Massholes On Parade: Inaugural 2009 Masshole Edition

Spring has officially arrived: it's Masshole season! Last night, a Sox fan was caught peeing off the upper deck at Fenway:

As officers were attempting to escort the fan from the park, the fan broke free and began yelling, “I’m not leaving!!! I’m not leaving!!!”

This one doesn't stink of Massholity like other posts you'll find on this tag. In fact, the suspect is from New Hampshire, making him more of a Hamphole. But in this day and age, when all you have to do to piss off a sports fan is mention Boston, we don't need a shonda for the goyim making things worse. We have too many as it is...

Massholes On Parade: Miami Beatdown Edition

I know... it's a crazy thought. And I'd never question the loyalty or intelligence of my fellow Boston sports fans.

But the fans at Gillette Stadium on Sunday, fans haven't seen a loss in that stadium since November 2006, and only two losses at all (in the Conference final and the Super Bowl) in that same timespan, booed their shorthanded team at the halftime break. Yep, with an NFL-record 21-game regular season winning streak intact, they got booed off the field. Marvelous.

I've been saying (privately of course) that Cassel and the Pats will be fine, and will make the playoffs despite the Brady injury. But they are capable of losing each game that remains on their schedule. Every single one. And they will lose at least another 5 or 6 of them, just as they did on Sunday. It's what happens when you don't have Tom Brady. Get used to it.

The spoiled pricks at Gillette would do well to remember that poor efforts will happen on occasion. After last season, they are not entitled to ANYTHING. Spouting this arrogant, "we paid our hard-earned money" nonsense is not an acceptable excuse. You don't deserve shit above what anyone else does. Get over yourself.

But while handing out craps to Pats fans, let's hand out some snaps... shockingly, to Ellis Hobbs and the hero turn his mouth just made. I've absolutely hated Hobbs as a player since his arrival. He's the epitome of the guy who's all bark and no bite, who can't back up all the trash he talks. He's a shitty cornerback, though he appears to be much improved this season. But for talking trash to Pats fans, and actually using the word "spoiled" in doing so, he gets my unwavering support. Bravo. I never would have pegged him as the guy with a clue, but good for him.

Massholes On Parade Special Report: Beatdown Edition

Sigh.



Dear Los Angeles street toughs,

Beating down a Masshole is not an appropriate response to a "Beat L.A." cheer, as the cheer is not to be taken as a literal threat. Please instead resort to the correct response: pig-blaps and mushroom tattoos. Thank you.

Sincerely,

The fans of the team that pig-blapped your jump-shooting rapist last night

Massholes On Parade: Somerville Sonics Edition

So much Massholery has gone unattended of late, I thought I should bring some up.

No, not this kind. The fun kind.

Ronnie Craven, a guy from Somerville, told a chick that he was Jeff Turner, the Sonics' director of player development, in order to get laid on Craig's List. This, along with Captain Cash-Fan, makes two classic Craig's List dating revelations in the last month.

The great thing is that Craven spoke out in his own defense. And as we saw with the cash-fan guy, that always goes well. Though Craven kept his composure, he dropped a truly phenomenal quote to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer:

"I am going to be honest with you. I don't work for them," the man who posed as Turner said from his home in Somerville, a Boston suburb, when reached by the Seattle P-I on Monday. "(The situation was) all brought on by an online dating thing. Craigslist. I lied to her. Does that mean I can go out there and represent the Sonics? No. Does that mean that I did it to get some (sex) pussy? Absolutely." [Likely original wording restored. - Ed.]

Oh, he's a sneaky one, that Ronnie Craven. I wonder if he's related to Craven Morehead.

He also pretended to be, of all people, the immortal Todd Lichti. See, that's how you perpetrate a hoax. Impersonate people so obscure that nobody would neither doubt your identity nor have any realistic means of confirming it. He also appears to have determined the line between hoaxes and fraud by never actually claiming to represent the Sonics when lying to basketball players and coaches. Smart fellow.

Anyway, today I salute you, Ronnie Craven... truly a Masshole on Parade.

Massholes On Parade: Bruins Edition

This is fast becoming the lone reason for the blog's existence...



Anyway, on the heels of Alex's reporting coup comes this:

Witnesses say that both suspects punched and kicked the victim. In short time, officers located the suspect wearing the #41 Jason Allison Bruins' jersey and the suspect wearing the blue running jacket.

Who knew? There actually ARE some Bruins fans left besides me. Not that you could tell by the Garden attendance the last couple games.

Of course, the real problem isn't the beatdown. The crime against humanity here is that these two twatwaffles gave money to Jeremy Jacobs. How are we going to get that vicious, villainous, irredeemably inhuman son of a cunt to sell our hockey team if we keep him in business? Shame on them for not knowing better. Next time, if you're gonna bother with jail, do us all a favor and beat up a Jacobs.

Massholes On Parade: Construction Worker Edition

Jesus Christ, please just make it stop.

First of all, why did this Mass-tard think IMMEDIATELY was the best time to announce his sad attempt at a curse? If he'd just kept his mouth shut for a few months, it'd be too late anyone to dig it up. Presumably this is why he's working construction and not pulling jewel heists or working on his Ph.D. in nuclear physics.

Second, why would any Red Sox fan in his right mind want to SPREAD the notion of a curse? We just spent twenty fucking years trying to get everyone to shut up about it, and now this clown is resurrecting it. Was that not the whole point of winning??? It's such a childish, unnecessary idea, entirely opposite to the notion of what the rivalry should be: two phenomenal organizations duking it out on an effectively even playing field.

