It’s time for our biannual reminder when a member of the SportsHub on-air staff allows their unconventional/non-traditional core beliefs to be spread over FCC-governed airwaves which is then picked up by national and international media (not including members of the Boston Media under the “BSIC Back Slapping Incestuous Cesspool Accord of 2007”). This protocol will NOT be enacted when media outside New England fails to pick up an potential issue similar to midday host Marc “Beetle” Bertrand recently suggesting Bill Belichick is an anti-Semite, but with multiple outlets outside our governance involved, in this instance we are forced to deploy “Massarotti Protocol”.
Steps:
1: Modify (The Lazar Method): Edit and/or delete audio from website archives.
2: Gaslight and Obfuscate (The GOrdway Method): Have the offending on-air personality read from the following template:
The Tony Massarotti Apology Template
(NOTE: Please attempt to show empathy and remorse vocally) *citation needed
I did want to address this, because during yesterday’s show, while we were discussing (sports/players/teams/games), I made an off-color reference to (insert differing race/color/creed/sexual preference from 985 hosts) and how I didn’t (believe in them/have confidence in them/thought they SUCKED). And in doing so, I used a derogatory term that was (unbeknownst/repugnant/acceptable) to me.
I have since come to the realization that historically, there is some derogatory context for that (term/phrasing/manifesto), which I assure you I did not (know my mic was on/think about/understand). Nonetheless, in so doing, if you are among those who I offended, I apologize for that. It was not my intent. (Be sure not to apologize for the act itself.) I can sure assure you that I had no idea that the word had that meaning. As such, I won’t use it again. You’ll never hear me use it again on the air or off (that you’ll ever hear about). There was no intent behind it is all I can tell you. And I apologize again to those who are offended.
There is no way, I will resign. It wouldn’t be fair. Not to the good workers I work with, not to my listeners, and especially not to me. Let’s not forget who this whole resigning business is about, anyway. If I could leave you with one thought, remember… it wasn’t me. They’re trying to make me an escape goat. If I am fired, I swear to God, that every single piece of copier paper in this town is going to have the F-word on it. The F-word.
2024 March Sadness, Day Two! You’re about to see more zeroes than a binary code. Here’s a preview of Day 2 as we work our way to the worst of the worst:
REGION C :
(5) Gary Washburn v. (WC) Shukri Wrights: Washburn is a typical haughty Globe dipshit and a sneakily despicable mediot that’s managed to fly under the radar. Bonus points for Gary in this matchup due to Joe Mazzulla’s open and undisguised contempt for him.
Shukri is a grifting carpetbagger with a Charlie Card, an iPhone, and multiple concussions after trips and falls during his walk-and-talks. THE PICK: Print media is dead, Shukri advances. All abroad!
You gotta Bleav.
(6) Kevin L Paul Dupont* v. (11) Sean McAdam: Elderly haughty Globe dipshit takes on journeyman self-important Boston baseball dipshit. THE PICK: Either one is cannon fodder in the round of 32, but we’ll take McAdam and hope Greg Bedard finally reimbursed him.
(2) Chris Gasper v. (15) Jared Weiss: Tyson/McNeely had more drama. THE PICK: The effete, foppish, and spinsterish Gasper’s mendacity overwhelms The Athletic’s Weiss.
* (KLPD won Michael Hurley’s middle initial during last year’s Tournament)
REGION V:
(4) James Stewart v. (WC) Henry McKenna: McKenna’s claim to fame: Playing Larry Bird in Winning Time (*citation needed).
“I’m in your head, Catfucker!”
Jimmy Stewart is dishonest, fucks cats, has a disgusting hunchback, and kicks field goals like a less athletic Governor Greg Abbott (R-TX). Other than that, he’s the tops. THE PICK: The Catfucker in a rout.
(3) Fred Toucher v. (14) Kendra Middleton: What can you say about Fred Toucher that his ex-wife hasn’t said post-coitus to her personal trainer?
As for Kendra – Take one part NYC hack Nick Stevens, mix with one part Jacksonville Kendra, top off with a few simps, and voila: Titzy! Quick suggestion for Titzy: If you’re going into the 98.5 studios in person, bring pepper spray and a taser. You’re going to need it. THE PICK: Freddie T. squeaks by.
