I’ve never much cared for *Boston. I took a summer job in Cape Cod years ago — didn’t make it through the week. Didn’t even get to see a game at Fenway. Bought a ticket, sat in the bleachers for three hours, game canceled. It was the highlight of my stay.
I thought I knew rednecks — that was before I encountered my first townie. Every bit as racist, twice as ignorant and four times as loud. And nowhere have I caught more grief for my slight Southern twang. A guy at a service station, upon hearing my accent, tried to charge me $75 for a pair of replacement windshield wipers. Stupid Southerners will believe anything, you know.
My animus reached new heights back in Atlanta, when interleague play brought the Red Sox to Turner Field. To be fair, many of the 30,000-plus cheering for Boston weren’t from there, but they had the attitude down cold.
Fortunately, the Celtics aren’t as trendy these days, so Yankee aggressors haven’t overwhelmed Philips Arena (where the Hawks have just evened up their first-round playoff series against the heavily favored green jerseys). But they still made their presence known.
Navigating through the crowd at CNN Center, I passed a heavyset Celtics fan, who, inadvertently or not, belched in my face.
Smelled just like Boston.
*Of course I love my Boston readers. And native New Englander Peter Gammons is a god. Ben Affleck, however …
Thank you for not holding the location of my nascence against me, malcontent!