Tweeting up a storm while LOL’ing and SMH’ing over the idea that Belichick and his former BFF Hernandez texted 34 times. *snort* *smacklips*
Attitude doesn’t count for much. It counts for everything. See: Amy Van Dyken-Rouen. #goldmedalgrit
Post-Shawn Thornton, Bruins likely to begin 2014-15 without an enforcer on roster. Novel concept to get ready for the playoffs.
Something tells me the owner of the NFL team in London ultimately will be the guy who begs to move his NFL franchise to Los Angeles.
A seat at Centre Court Wimbledon is a treasure. But the whole emerald empire of SW19 loses some luster without Bud Collins in the press box.
It took the Kansas City Royals to make the Red Sox feel good. Back in the day, KC only did that for the Yanks.
I guess we can all agree the warm and fuzzies of Sochi have turned rancid and acrid. #putinwargames
Someone someday will figure out that learning the knuckleball is far easier and cheaper than torn rotators and Tommy John surgeries.
Sports talk radio is shtick. And often good shtick. When it morphs into a misogynistic ratings grab, it becomes shameful shtick.
Beginning to think Curse of the Bambino shifted from Fenway Park to the toney ballpark adjacent to where House That Ruth Built once stood.
NFL stadia continue to expand use of humongous LED screens. Someday being there could be almost as enjoyable as watching from home. #textmeinthemancave
Realtors often warn bidders that low-ball offers end up buying the house for someone else. The Red Sox made Jon Lester the Multiple Listings poster boy.
Jordan Caron is 23 years old, same age as many graduating NCAA Division 1 hockey players. Please, cut the guy an inch or two of hockey tape.
Watching sharks circle off Cape beaches really isn’t a sport. But I bet that won’t stop analytics devotees from developing a corsi for it. #winsabovebites
Twenty-five years after its release, fun to think of who I’d cast in remake of “Field of Dreams.’’ Until I get to James Earl Jones as Terence Mann.
Double bogey 1. Dick’s Sporting Goods pinkslips 500-plus PGA pros; 2. Final print edition of Golf World (est. 1947) rolls off the presses. #whataweek
Fred Lynn’s lefthanded swing and Roger Federer’s one-handed backhand would make them T1 for first-chair violin in my sports orchestra.
Fine folks at Appalachian Mountain Club say Mount Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts, can be a fairly leisurely climb. About to test “leisurely.”
If it takes LeBron to bring back the city of Cleveland, who’s got Detroit covered? And how soon can he get in the game?
Brock Holt is not a five-tool player, but he looks like he might be a nine-position player.
MLB massive oversight: omitting a tribute to Tony Gwynn at All-Star Game. But baseball has a history of overlooking important details.
News item: Yanks commit five errors in one game vs. Texas. News item: No one on Texas requests MLB to change them all to hits.
One way to reduce NFL concussions: Remove helmets in all kicking situations. #thinkaboutit
I wish Thelma and Louise had lived long enough to co-own an Arena Football franchise.
If you are not familiar with the Red Sox/MGH “Home Base’’ program, and you cherish your freedom, do a quick search. Better yet: http://boston.redsox.mlb.com/bos/community/home_base.jsp
RIP Gerry “Doc” Finn. Former Springfield Union sports columnist, a man of wit, wisdom, and generosity — especially to kids (hand up here) with a dream.
I can’t be the only one who finds watching Tiger Woods more interesting now than back when he was the most interesting man in golf.
Always felt awkward about professional cheerleaders in sports. All the more now that they’ve made their way into so many press boxes.
Can we wait at least until opening night before officially anointing Bruins draftee David Pastrnak the NHL rookie of the year? #rememberjumbojoe
NBC’s coverage of NHL keeps trending upward with recent annexing of Kathryn Tappen’s talents. Please, KT, get Mike Milbury to laugh.
All that Liverpool red at Fenway made me think of 1975, Johnny Bench, and Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine. I’ve had happier thoughts.
Rob Manfred. Tim Brosnan. Bob Bowman. All suitable suits to be MLB’s next Commish. Business, not sports, now defines sports.
I’ve driven by the gargantuan hole off the Las Vegas Strip that promises soon to be an NHL-ready rink. But right rink doesn’t mean right fit.
Going to court to block a $2 billion sale of the Clippers is its own form of mental incompetence.
The thunder and lightning we expected out of the Celtics this summer has turned into a perpetual drizzle.
Having watched Jake Peavy 2014, I have changed my use of “bought the farm’’ to “bought the Duck Boat.”