(7) Pete Abraham v. (10) Matt McCarthy: This is the Back To The Future match-up: Rabid Anti-Dentite McCarthy gets a look at his future self, Pete Abe. Spoiler: he’s an asshole in the future, too. THE PICK: McCarthy and gingivitis.
REGION N:
(8) Mark Dondero v. (9) Michael Hurley: With the possible exception of flailing North Carolinian Cerrone Battle, no one wants to win this tournament more than Dondy. Dondero’s work at WPRI-12 in Providence producing video essays celebrating Patriots success didn’t capture Felger’s attention, nor did his cringe-worthy spoken word videos. Shit on the Celtics and Jayson Tatum? You had the Milwaukee Cuck at hello – here’s a 98.5 fill-in gig! (Not a Lavanchy style fill-in.) Poor Dondy thinks he’s Dennis Quaid as Jim Morris in The Rookie when he’s really Rick Lancellotti getting ready for another year at McCoy Stadium.
“You ever wonder why the ‘Wood is so happy? Didn’t think so.”
Michael Hurley tweets room temperature Dad jokes. Michael Hurley is a digital sports producer at WBZ.com. He’s worked at WBZ for more than 10 years. Previously, he covered Boston sports for NESN.com. With a bio this unremarkable, Michael Hurley might be in the Witness Protection Program. THE PICK: Dondero, easily.
(6) Mike Giardi v. (11) Taylor Kyles: Giardi, who moonlights as Jimmy Garoppolo’s fluffer, went from the NFL Network to mopping the bathrooms at BSJ HQ. Impressive career arc, stupid.
Taylor Kyles has Twitter rabbit ears, is younger than Mac Jones, earnestly grinds tape and somehow, to paraphrase Paul Mooney, makes Steve Burton look like Malcolm X. The blow-dried BSJ prick is THE PICK: Giardi.
(3) Chad Finn v. (WC) Gethin Coolbaugh: Chad Finn is real and unspectacular. Chad Finn is a cuck for a cuck, managing PR for Michael Felger’s show and will get around to finally excoriating Tony Massarotti’s for his overt racist comments on African Americans being car thieves once the technology to send a fax to the Globe reaches Mid-Coast Maine.
I’m not convinced “Gethin Coolbaugh” is real, but here’s a brief bio: He works for the Associated Press (that’s still a thing?) and the Boston Sports Jourinal (AKA unpaid internship). I’ll leave it up to you to decide if this is AI or not, but he sounds like Judge Smails narrating small font without wearing his reading glasses:
🏈 Steelers sign former Super Bowl champion QB Wilson 🏈 Eagles sign former Giants star RB Barkley, LB Huff 🏀 Brother of LSU guard arrested after SEC title game brawl
Region T is stacked with matchups almost too good for the first round.
(6) Andy Hart v. (11) Nick Cattles: This matchup is the ’27 Yankees vs. the ’86 Celtics of unearned arrogance, ignorance, and entitlement.
In the words of Junior Soprano, Andy Hart is so far behind in the race he thinks he’s ahead. His combination of belligerence and stupidity is rivaled only by Greg Bedard. (Nice job disproving Little Man’s Syndrome, Dumbo.) Hart was born in the on-deck circle and life immediately DFA’d him.
Nick Cattles can’t get a job in Boston radio because the sense inside the building is he’s a argumentative dick. He can’t sniff a fill-in shift because no one can stand him. Nick Cattles solicited people on Twitter to unload his moving truck for no pay. Nick Cattles lost a significant sum of money to a Nigerian Prince and tweeted about it. In possibly related news, Nick Cattles now has a Patreon teasing even MORE shitty takez than already spews on The Nick Cattles Podcast, Cattles on Causeway, The Greg Bedard Podcast, or at his spot near Mass and Cass. THE PICK: A tradition as old as time: Dumbo gets passed over. Nickelless wins.