Third, this level of obsession is no longer cute. It's just stupid. It's precisely the sort of idiotic homer crap that does more to embarrass than to celebrate. We longed, collectively, for 86 years to be just another group of fans. A perfectly rational and noble goal. Now we're trying to be known as More Obsessed Than You. It's as if we all watched Jimmy Fallon's stink-eye performance in Fever Pitch and collectively thought, "yeah, I want to be just like that guy!" NO!!! FAIL!!!!!

It's one thing to exchange a few playful jabs with a Yankee fan; it's a whole other ball of potatoes to go and sabotage their stadium. It's within our power to take the high road. Not the smug, self-absorbed, holier-than-thou high road, which we've apparently chosen, but the magnanimous high road. We can relieve ourselves of the petty instincts we grew up adhering to. We can be free of this nonsense and just watch some great baseball.

Or we can try to bury Manny's jockstraps in the new Monument Park and look like even bigger douches than we do already. Either/or.

Massholes On Parade: Retroactive Edition

It's Opening Day at Fenway, the last of like eight opening days over the past week. What better occasion for the second installment of my periodical series on self-hatred:



And it's not just any opening day. Today, the Sox have given us the opportunity to celebrate one of the biggest Massholery victims of all-time: Bill Buckner.

Buckner had not been back to Fenway since his brief return to the team in 1990. On that day, he received a thunderous ovation on Opening Day that year, and was released a couple months later. He's been living in Idaho ever since, in relative anonymity.

Today, however, Buckner traveled east to be the centerpiece of the Sox' opening day ceremonies (as opposed to the ring ceremonies that preceded them), receiving a loud and raucous standing ovation as he threw out the first pitch. There was nary a dry eye at Postgame Spread headquarters as he walked out from the Green Monster. Looked pretty dusty around Buckner, too.

So, where's the Massholery, you ask?

For starters, Bill Buckner is not owed our forgiveness, nor has he ever been. WE should be begging HIS forgiveness. Our media (for whom we must take responsibility) chewed him up and spat him out for us, and we've been gnawing at him ever since. Nobody who's made such an honest mistake deserves to be put through everything he's endured, especially not someone as decorated, as accomplished, and by all accounts as classy as Buckner. It's a testament to him as a person that he leads a happy life in spite of public perception, because it could have been a lot worse. The author of the Globe article above, Stan Grossfeld, asked Buckner if he sought forgiveness from Boston. That question needed to be reversed.

Second, regardless of the polarity of today's ceremonial apology, it was too little, too late. A wonderful gesture, of course, but it's all too easy to extend an umbrella now that the sun's out. Bill Buckner Day should have taken place DECADES ago. A World Series victory should not have been required to make this day as forgiving as it felt; we should have had the integrity, as a fan base, to visibly and sincerely beg his forgiveness in the immediate aftermath. The 1990 ovation (which I remember) was the truly beautiful gesture. I'm proud that we, in our darkest period, had enough class to do that.

I wonder whether it would play out the same way ever again. Today was nice, but let's not shit ourselves. For all that today was a great thing, the crowd also made time to boo Edgar Renteria, loudly, in his return to Fenway. What was the point of that? On a day of celebration and happiness, we saw fit to boo someone who was clearly miserable here? Gee, I wonder why. Boston has not booed its last goat out of town. Shame on us.

Eh, enough Masshole hate for today. From here on out, I will gladly accentuate the positive on what I saw today. It was genuinely moving, especially to someone who has a lot of trouble dropping his grudges. I'm grateful that Buckner agreed to receive the ovation he so sorely deserves, but equally grateful to have the moments of self-reflection his return inspired.

Massholes On Parade

This season, I'm on a mission of mercy. I'm here from Mitch and Murray!

With a division title under my Red Sox' belts, and a fast-ballooning Boston payroll, the playing field is truly even, for the first time since the days of Donny Baseball. We can finally be magnanimous about the local nine, and not treat baseball like an arms race. Acting like dickheads about the Yankees is entirely unnecessary; we have nothing to prove and nothing to gain by doing so. Theo the Pimp has afforded us the luxury of sitting back and just enjoying the ride. We can free ourselves of all this hate and just be happy.

But nobody's getting that message. It's just the same old Yankees-suck bullshit as always. We've all been greedy. Envious. Wrathful. Prideful.




We have a fast-growing karmic deficit on our hands. If we're not careful, Kevin Spacey is going to put our heads in a box. (And God knows what he'll do to the rest of our bodies.) Hell, after this past Super Bowl, a well-deserved kick in the nuts to an entire region (my testicles are still ringing like Christmas church bells), maybe it already happened. Maybe we've already been Spacey'd. It sure feels like it.

Well, I'll be goddamned if I'm going to endure another nightmare scenario because of my compatriots' aggregate assholery. This season cannot be allowed to devolve into the same old bitterness, bile, and bloviation. It's time to fight back against my own kind.

How, you ask? By pointing out every case of Massholery that I find.



Trust me. It's for our own good.

Anyway, the first entry is the perfect example to get this series started:

The victim’s sobbing girlfriend told police the couple went to the Cantab Lounge at 738 Mass. Ave. midnight Saturday. The couple was inside the bar for a while when a large group of people came up to them and started arguing with the victim because he was wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap, according to police reports.

Best part: the Irish accents. Worst part: everything else.

Gentlemen... you skidmarks on the underwear of life... this isn't cute anymore. Five years ago, this might have elicited a brief, evil smile from me. Now I just roll my eyes at how pathetic and pedantic it is. Gee, you really showed that guy. If you stood under a blacklight, you'd shine blue, like the cumstains that you are.

I hope I won't need more installments in this series, but if Chuck E. Cheese's fights are any indication, I probably will.

In closing, this town needs an enema.