Now the story can be told.

The famed "Little Black Book" owned by Peter Gobis.

The subject of the above photo may eventually be regarded by future archaeologists as one of the most important artifacts ever discovered from the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

It is the famed "little black book" formerly owned by Peter Gobis, who covered sports for The Sun Chronicle from 1973 until just a few months ago. It is 132 pages of paper wedged between two pages of faux leather binders, probably purchased 49 years ago in a downtown Attleboro stationery store that hasn't been in business for more than two decades. Many of the pages are filled with names and numbers of sports figures from not only the many towns covered by the newspaper, but also from all over New England and beyond. If there was a contact Gobis needed for just about anything, there was a 99 percent chance that number was contained within the book.

Understand, Gobis never updated entries in the book. He'd just add new ones. There was plenty of room for his impossible-to-decipher penmanship to pile in the entries, and he knew exactly where all of the new ones were -- if, indeed, he hadn't already committed the numbers to memory. For example, I just randomly opened the book to a page and looked at the first five entries. One was for a commercial concern no longer open. The next four were for individuals no longer involved in sports that would require our need for contacting them. Three of those individuals were deceased.

But at least we knew where to reach them in the afterlife.

Now, you may be asking, "How have you come into possession of this valuable piece of local sports history?" and may be thinking that Gobis would want to keep this keepsake from 49 years of local journalism. But if you are thinking that, you never really knew Peter.

Let's track back to the last week of February at the James Albertini Memorial Gymnasium in Mansfield. I was up in my Mansfield Cable Access broadcast location in the stands behind the scorer's table, preparing for the night's telecast, when Gobis climbed the bleachers with a mission.

"Hey, Farinella, I've got something for you," he said. And wasting no time, he reached into his coat pocket and produced the little black book.

I was stunned, but somehow I had the feeling that once he finally decided to retire -- and this was a decision maybe three years in the making -- he would want to divest himself of any and all reminders of the company he had served for 49 years. So I didn't even question his decision to bequest this artifact to me.

"I will treasure this forever," I said. Gobis laughed, then picked up his clipboard and his magazine and found someplace to watch the game where he wouldn't have to listen to my call.

At the TD Garden for tournament action.

As I said, Peter's decision to retire just before the start of the MIAA winter tournaments was the culmination of a long process. And I have to admit, I'm surprised it took him so long to reach it.

He has already seen his 70th birthday disappear in his rear-view mirror, but his stamina is that of a younger man and he was able to shrug off the sudden staff reduction that happened when I lost my job at the paper on Aug. 27, 2018 -- seven months shy of my own planned retirement.

Gobis and I were among the longest-tenured employees in the building. He started not long after the merger of the Attleboro Sun and the North Attleboro Chronicle at the top of the 1970s, while I came on board early in 1977 after having worked for the Sun as a high school correspondent in the late 1960s. I briefly left the paper in 1987 and returned in 1989, and stayed there until new ownership took over at the beginning of August 2018 and decided 27 days later that I was not essential to the newspaper's future (or bottom line).

Without that ownership change, I'd bet that Gobis might still be there today, attending parts of four or five games every day and cranking out the roundups in machine-like fashion. But he had no help whatsoever and he wasn't getting any younger. The new owners immediately eliminated practically all part-time help in the sports department, they didn't fill an opening when the second full-time writer got another job, and they reduced the sports editor's job to part-time, practically eliminating any chance of getting any help on the telephones that would be ringing off the hook every night.

Of course, I'd still help out Gobis whenever I could. If I was calling a game at King Philip or Mansfield, or even if I was not calling a game but "scouting" for a future broadcast, I'd often shoot him a few lines about what happened in case he hadn't heard from the coaches. You work with a guy for more than 40 years, what else are you going to do? I just didn't want it known publicly because my relationship with my former employers (of only one month, if you consider the ownership change) had soured under a litany of broken promises made by previous owners.

Gobis is two rows behind me at an NCAA presser in the 1980s.

I'm assuming that finally, it just became too much for Peter, to be expected to work 24-7-365 as if he was 40 years younger. So when he finally decided to leave, he didn't waste any time. He gave two weeks' notice and was gone when those were over. He wanted no fanfare, no parties or celebrations, and he didn't write a farewell column as so many columnists have done -- and indeed, within mere hours (as a photo farther down in this column attests), he was on a beach in Florida with his galpal, working on that George Hamilton-class tan of his.