(7) Brian Scalabrine v. (10) Meghan Ottolini: Scalabrine is unlistenable on Celtics broadcasts and makes you thankful MUTE exists, particularly when he starts with uncomfortable voice affectations. MegO is awful on WEEI, but that’s not Olive Oyl’s from Maryland’s fault – that’s management’s fault for batting her in the clean-up slot of failure. If failure is anorexia, then call failure ‘Adam Jones’. THE PICK: Per usual: Jonezy wins at losing. By association, MegO moves on.
(2) Andrew Callahan v. (WC) Cerrone Battle: No one has benefited more from Thunder and Mayo’s Happy Hour Summit than Andrew Callahan of the Wingo Square Shitrag. Did anyone think Callahan would be a 2 seed this time last year? As far as I can tell, the only difference between Andrew Callahan and a writer for the Duxbury Clipper is that a writer for the Clipper can afford to live in Duxbury. If the print-edition of the Herald shrinks any further, Andy Hart will use it as bedding. Callahan is a walking Herald stereotype: he works cheap and will soon be replaced by AI.
Wildcard winner Cerrone Battle is an interesting case: he’s lives in North Carolina, but is OFD: Originally From Dorchester. He was once on the right side of history regarding the racist assholes manning the afternoon show on 98.5 The SportsKlan. I wonder what happened?
Those tweets – guess what? He’s deleted them.
Battle’s fealty to Felger and Mazz was bought and paid for with the promise of fill-in shifts and some weekend hours. You can argue that’s more offensive than anything Tony Massarotti has said about car thieves.
THE PICK: Callahan wins. Battle loses his soul.
Cerrone Battle? More like Cerrone Pushover, right Mike?
Mike Irons lives in the Blade Runner/Dark Angel-esk rain-drenched dystopian Pacific Northwest.
Robert and Jonathan Kraft are fully committed to easing the tensions and atoning for the inhuman working conditions at Gillette Stadium under the Previous Regime That Shall Not Be Named.
The Kraft Family pulled out all the stops for Coach Mayo’s Patriots Media Happy Hour this week, bringing in one of the great singer/songwriters of all time to entertain their esteemed media guests: The Piano Man, Billy Joel.
William. Martin. Joel.
It’s nine o’clock at Media Day
The regular slobs shuffle in
Krafty Bob’s seated next to me
Makin’ love to his tonic and gin
Here’s to metal benches and custodians!
He says, “Son, can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete
When I was paying Bledsoe through the nose.”
Oh, la, la-la, di-di-da
La-la di-di-da, da-dum
“Remember when is the lowest form of conversation.”
Sing us a song, Mr. Charlatan
Sing us a song tonight
Well we’re all in the mood for some tummy rubs
And you’ve got us feelin’ all right
Now,Tom E. at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he’s quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there’s someplace that he’d rather be
He said, “Phil, I believe this is killing me,”
As the smile ran away from his face
“Well, I’m sure I could nab Ian Rapoport’s job
If I could get out of this place.”
Think again, Joyboy.
Oh, la, la-la, di-di-da
La-la di-di-da, da-dum
Simple Ben is an idiot columnist
With a mail-order bride for a wife
And he’s talking with Dumb Andy
Who’s still on the JV
And probably will be for life
Actual size.
And Coach Mayo is practicing politics
While the mediots slowly get stoned
Yes, they’re sharing a drink called incompetence
But it’s better than drinking alone
Suck up to us, Mr. Charlatan
Suck up to us tonight
Well, we don’t really care if you win a game
As long as you serve us Bud Light
Stacey James, not #OOTG.
It’s a pretty good crowd for media day And Stacey James gives me a smile ‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see To forget about Bill for a while
Ben McAdoo thinks it’s a carnival And Van Pelt, he drinks all the beer And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar And say, “Man, thank god that you’re here.”
