over. 

This might be the worst deal in baseball history. Or at least the most ridiculous.

On the eve of game three of the World Series (in which the Royals lead the Mets two games to none, I wanted to highlight this incredible bit of information that was included in ESPN's 20 Worst Dead Money Deals of All Time. 

Though there are deals that cost teams more, this deal seems especially stupid, especially given the last sentence of the paragraph.  

“19. Bobby Bonilla, New York Mets, $29.8 million

The deal actually wasn’t that bad for Mets, but because of how far the payments were extended, Bonilla has become the poster boy for deferred or dead money. Simply put, the Mets could have just paid Bonilla the $5.9 million they owed him when they let him go in 2000. Instead, they worked out a payment plan that will net Bonilla $29.8 million from 2011 to 2035. The Mets’ owners thought they would come out ahead over time because of what they could make by investing the money instead, but it turns out they had been counting on what turned out to be fictional returns from Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi scheme. As a result, Bonilla is getting $1.19 million from the Mets every July 1 until 2035. This year he made more than many Mets players, including pitchers Matt Harvey, Jacob deGrom and Noah Syndergaard.”

— http://espn.go.com/moresports/story/_/id/13994794/in-honor-charlie-weis-notre-dame-20-worst-dead-money-deals-sports

Smart, book person and crazed football fan does not always compute.

Editor Katie Adams - a fellow New England Patriots fan - tweeted this on Thursday night prior to the game:

“It’s football season now. If you’re new, I’m still a smart book person but now I wear the skin of a crazy football fan for a few months.”

I understood this sentiment completely. 

While I hardly think it's surprising that I'm a football fan (I'm actually shocked and confused when a guy tells me that he's not a football fan), the assumption is often made by readers that because I'm (stealing Katie's words) a "smart book person," I could never be a crazed football fan.

They are even more stunned to discover that I am a Patriots season ticket holder.

Writing novels and simultaneously being emotionally attached to a team of uncommonly large men who seek to run into and through another team of uncommonly large men does not compute for many people, and especially for those who read my novels.  

As a woman, I expect that it computes even less for the people in Katie's life.

But it's true. On Saturday morning, you can often find me sitting at my computer, writing novels and thinking bookish thoughts. 

The next day you will find me in section 331, row 24, seat 5 of Gillette Stadium, cheering for men who I have never met as they throw and catch and tackle other men who dare to wear an opposing color. I scream and swear and hug strangers and sometimes even cry as the Patriots march up and down the field in pursuit of a victory that will not be mine but will feel like it's all mine.

I'm a smart, bookish person, but I also wear the skin of a crazed football fan.

Go Patriots. 

They may be teenage boys, but they are also a couple of pathetic cowards.

This is a horrific act of cowardice.

The boys who are guilty of this assault are claiming that the referee directed racial slurs at them just prior to the attack. 

The referee denies this. 

Even if the referee said something racially offensive, you don't physically attack him.

Even if you choose to attack him, you never attack an opponent who is much older than you and not equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are.

Even if you choose to attack an opponent who is older and who isn't equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are, you never double team your opponent.  

Even if you choose to double team your opponent, you never attack someone from behind like this. Stand toe-to-toe with the man - one on one - and slug him if you must, but never creep up on an unsuspecting person from behind and spear him with your helmet.

You'd be an idiot and a fool to do so (and would probably still face criminal charges), but at least it would be the despicable act of cowardice demonstrated in this video.   

ESPN's Jason Whitlock asked a bunch of stupid questions about Robert Kraft, so I answered them. It's a good strategy when faced with dumb, rhetorical questions.

In his press conference following the announcement that the NFL plans to uphold Tom Brady's four game suspension, team owner Robert Kraft said: 

"The decision handed down by the league yesterday is unfathomable to me." 

In a piece for ESPN about Kraft's response, Jason Whitlock writes:

“Really? Unfathomable?

What country has Kraft been living in? What he and Brady and Patriots fans have experienced during the past six months — a rigged system of investigation and punishment — is what poor people, particularly those of color, endure daily.”

When faced with stupid questions, I like to answer them. So, in order of appearance:

Really? - Yes, Mr. Whitlock. Really. While the plight of poor people in this country, particularly those of color, is unspeakably tragic and must be corrected, even wealthy football team owners can sometimes feel like they are being treated unfairly and be surprised by the treatment.

Unfathomable? - Yes, again, Mr. Whitlock. Even when one is wealthy, it is perfectly acceptable to expect one thing and experience complete disbelief when the opposite occurs. 

What country has Kraft been living in? - This one is easy. It's the United States, Mr. Whitlock. While Robert Kraft certainly travels quite a bit, he resides in the United States.

Massachusetts to be exact.

And even though it may surprise Mr. Whitlock, I suspect that Kraft is fully aware of the recent events in our country as they pertain to the criminal justice system's deplorable treatment of the poor and those of color.

