Twas the night before baseball, when all through the house Not a player was stirring, not even Mike Trout The bats were hung in the clubhouse with care In hopes that baseball soon would be there

The fans were nestled all snug in their beds While visions of home runs danced in their heads And Goodell in his kerchief, and Brady in his cap Had just settled their brains for a long summer nap

When out on the diamond there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the ballpark, I flew like a flash, Tore open the gates and made a mad dash

The moon on the breast of the new-painted logo, Gave a lustre of midday to figures below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a pitcher, and men for the outfield and infield

With a bold arm so lively and strong, I knew in a moment he must be deGrom. More rapid than eagles his pitches they flew, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

“Now, Mookie! now, Xander! now Lindor and Votto! On, Chapman! on, Gallo! on, Judge and Stanton! To the top of the short porch! over the green wall! Now hit away! hit away! hit that ball!”

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When the bat meets with a ball, mount to the sky; So up to the plate the batters they flew With arms full of bats, and deGrom too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the dugout The prancing and swinging of one Michael Trout. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, On to the mound, deGrom came with a bound.

He was dressed in Mets black, from his head to his shoes, And his clothes were adorned with orange and blue ; A rosin bag he carried to the mound, And he looked like a peddler opening a small pack.

His eyes — how they stared! his jaw was set In a duel of pitchers, on him, I would bet His hand was clenched around the white and red ball And I knew one by one, the batters would fall

The well-oiled glove he held tight in his fist, The frost from his breath encircled his head like a wreath; He had on his game face, no sign of quarantine belly To shake when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was tall and lean, a ticking time bomb, And I laughed when I saw him, knowing what was to come; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave batters to know they had much to dread;

deGrom spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, He struck out all the batters; then turned with a jerk, And then very quickly, without making a sound, He gave a slight nod, and walked off the mound.

He sprang to the clubhouse, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight— “Happy Opening Day Eve to all, and to all a good night!”

RC Collins is the longtime Poet Laureate for The 15 Net. Born and raised in Marblehead, MA, he now follows the teams closely from afar with his wife and children in Lakewood, CO.

Hi Meyers,

You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I’ve learned a lot about you in the last few days. Before this week, all I knew about you was that you play for the Miami Heat, you chose not to kneel for the National Anthem during the NBA Bubble this summer, and that your name always makes me want a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade.

And then, earlier this week, in the middle of my workday, my phone started blowing up with texts and DMs from friends and coworkers.

“Did you see the Meyers Leonard video?”

“What does that word mean?”

“What is the NBA going to do about this?”

“Are you okay?”

I probably should have started this letter by saying that in addition to being a woman who works in sports as a writer, podcaster, and social media manager, I am a proud Jewish woman. My father is a rabbi, I come from a family full of rabbis, and I can trace my matriarchal roots all the way back to a prominent Jewish commentator from the 1600s. I lived in Israel growing up and speak fluent Hebrew. I can read Torah and have studied the Holocaust for most of my life. I also lost most of my extended family in the Holocaust. So, you can understand why a lot of my non-Jewish friends came to me with questions, and to see how I was feeling about what you said.

My gut reaction was “What the hell,” because who actually uses that word? How dare you? What is wrong with you? Are you ignorant, hateful, or both? Even after years of studying antisemitism and experiencing it firsthand, I still don’t understand how people can behave this way. I spent the last few days in a cloud of anger, frustration, sadness, and exhaustion.

The word you used is not one that I will repeat. It’s a horrible slur that makes my stomach churn. And yet you used it both carelessly and intentionally. It’s not often that those two adverbs align, but in this case, they are intertwined. You said something horrible, and you tossed that word out of your mouth like you were discarding a piece of trash, seemingly with no concern for the person it was directed at or anyone else who might hear it. But you took a deep breath before speaking as if you were pausing to select your verbal weapon of choice; you spoke with intention.

And that is why I have a hard time believing that you spoke from a place of ignorance, as you later said in your official statement. While you might not have known the exact weight that word carries or the lengthy and immense history of antisemitism, you knew enough to use it as an insult. You paused to choose a word that you could use to hurt someone, and that means that bare minimum, you knew that word was not a kind one. Furthermore, you are surrounded by Jewish people in your profession. Your commissioner and your team owner are both Jewish men. The city you play for has a Jewish population of over 123,000. But most of all, with the internet, you have virtually unlimited knowledge at your fingertips to help you learn about people who are different from you if you choose to open your mind. Ignorance is not an excuse.

You’ll probably never read this letter. You’ll serve your suspension and pay your fine, lose some endorsements, and carry this around with you for a while. People will look at you differently, but eventually, most will move on. Other athletes will do something wrong, and the focus will shift to them.

But before that happens, I want to tell you what it felt like to be a Jewish person in sports this week.

Imagine how it feels to be part of a small people that, throughout history, has been discriminated against, scapegoated, exiled, and murdered en masse. You see the rising numbers of antisemitic attacks, the increased security at your beloved elementary school and the synagogue where you’ve prayed since infancy, and you feel scared. You receive hateful messages on social media because you’re proud of your religion, and when you speak out about it, people tell you that it’s not a big deal and that you should get over it. And then sports, your favorite distraction and job, get dragged into it because athletes such as yourself decide to say something antisemitic.