2023 March Sadness features an embarrassment of worthy candidates looking to take the lead in the never-ending race to the bottom. In a packed field, Region V is more loaded than Sean McDonough attempting to make Florian Hall a Drive-Thru. Here’s an armchair analysis of the best region of the worst candidates:
(1) Chris Gasper v. (16) Dakota Randall: Young Shank is elite effete in triplicate: A failure on TV, radio, and in print. The ultimate bad faith pundit with a schtick as predictable as Bonesy Jonezy’s. Dak Randall covers the Patriots for NESN, the Val-Pak of journalistic entities. This one is over before it starts. My vote: Kid Gaslight
(8) Rob Bradford v. (9) Brian Scalabrine: Bradford is Boring; the Diet Coke of Mediots. How does Bradford move the needle unless spittle from his mushmouth does? Scalabrine The Color Analyst makes one wonder why an announcer-specific mute button doesn’t exist. (There’s a thousand dollar idea!) At the end of the day, Scal or Mushmouth ends up being cannon fodder for Young Shank. This matchup is more irrelevant than WEEI. My vote: Scalabrine And A Mute App
(5) Adam Jones v. (12) Brian Barrett: On the surface, this one looks easy. Is it though? Discount Felger has less range than Marc Bertrand at shortstop (relax, Theo!) and his takes on Boston sports are more predictable than Gerry Callahan’s views on race and politics. Leaving ratings behemoth 985 The SportsKlan for WEEI with Meg0 and Arrrrrrrrcand demonstrate worse decision making than Drew Bozo. Bonezy’s show caters to those who don’t like sports and loathe themselves inside and out – I hope you know that. These individuals should be given a cookie – briefly pitied, then ignored. As (Not That) Bono once said: Thank God It’s Them Instead Of You.
Barrett’s ascent to the Boston gig at The Ringer is mind-blowing. He’s a failed WEEI weekend guy once behind Andy fucking Hart on the depth chart (poor, poor Dumbo) that Simmons pulled out of obscurity and into obscurity. Barrett’s a shoe-pissing, Excel using, self-important ninny that is the polar opposite of the self-loathing Jones: He genuinely believes he’s smarter than Bill Belichick, Joe Mazzulla, Don Sweeney, and Alex Cora. He’s not good at his own job, never mind theirs. Jones is pathetic shtick; he’s Kenny Banya – a terrible comic who once had a great lead-in. Barrett’s got a voice only a dog-whistle could love (not that dog whistle, Tony Mazz) with an inflated sense of his worth. Constantly using small sample size statistical “evidence” to shit on the teams he is supposedly pulling for is a particularly joyless approach to covering sports. A vote for Barrett is a vote by proxy for California Bill. Think on that. My vote: Stay Off The Pike – Barrett
(4) Marc Bertrand v. (13) Duke Castiglione: Like Michael Scott, I can’t decide between a fat joke and a “Can You Believe It?” Joe Castig joke. My vote: Bertrand
(6) Mike Giardi v. 11 Jermaine Wiggins: Giardi’s an under the radar sneaky blow-dried cvnt, a local mediot on a national outlet with less clout and influence than Albert Breer. Wiggins’ assualt on eardrums makes me wish Rod Rutledge had better hands. My vote: Giardi
(3)Charred Finn v. (14) John Karalis: Finn might be the most revolting of all candidates and a good value pick to win Mediot Madness. He’s a spineless, cucked apologist for the worst of Boston media – he’s not a critic. He waited over a week after Tony Massarotti’s racist joke to opine because – according to Charred – the interwebs haven’t yet reached mid-coast Maine. His 2 paragraph Mazz rebuke/foot massage/apology on a Saturday eight days later was Finn taking the journalistic fetal position.
John Karalis works for Greg Bedard and may be eligible for a seat next to Mel Torme. My vote: Charred Finn
(7) Jerry Thornton v. (10) Gary Washburn: Washburn is someone to keep an eye on: Joe Mazzulla’s open contempt for his shit-stirring, low IQ questions suggests much higher seeding in future tourneys. As for Thornton, what’s more rare: A Boston mediot/shoe-pisser who likes the team he writes about; a Barstool employee over the age of 50; or a person of color allowed on the Felger and Mazz show? Sorry, Jerry: despite campaigning for votes, I’m going for the lower downside. My vote: Washburn
(2) Jim Murray v. (15) John Zannis: With a bio like this, John Zannis may be seeded waaaay too low. And he put the Boston Sports Journal in his LinkedIn bio! HE PUT THE BOSTON SPORTS JOURNAL IN HIS BIO. If his LinkedIn avatar is any indication, he also makes fart noises with his mouth.
