A difficult goodbye after 15 years
Longtime Herald sportswriter is moving on
What do you think of the Red Sox this year?
It was an honor to be asked that question.
After 15 years writing about Boston sports for the Globe, MLB.com, MassLive.com and the Herald, it’s time to say goodbye.
But first, a thank you. Being accepted into the Boston sports community has been a privilege for this Western New York kid who grew tired of watching the Bills lose the Super Bowl and couldn’t wait to check out the sports scene in a big city.
My business classes at Northeastern University put me to sleep, so I took a journalism class my third year of college and got lucky. Carlene Hempel, the greatest professor I ever had, told me I could be a good sportswriter. Key word: writer.
I got my first job at the Globe because Craig Larson and Bob Holmes were willing to take a chance on a hungry student. I bought a used Cadillac at an estate sale and drove it around Eastern Massachusetts for the better part of four years.
High schools welcomed me with open arms. Athletic directors always answered my calls. Coaches let me watch practice anytime I wanted. I got to go to every big game.
I filed my first story on my junky laptop from a McDonalds in Andover. I made my print deadline by just a few minutes. I hit send, walked to my car and smiled. I couldn’t believe this was my job.
I remember every high school athlete I ever wrote about. There’s something special about the prep pages of a newspaper. Those are the pages clipped out, framed and shared amongst family members.
As a Red Sox reporter, I wasn’t sure I’d be accepted as quickly, but I remember the day I knew I belonged: April 15, 2013.
It’s a good thing Andrew Bailey couldn’t hold a ninth-inning lead or there might’ve been even more people at the Marathon finish line. He extended the game at least 15 minutes, keeping the fans in Fenway just a little while longer. It was the most important blown save I’ve ever seen.
We lost cell service at Fenway and I scrambled to get back to my Brookline apartment. I walked home on Beacon Street and saw the same thing you did: people in shock. I vividly remember the dehyrdated runners wearing their foil blankets and salty tears streaming down their faces.
We were out that day because of our love of sports. Our love of sports cost some people their lives.
I was on the field when David Ortiz took the mic that Saturday. I took out my phone and fought back tears like the rest of you. I didn’t grow up here, but this was now my home.
My favorite part of Fenway Park wasn’t being inside of it, but rather the energy outside of it. When there’s a big game that night, you could feel the buzz all over the city. You could smell it. You could hear it.
Longtime Herald columnist Steve Buckley and I always played a fun game called “What sound is that?” Stand anywhere within earshot of Fenway and a trained ear can guess what happened based on the crowd reaction with surprising accuracy.
Single. Double. Strikeout. Home run! Nope, long flyout. Inning-ending double play.
I remember the long
nights, the extra-inning games, getting home at 2 a.m. and going back to the park early the next day.
I remember walking into Dodger Stadium on a sunny afternoon and tweeting, “Beautiful day for a ballgame, let’s play two” just before the Sox and Dodgers played a 18-inning World Series game.
I covered about 1,200 Red Sox games and I don’t remember them all, but
I remember the people I covered them with. The people in the press box, the baseball people, the people who love the game as much as you do — I miss them already.
I tried to be a voice for the fans. I tried to write about what they cared about, to reflect what I thought they might be feeling, to explore those feelings, take a step back and be reasonable.
Depending who you
asked, my coverage was too team-friendly or too negative. I’ll let you decide.
People care deeply about their teams in Boston. I cared deeply. I hope I was able to express that to the fans, the athletes, the coaches, and everybody invested in the outcomes on the field. I hope I was able to build meaningful connections off the field. I hope I was fair. I hope I was kind.
And I hope I’m able to express how grateful I am to have been a part of it.
Thank you for bringing my writing with you while you drank your coffee in the morning, for emailing me to tell me how much you agreed or disagreed with something I wrote, for sharing your passion with me so I could feel it and express it back to you in the paper the next day.
Boston is home to me. I’m already homesick.