Here's a question of my own:

How did you expect Robert Kraft to respond? Did you expect him to receive the news of the upholding of the suspension from the commissioner of the NFL and think:

"This is not unfathomable at all. Yes, I fully expected the suspension to be lifted or at least reduced. but in light of the recent events in places like Ferguson and the tragedy of Sandra Bland and others, I should've expected to be treated unfairly, even though this ruling has no relation whatsoever to the American criminal justice system and is a matter of private business."

Whitlock's heart is in the right place and his concern for poor Americans trapped in an unfair judicial system are more than justified.

And I should know. I was once one of those poor kids, arrested and facing trial for a crime I did not commit and denied legal representation even though I was living well below the poverty line. I lost almost two years of my life defending myself against false accusations and had no way of recovering damages from the years lost and money spent.

The criminal justice system can be anything but fair and oftentimes devastating to the most at-risk populations in this country. 

But using Robert Kraft for his reaction to the continued suspension of his quarterback as a means of illustrating the problems of the criminal justice system and suggesting a certain tone-deafness from Kraft is nonsense. 

The man was fully expecting a different decision from the commissioner. When that decision failed to materialize, he was stunned. Shocked. He found the ruling to be unfathomable. And when compared to the results of recent appeals by NFL players to disciplinary measures, Kraft's reaction was not without merit.

Agree with the commissioner's decision or not, almost all appeals result in a reduced suspension or the elimination of the suspension entirely.   

Unfathomable was at least in the realm of possible human emotions when you consider the facts.

I hate this kid.

As a teacher, it's not often that I say that I hate a kid.

In fact, I can't remember a time in my adult life when I really despised a young person.

I don't know this kid personally, but from everything I can see, I hate hate hate him. 

Tennis balls are almost entirely flattened when struck by a racquet

The unperceived world is a strange, strange place.

Dear Adam Cloud: “Yard Goats” is the definition of unique. Also, your argument that the name is offensive is absurd.

If you haven’t heard, the New Britain Rock Cats – the Colorado Rockies Double A affiliate – are moving to Hartford and have been renamed The Yard Goats.

The Yard Goats get their name from an old railroad slang term for an engine that switches a train to get it ready for another locomotive (thus harkening back to Hartford’s supposed railroad roots), but the goat will most assuredly play a role in the marketing of the team.

The naming was done via fan voting and revealed a couple weeks ago. 

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The Yard Goats is a great name. Perfectly befitting the kitchiness of minor league baseball. The Yard Goats will be perfect alongside such teams as the Savannah Sand Gnats, the El Paso Chihuahuas, the Casper Ghosts, and the Albuquerque Isotopes.   

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Hartford Treasurer Adam Cloud, who sits on the board of the Hartford Stadium Authority, doesn’t agree with me. He doesn’t like the name one bit. He’s not happy.  

I have no beef with Cloud for not liking the name. My wife doesn’t like the name, either. She was hoping for the Honey Badgers, and for good reason.

About a third of my students don’t like the name.

It’s admittedly an eclectic name.

What I take issue with is Adam Cloud’s comments regarding the name.

Cloud said the name is "neither creative, or unique."

We could argue the merits of the name based upon creativity (though it’s hard to argue that it’s not at least a little creative), but he couldn’t be more wrong in his assertion that the name is not unique.

It’s absolutely unique. No other sports franchise in the world is name the Yard Goats.

That, Mr. Cloud, is the definition of unique.

Cloud also said that Yard Goats is an “absurd” name and is insensitive to people in the city’s Caribbean community, many of whom at one time or another may have owned or tended goats.

That statement, Mr. Cloud, is far more absurd than the team’s new name.

How could using the name of an animal that a person may have owned at one time possibly be offensive to that former owner? The use of the name in no way impugns the current or former owners of said animal. In fact, if anything, the animal is being elevated to celebrity status by the naming.

Should owners of horses, which also eat grass, be offended by the Denver Broncos’ or Indianapolis Colts’ choice of names?

Should the owners of sheep, which also eat grass, be offended by the St. Louis Ram’s choice of name?

Should the parents of twins, which hopefully don’t eat grass (but might), be offended by the Minnesota Twins choice of name? Yes, the Twins are actually named after the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, but the Yard Goats are named after a type of train. If Cloud can conveniently ignore that reality, why shouldn’t the parents of twins also ignore the origins of the Twins name and feel similarly outraged?

There’s nothing wrong with hating the name, Mr. Cloud. My wife doesn’t like it either, and I don’t think any less of her for this opinion.

But the reason she doesn’t like the name?

She thinks it’s dumb. You probably do, too. But in defending her position, my wife doesn’t make any ridiculous claims about the name being offensive to goat owners or failing to be unique. It’s simply a matter of taste.

You don’t like the name. Too bad. Don’t spout nonsense. You sound ridiculous.

Yard Goats for life.

Everyone deserves to have fans.

I’ll be showing this clip to my students. Sportsmanship can mean so much when it’s done right.

It’s rarely been done better than this.

Still, I want to know who won the damn game.