According to his LinkedIn page:
“Big Gym” Murray apologized for Tony Massarotti’s racist joke because Big Gym didn’t think it was racist enough. He wants the children of callers who disagree with him dead. While many claim they’re playing a role on the air – cosplaying a contrarian, trolling with a take, acting like an asshole for the click or a listen – Big Jim isn’t playing a role. He’s an irredeemable piece of garbage who wants others to be miserable as he is. Murray is the worst person on a show with the worst people in Boston media. He deserves your vote and a deep tourney run.
Murray wants to be Felger for the notoriety. Murray wants to be Massarotti for the paycheck. Murray wants to be Catfucker Jimmy Stewart for the hairline and the pussy. Murray doesn’t need to be disgraced and humiliated by “winning” Mediot Madness. Being Jim Murray already accomplished that. My vote: Murray
After 12.5 years covering the Patriots, I've been promoted to @TheAthletic's NFL National Insider, and I'm so excited to expand my coverage across the entire league.
Look! I've even got a professional photo to accompany my new job. Here we go! pic.twitter.com/Ab8Tnpk40B
On Monday, September 9, 2021, The Athletic’s Jeff Howe announced his promotion to National NFL Insider, leaving an opening for the The Athletic to fill for Patriots beat coverage. As you might expect, Boston Globe media critic Chad Finn was all over this, having inside details of Howe’s promotion and search for a replacement nailed cold. (Just kidding. Charred Finn was folding Felger’s warming napkins before heading to Market Basket to fetch ketchup for Big Gym and chloroform-laced kitty litter for Jimmy Stewart.)
In a coordinated fashion, Howe tweeted his promotion and his replacement revealed himself. Matthew Fairburn is the new beat writer covering the Patriots for The Athletic:
Today starts a new chapter in my career. My family and I are moving east as I begin a new role covering the Patriots for @TheAthletic. To say we’ll miss Buffalo is an understatement. But I’m excited for the challenge and ready to get going this weekend. https://t.co/333dzMM8kV
Per usual, colleagues tripped over each other scrambling to tweet congratulations at Fairburn for his new role at The Athletic in nauseating numbers. Inside the headquarters of The 15, there was more skepticism. Unlike Charred Finn, we went to work and some gems were unearthed.
Is The Athletic Boston turning into The Unathletic Medway? I’m Just Asking The Question, reader. I would make a suggestion to Fairburn: Never go full Bedard. At all.
Fairburn is off to a rollicking start. He’s checking all the mediot boxes. Belichick cheats? Check. Brady about to go off a cliff? Yup. Reheated conventional wisdom passed off as insight? Bing. Intellectual dishonesty? You decide.
Hi Joey. Deleted that to spare my friends from an onslaught of Twitter nonsense. Don’t know what else you’re referring to, but happy to address any other old Patriots tweets I’ve had. Looking forward to covering the team and always open to feedback on my work.
He deleted his tweets to spare his friends from an onslaught of Twitter nonsense. One might suggest his uninformed, trolling nonsense started this. Framing himself in the most unselfish and gallant of lights, Fairburn wanted to spare his friends from nonsense. But who is Fairburn sparing from an onslaught of Twitter nonsense in this since-deleted tweet?
Fairburn has spent the past week deleting tweets at a greater rate than Tom Brady destroys cell phones.
Meet the new beat writer for The Athletic Boston’s coverage of the Patriots: A Belichick hating, Brady cliff-diving, Cheating Cheatriots Spygate Enthusiast and DeflateGate Truther conspiracy theorist who will dedicate himself to providing unbiased, quality coverage of Bill Belichick’s New England Patriots. Is Fairburn writing for his audience? In Buffalo, he was catering to folding table murderers and dildo tossers. In New England, will he cater to the mouth-breathing Felger worshippers and angle for the weekend fill-in radio hottakez dollars?
The only question I need answered about Fairburn going forward is if he prefers mittens, Splenda, or a thesaurus.
L-R: Volin, Bedard, Gasper, Fairburn.
Members of #The15 and Entitled Town contributed to this column.