You have a large platform, Meyers. Everyone’s words matter, but especially the words of people with large platforms and followings. People will listen to you, make excuses for you, and even strive to emulate you. Children look up to you. Adults on social media will put morality aside to root for you. I have Jewish friends in Miami who work in sports and grew up as Heat fans. Put yourself in their shoes this week. Some of them might even have to work with you when your suspension is over. When someone with a large platform speaks, more people listen. The proof of that is in the replies my friends and I received when we reacted to your behavior. It showed us how little people care about antisemitism.

I spent so much of this week feeling negative emotions about you, and I’m tired of feeling that way. So instead, here is what I hope for you, Meyers. I hope that you take Julian Edelman up on his offer to talk about Judaism and enjoy a Shabbat meal together. I hope that you go to one of the many Holocaust museums in this country, and take a tour from someone more educated than you. I hope that you read Ray Allen’s piece on why he went to Auschwitz and reach out to him about it; maybe he can even take you there someday. Most of all, I hope that you realize how much your words matter, and how much of an impact you make.

Sincerely,
Diane Sparn

Diane Sparn was born and raised in South Dakota, but adopted Boston sports upon her arrival at Emmanuel College in 1995. In addition to her writings here, she is a Thought Poet, Community Advocate and needlepoint extraordinaire. She now resides in Claremont, New Hampshire with her cat, Blaho.

Dear Reader,

Almost two years ago, we started this site on a whim. I was obsessed with baseball, I loved talking about baseball, watching baseball, and had dabbled in writing about baseball. But I had no idea that this site would quickly become my life. We started The 15 Net, and the rest is history.

Since then, so much has happened. I found my passion, purpose, and identity. My Red Sox have won the World Series for the fourth time this millennium, more than any other franchise since 1999. I’ve gone to dozens of games, including back-to-back postseasons, and bore witness to the longest World Series game in the history of baseball. I launched a clothing line, and my Twitter family has grown by literally thousands. I’ve spoken to and even met some of my heroes, like Kevin Millar, Luis Tiant, Tim Wakefield, and Pedro Martinez. I told Reggie Jackson that David Ortiz was the real ‘Mr. October,’ and he told me I have ‘some balls.’

If you told me two summers ago that any of this would happen, my jaw would’ve smashed through the floor on the way towards the earth’s crust. Most days, I feel like I’m living in a dream.

But as this brand grows, so do the challenges. More people want to see me succeed, and more people want to see me fail. I’ve received the kindest encouragement and love from people I’ve never met, and I’ve been bullied and tormented by total strangers cowering behind their screens. But I’ve learned so much about myself: to choose my battles, to be less impulsive, to be even more sensitive to the emotions and hardships of others. I’ve learned what kind of person I want to be, and I strive every day to be someone I can be proud of.

Being a woman in this world is incredibly difficult. And being a woman in sports is, too. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise, especially a man. But I’ve found a strength inside of myself these last couple of years, and it’s come from the struggle.

So today, on International Women’s Day, I want to thank every one of you who has supported me; your love, friendship, and kindness is overwhelming. And, I want to thank those of you who do not, because you only make me work harder.

And to my fellow girls at games, this day is ours, but the future ours, too.

Love, Diane

Diane Sparn was born and raised in South Dakota, but adopted Boston sports upon her arrival at Emmanuel College in 1995. In addition to her writings here, she is a Thought Poet, Community Advocate and needlepoint extraordinaire. She now resides in Claremont, New Hampshire with her cat, Blaho.

Is there a systemic issue going on at Boston Sports Journal? In the wake of 2018’s Loyko debacle, it would be fair to ask the question.

One vetting mistake might be understandable. But when Greg Bedard pushed his ‘investigation’ until after the World Series, then beyond, and eventually into… infinity, it’s obvious that he doesn’t even think a mistake was made. Or his absurdly outsized ego would never allow him to acknowledge it publicly. At all.

It appears this hubris has doomed him to repeat it with his newest hire. There is now a clear pattern of behavior.

Something else to ponder: why would CLNS want to be involved in this mess?

Statement From The 15 Regarding Current David Ortiz Speculation

For Immediate Release:

I don’t deal in rumors and gossip, especially when it comes to David Ortiz.

Guess what I do know to be true?

He’s the ballplayer who played his heart out for us for over a decade.

He’s the man who made us believe that anything is possible and anything can be overcome.

He’s the hero who showed us how to be strong again after the terrorists tried to break us.

He’s the charitable man who has taken care of so many people here and in his home country, especially sick children.

And he’s a good person who didn’t deserve to be hunted and gunned down by animals.

— Steve Bosell

Managing Editor, The 15 Net

Material from personal interviews, wire services, other beat writers, bloggers, and league and team sources was used in this report.

Steve Bosell has been Managing Editor of The 15 Net since fall 2012. He resides in Lynn, MA with his wife and three children.