Of course, Gobis' departure did not prevent people from offering tributes to a man that had become a fixture in local sports over the course of a half-century. Even the newspaper acquiesced and asked former editor Mike Kirby to craft a story commemorating Peter's departure, including quotes from yours truly. Kirb started at The Sun Chronicle as a member of the sports department not long after I came on board, and we worked together for a long time, so our conversation lasted more than an hour -- a lot longer than needed for the quotes he was able use in the story.

We covered a lot of territory in that conversation, including a lot of humorous anecdotes that should probably remain between us and those of us that worked together for so long. As it is, Gobis has gotten his fair share of kudos and remembrances since his retirement was announced, all of them well-deserved. His position has been filled and everyone is moving on, which is what happens in all facets of life. 

Yes, it is unusual that Gobis made it nearly to a half-century at one newspaper. And in conjunction with my 42 years there, I think that constitutes an "era," so it's only fitting that the generations of athletes that grew up with either or both of us at their games should remember us fondly. From all indications, they do indeed.

For my part, I'll salute Peter as I believe he'd want to be saluted. I won't go all gushy on him and say I lost a brother or something similarly over the top.

We were co-workers and friends, but not necessarily bosom buddies. We were two people of radically different backgrounds and personalities. He loved pro wrestling and I despised it. I got him back by making sure the office TV was tuned to "Saved By The Bell" reruns (after Elizabeth Berkley's movie debut in "Showgirls") in the afternoons. But we found enough common ground to work together seamlessly, with precious few disputes or disagreements, because we had the shared goal of wanting to provide the best possible sports coverage to the readers of The Sun Chronicle that we possibly could. And to underscore that, the long-time owners from Wisconsin (United Communications Corp. of Kenosha) let us do our thing without heavy-handed corporate interference. Yes, there were in-house disputes, one of which led to my departure in 1987. But two years later, on the verge of starting a Sunday edition that would become a showcase for the next 28 years, the local leadership figured out that their demanded changes in the sports section were going over like a lead balloon and needed to be changed again. They got the band back together, plucking me away from The Patriot Ledger of Quincy, and we put out one hell of a sports section for the next three decades.

As I told Mike Kirby, I always thought I was a hard worker. I was, but sometimes selectively so when it came to projects I embraced as opposed to those for which I had less enthusiasm. But Gobis put me to shame. He trudged on every day without relenting, cranking out the roundups and the features about individuals from a much wider cross-section of sports than I cared about. We both learned and grew as our responsibilities changed over the years, we both had our strengths and weaknesses, but I can say without fear of contradiction that I never respected anyone more in this business than Peter Gobis, and I hope he feels the same way about me.

That's not to say we didn't have our detractors. We surely did. We'd get angry letters every now and then, usually from individuals that claimed we were deliberately sabotaging their kids' chances for a Division 1 college scholarship because we weren't writing enough about them. In 99.9 percent of those cases, the kids couldn't get out of their own way and were barely deserving of a roster spot. The best of those letters (and later, printed versions of emails) went into a drawer in Peter's desk called the "Idiot File." And every few years or so, we'd break out those letters and re-read them for a good laugh. It's from those that I developed a catch-phrase, "Never underestimate the stupidity of the American reading public." 

Of course, I don't believe that about everyone -- although as the years have passed, and the decline of my industry has created a less-informed public, I might have been on to a growing problem before it really blossomed. Still, I wish I had asked Gobis for the contents of the "Idiot File" before the contents of his desk went into the dumpster. It would have been a good reminder of what obstacles we faced along the way of turning our shared goal of a comprehensive local sports section into reality. And some of those letters were just too damned funny.

Gobis on the beach in Florida.

I'm probably more thankful than Peter that our efforts have been remembered in a few places. We're both members of the Attleboro Area Golf Association Hall of Fame and the Attleboro Area Football Hall of Fame, and I can just see Gobis shrugging his shoulders and waving his hand dismissively at the honors. It's not disrespect. That's just Peter; after-the-fact accolades were just a lot less important to him. So if I suggested that Attleboro High School name its football press box at Tozier-Cassidy Field in Peter's honor, I'd be doing so in the same spirit as Brockton High did when it named the Marciano Stadium press box to honor former Brockton Enterprise sports editor Pete Farley, a champion of high school sports coverage for that paper's circulation area (and the father of my North TV broadcast partner, Glen Farley). But I can just hear Gobis saying, "Ah, just send the check instead."