“In conflict, direct confrontation will lead to engagement and surprise will lead to victory. Those who are skilled in producing surprises will win.”
– Sun Tzu, The Art of War
One of the understated joys of being a Patriots fan during the Belichick era is how often something goes counter to expectations. Football is a game of planning and execution, but so often the thrills come when things don’t go according to plan.
“Surely Belichick won’t do this” went the mantra. “Surely Belichick won’t keep playing Brady once Bledsoe’s healthy,” until he did just that. “Surely Belichick will never trade Bledsoe within the division,” until he did just that. “Surely Belichick will never choose to kick off to Peyton Manning in overtime,” until he did just that. Even just this past week, with the prevailing belief being that Belichick was locked into some old coaches wives’ tale about never starting a rookie quarterback, Belichick did just that.
The original “Surely Belichick won’t”.
Patriots football has been like that for two decades – confounding expectations, flouting convention, defying probability – so much so that rivals resorted to conspiracy theories and superstition to explain away losing to what they believed to be inferior teams. It could never be that they were simply out-worked, out-prepared, out-coached, or out-played.
David Patten, the Super Bowl XXXVI hero who tragically passed away last Thursday at the age of 47, is the answer to that mystery. He was the ideal Belichick player: selfless and humble, tireless and hardworking, competitive and gracious. Rivals need look no further than Patten to understand just how they lost that game.
Patten might be the first of Patriot surprises, predating even the time Bill Belichick told Drew Bledsoe he wouldn’t be getting “his” job back from Tom Brady. For all those now on the “It was always Brady” bandwagon (and previously on the “all he does is dinks and dunks” bandwagon), let’s not forget the guy who saw champion qualities in the former sixth-round pick way before the rest of the civilized world.
Patten’s story is best told in context, and that context is Terry Glenn.
In the summer of 2001, the two men occupied opposite poles of the football spectrum. Glenn was the sole playmaker on a 5-11 team, a Pro Bowler two years prior, and a year removed from signing a $50 million contract.
Patten was a fifth-year player who played a little in the Arena League, made his NFL bones as a kick returner with the Giants, then bounced to Cleveland before eventually getting a call from the Pats. Nobody could envision Patten’s slot on a depth chart that included Glenn and Troy Brown at the top spots, and with more celebrated free agents Charles Johnson, Bert Emanuel and Torrance Small also vying for jobs.
Glenn was in the doghouse entering camp, with an offseason domestic assault arrest, and a 4-game suspension for violating the league’s substance abuse policy. When the Pats withheld bonus money in accordance with behavioral clauses in his contract, Glenn left camp in protest.
Imagine how many times the two players crossed paths in camp prior to Glenn bolting. Did either have any idea how their career paths would diverge so completely in the coming months?
Five years prior, Glenn was the super-athletic wunderkind from Ohio State, the sixth overall pick in a receiver-heavy draft that included Hall of Famers Marvin Harrison and Terrell Owens, and Pro Bowlers Keyshawn Johnson, Eric Moulds, and Muhsin Muhammed. Patten, meanwhile, went undrafted out of Western Carolina, biding his time stocking trucks with 75 lb coffee bean bags while waiting for his pro football opportunity.
In August of that year, while the rookie Glenn missed all of exhibition action with a hamstring injury (prompting Bill Parcells’ “She’s making progress” comment), Patten got picked up by the Arena League’s Albany Firebirds for their playoff push. In the semifinals, he caught three passes for 44 yards against Kurt Warner’s Iowa Barnstormers.
Patten was everything Glenn wasn’t: humble, hard-working and the ultimate teammate. He was lightly recruited, played for a relatively unheralded Division IAA school, and went undrafted. It’s no exaggeration to say he earned everything he achieved.
Glenn never saw the glory Patten witnessed firsthand. Despite a monster rookie season, Glenn’s massive potential went unrealized. His Patriots legacy is a cautionary tale, a reminder to disavow ourselves of preconceived notions. And to be willing to accept that the “next guy up” might be as good as the last one. Possibly better.
Going into 2001, the expectations for the Patriots were nil. In March of that year, Joel Buchsbaum labeled the Patriots, “The team that’s most set up for failure for the next five years.” At best, after a 5-11 season, there was just hope for improvement. Again, our preconceived notions told us that if there was any glory to be had that year, it must be coming from Drew Bledsoe and Terry Glenn.
But Bill Belichick didn’t care how high a player was drafted, how much he made, or what legacy he carried. And so when Glenn went AWOL, and Patriots fans were frantic about the team needing to come to amends with its top playmaker, Belichick had moved on with the guy he already had – the short, slight, humble, hard-working kid with good speed from Western Carolina.
Patten exemplified the element of surprise that so personified that 2001 Patriots team. With unheralded players like Patten, Troy Brown, Antowain Smith, and most certainly Brady, the Patriots were routinely underdogs, yet still finding ways to win.
Patten embodied what the ’01 Patriots were about.
We didn’t know it then, but Glenn’s 2001 season drew up the blueprint for how the Belichick Patriots would come to handle distractions. He was suspended three times that season – the four games for violating the substance abuse policy, for the season after skipping out of practice for 11 days (reversed later by an arbitrator), and for good just prior to the playoffs.
This made for a season where Glenn was sometimes available, but mostly not. After a seven-catch, 110-yd game in October, in which Glenn caught Tom Brady’s first touchdown pass, Glenn felt vindicated, believing the performance justified the return of his bonus money. The Pats didn’t budge, so Glenn malingered with his balky hamstring, even suggesting it would heal faster if he got paid.
Patten stepped up into the starter’s role, catching 51 balls for 749 yards. Glenn played three more games, but after another series of missed meetings, Belichick suspended him for good.
On Glenn’s final day in New England, you have to wonder if the two receivers crossed paths one last time: Glenn packing his bags for destinations unknown; and Patten about to undergo a historic playoff journey (seven clutch receptions in the Snow Bowl, and twin right-corner-of-the-end-zone TDs against the Steelers and the Rams, respectively) we had previously imagined might be Glenn’s legacy.
In that moment, with one player walking out the door and one walking in, and Glenn gazing for the last time upon the player who had taken his place, do you think he was surprised?
The15Net.com has long demonstrated frustration over the lack of quality, honest, agenda-free Patriots coverage in Boston Sports Media. Today, we offer a solution.
The 15Net.com’s coverage of tonight’s Patriots pre-season game will be handled by Joshua Marion of “The Joshua Marion and Friends Podcast.”
The newest author at The15Net.com, Joshua Marion
The 15 are excited to add Josh to the roster, and we’re confident his Patriots coverage will be more McDonough than Mittens. Josh is enthusiastic about sports (and the Patriots in particular), likes to keep things moving, and his Patriots insight will be authentic, informative and entertaining. Josh has editorial control over his Patriots coverage on the site and brings a fresh perspective that we hope you’ll find refreshing.
Josh’s Twitter handle is @jmarion34, and you can find his podcast here:
If you’re a regular reader of The15Net.com, you’re familiar with the phrase ‘Boston Sports Media is an incestuous cesspool’.
This has never been more true in the case of the most recent “retirement” (Kathryn Hahn Wink Dot JPG) of Glenn Ordway, 21st Century radio’s answer to “What if Eddie Andelman’s Sons Don’t Take Away His TracFone?” Glennie always loathed Eddie, which is amusing because Ordway is what he loathed.
“Retirement”
A Steve Buckley comparison to WEEI Ordway 2.0 could be elderly Willie Mays falling on his face during the ’73 World Series, but OMF isn’t close ratings-wise for any playoff. OMF Ordway is staggeringly bad, but Glenn’s bloated ego is worse. He’s 1510 The Zone Eddie Andelman, just not as interesting. Ordway’s legacy is more complicated than Steve Buckley’s Athletic fluff job and Pissant Alex Reimer’s fawning piece on the unvisited WEEI.com would have you believe. Boston media might be the only free market where competition doesn’t improve the product. Boston media is insular. They don’t want to improve, compete, or be criticized; they want to keep their gigs without any heavy lifting. That is Glenn Ordway’s Boston Media legacy. Chisel that one on his gravestone.