Such a character, that Gobis. 

As I said, Peter was off like a shot to Florida once the retirement papers were filed. But even while on the beaches, he still found time to dash off un-bylined assessments of the Providence Friars' run in the NCAA men's basketball tournament and send them to the Blue Ribbon Daily on the sly. Old habits die hard. He's back now, but I suspect he will soon find that perfect tanning spot somewhere in the southern latitudes and leave his beloved Rhode Island behind.

But he left his mark on these towns, no doubt about it. Just like Bill Belichick, he replaced a guy named Pete Carroll (no kidding!) and did a better job for a lot longer. That's a heck of a legacy, and I was proud and honored to be along for the ride for most of those years.

 

Laney Clement-Holbrook: An appreciation.

Oliver Ames' girls coach Laney Clement-Holbrook has retired. (Boston Herald photo)

Laney Clement-Holbrook was the coach of the Oliver Ames High School girls' basketball team for 47 years, and while she did not coach a team from the circulation area of my former newspaper, I will always consider her one of the individuals most responsible for prodding me to become an advocate for the equalization of coverage of boys' and girls' high school sports.

Ms. Clement-Holbrook, 68, confirmed reports on Wednesday that she had retired from her position, mere days after leading the Tigers to their third state championship under her leadership. There's no better way to retire than going out on top, and she certainly deserved it.

But why, you ask, do I consider her so instrumental in a facet of my career? Let me tell the story.

Many, many years ago, she called the newspaper one day and gave me an earful about what she believed to be unfair coverage of a state tournament game between her team and one of the teams we covered on a regular basis. And she had every right to make that call.

Memories fade a little after time, but I believe the game in question was either in 1978 or 1979, very early in my career as a full-time writer and editor for The Sun Chronicle. It was, I think, between Oliver Ames and Seekonk, and the writer we sent to the game (I didn't cover it) returned to the office thoroughly disgusted with the low-scoring affair and determined to get that point across in the story he would write about it.

It was my responsibility to edit the copy for publication, and had I approached it with a little more maturity and experience under my belt, I would have located the offending passages and edited them out to present a more benign description of the contest. One of our cardinal rules for most of my tenure there was to be fair and forgiving toward high school athletes because they were not pros and were not to be held to standards and expectations of those playing the sport for money. But because I was young and a little overwhelmed by the task of editing other writers' copy on deadline at the time, I let the story go with only basic grammatical corrections.

The next day, after the newspaper hit the stands, I got the phone call from Laney. She was not pleased. She picked out every single passage that was too damning to the athletes or the sport of girls' basketball in general and repeated them over the phone in an equally damning tone -- one that chillingly reminded me of getting chewed out by Sister Mary Rita during a moment of misbehavior in sixth grade at Dominican Academy in Plainville.

I tried to mount a half-hearted defense of the story, saying that we're paid to accurately reflect the events in the games we cover, not to sugarcoat them. But Laney wasn't buying it. Neither was I after a while, although I was loathe to admit it to her. I re-read the story in print during the course of the phone call and realized that there were several ways that I could have rewritten the story to make it reflect the lesser quality of the game without turning it into a complete damnation of girls' basketball as a whole.

So I just basically shut up and let Laney have her say. When she hung up, I figured she was someone who would never speak to me again -- by her choice. Then maybe an hour later, I got a call from the other coach in that game, Seekonk's Dorene Menezes, who made the same points and expressed the same anger. This time, all I could do was grunt "uh-huh" several times out of a sense of resignation, and then ask contritely at the end if she would still call in her scores after every game.

The scoldings did have a positive effect. It reminded me of another incident earlier in my life when I failed to show the proper respect for a female athlete's desire for equal treatment -- my high school sweetheart, at the time the center of the Mansfield High girls' basketball team, who asked me one day why I never covered any of her games for the weekly Mansfield News. 

"It's only girls' basketball," I said. The look of hurt on her face was something I will never forget, although it still took me another five years or so to actually get the point.