The lack of anyone in mainstream media to offer criticism – spare me Charred Finn and Pissant Reimer, PR flacks under the guise of media critics – enables this. Paraphrasing Finn as done on the late BJBSJournal.com: Boston Sports Media is a family. A Crime Family.
Glenn Ordway was smug Senator Geary after meeting Michael in Tahoe. I’m not saying he murdered a prostitute in a brothel, caller; I’m just asking the question. (That’s how you do it, right, Glenn?)
“Here’s the thing Mister Corleone; you can never have, enough pitching!”
Ordway was a man with no term limits in a one-party state. Never as smart as he thought, Ordway was caught off guard and gassed for Mike Fucking Salk at the end of his first run at EEI. He was relegated to the internet – a platform he once mocked – to do shows with guests bribed with expired gift cards.
OMF Ordway 2.0 never mattered. He was handed a guaranteed contract given by inept, desperate Entercom management, and he mailed it in daily. Ordway 2.0 was Pablo Sandoval.
LJ loves Glenn, he really does, Craig.
Ordway is the Godfather of modern Sports Media in Boston. That’s not a compliment.
Sheesh.
He double-dipped on his duplicity by going all-in on a ticket scalping scheme with his friend/co-host Fred Smerlas in the mid-nineties with the “Patriots Tailgate” glorified tent at Rodman Ford – a vendor Ordway had in his hip pocket – where they marked up tickets to Parcells/Bledsoe era games at Foxboro Stadium by multiples of multiples in exchange for lukewarm hot dogs and potato salad while Steve DeOssie sweated on patrons inhaling his cigar smoke.
Ordway was a staunch Bledsoe over Brady guy and mocked his audience for suggesting otherwise. Good call, Fredo.
(040308, Boston, MA) the man of the hour Glenn Ordway at the annual Whiney Awards hosted by Glenn Ordway at the Wang theater. Thursday, April 03, 2008. (Staff photo by Stuart Cahill)
Ordway gave Dan Shaughnessy and Ron Borges additional prominent platforms. He did the same for Alex Reimer and John Tomase. Two-thirds of the Unholy Trinity of current Boston radio, Michael Felger and Tony Massarotti, were regulars on the old Big Show. The Big Show was dreadful performance art. Facts didn’t matter, strawmen and fabricated narrativez did. The Whiner Lineexisted in no small part because the hosts weren’t funny or smart enough to create their own material. Ordway made a living for close to 50 years making fun of athletes, managers, coaches, and GMs, yet when BSMW’s Bruce Allen offered mild, thoughtful criticism of him on a website Glenn claimed nobody read, he would spend segments railing against Bruce and his Boston Sports Media Watch site. No one was more thin-skinned than the Big O.
Well, that didn’t work as planned.
Ordway the Program Director repeatedly killed Ordway the host, failing to see where media was headed as early as 2001 andderisively casting aside bloggers like Allen, Bill Simmons (I know, I know) and Dave Portnoy as losers in their mother’s basements. I’ll guess Ordway didn’t possess the self-awareness to see the irony when he was relegated to his wife’s attic for the Big Show Unfiltered podcast, which was less successful than The Gerry Callahan Q-Anon Hour sponsored by Shea Concrete, The Greg Bedard Podcast or Entitled Town.
Despite this, Ordway owns a house overlooking the ocean in Cohasset, proving a sucker is born every minute.
Ordway took a farewell tour when he got fired for Mike Salk 8.5 years ago,but yet again Ordway is getting thrown out on his ass due to illness: Listeners are sick of him. (Apologies for recycling a Howie Carr joke.) For most, getting fired again for underperformance after being replaced by Salkie and then being teamed with two ex-jocks on a fourth tier radio station would be shameful, but Glenn Ordway is incapable of shame.
‘OMF ‘is the sound you make when you see your show came in fourth, Again.
Ordway was an exceptional opportunist, give him that. He was an outrage profiteer, feasting on the misery of his customers. If that is a talent, he’s talented. If Ordway is the Godfather of anything, he’s the Godfather of Gaslighting.
He’s Exhibit A for the prosecution in the landmark Turn Off Your Radios case before the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court.
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