Following those phone calls, I made a point to give girls' sports more of an even break in the pages of The Sun Chronicle. It took a while to get everyone on board with the plan, probably because it was essentially doubling our workload to give the same coverage to both genders, but Peter Gobis and I embarked upon the noble crusade by the end of that decade, maybe seven or eight years after Title IX made it federal law preventing discrimination by schools or colleges against women athletes. And the equalization of coverage is one of the things of which I'm proudest -- even if a lot of knuckle-dragging male sports fans rejected our efforts under the mistaken notion that we were taking something away from our coverage of the boys' teams.

Over the years, Laney Clement-Holbrook noticed. She welcomed Sun Chronicle coverage of Oliver Ames even though it wasn't as regular as it was for the 10 schools we did cover on a regular basis. And along the way, Laney and I became friends, with great mutual respect for what the other had accomplished.

Laney won three state titles for OA and shepherded many great athletes through their careers. But it wasn't all sweetness and light for her there.

Occasionally I would hear stories about parental discontent in the ranks, which is not surprising. There are still a lot of parents out there who don't understand that basketball is a team sport and that it's the job of the coach to find the right personnel combinations and win games. Sports are meritocracies. You earn your playing time by what you do every day in games and practice. If you can't start, it's an athlete's responsibility to work harder and either earn more playing time, or find ways to make their teammates better. There are no guarantees of playing time, nor should there ever be. And it's not the job of Mommy or Daddy to storm into the offices of the athletic director and demand a coach's firing because their little Joanie with suspect skills isn't playing as much as the kid pumping 17 points through the bucket in every game.

But Laney persevered. She won 733 games to set a state record for girls' basketball, and was a pioneer and a tireless advocate for the tenets of Title IX. And how she was able to endure the slings and arrows of 47 seasons at the helm is further testimony to her grit. 

I sent her an email yesterday congratulating her on her retirement and telling her that getting away from the daily stress can be like a Fountain of Youth. But I suspect she will remain close to basketball (as I have). It's in her blood. It's part of her. And everyone that watched what she did or participated in her program is better for it.

An overdue tribute to basketball season.

Alex Salachi, left, and I have logged a lot of hours behind the microphones.

Yes, I know. I’ve been lax in updating this site. And that’s not all.

Over the past five months or so, I’ve let a lot of things slide — not the least of which were this site, and my two podcasts, the audio “The Owner’s Box,” and the video “The Owner’s Box After Dark.” Plans are in place to stick a firecracker up my ass and to re-inspire myself to attend to these creative pursuits.

But I was busy. Honestly I was.

If you don’t believe me, and are not a fan of the Mansfield High, King Philip Regional High or Foxboro High winter sports teams, all you need to do is look at the video archives of Foxboro Cable Access, Mansfield Cable Access or North TV, and you will find me there.

In all, I probably was the play-by-play announcer for roughly 35 games in basketball and hockey for those three schools (and add in a few from Bishop Feehan and North Attleboro) from December through March 8, when my schedule was exhausted after one of the best games I’ve ever seen and called.

No doubt about it, I had a blast this year, my fourth as a high school play-by-play announcer. It reinforced my opinion that this would have been my career calling had I not spent almost 50 years as a sportswriter, and it also made me appreciate even more the people with whom I share the “broadcast booth,” so to speak.

Yes, we have no booths at this level. I get to work in the Macktaz Field press box when I’m doing King Philip football, soccer or field hockey in the fall, but for basketball, we’re either at a table at courtside or as far up in the stands as we can be in other places. And for hockey, it’s wherever we will be the coldest.

No problem. It’s how one learns. No one in either of my professions should ever start in a cushy press box where information is fed to you between the free meals. The best way to learn is either by following teams from field level, keeping one’s own statistics regardless of weather conditions, or being surrounded by cheering or jeering fans, trying to maintain your composure and concentration while surrounded by chaos.

The teams I covered this year achieved varying levels of success. 

At KP, a coaching change for the girls’ basketball team seemed to have a positive result as the Warriors qualified for the tournament on the last day of the regular season and managed to make it two games deep in the new statewide Division 1 tournament.

The boys didn’t fare as well. Early struggles with COVID-19 infections disrupted the starting lineup on a regular basis over the first half of the season, and the chemistry and cohesiveness the Warriors needed never really developed. Still, there were some outstanding individual performers, and enough of them will return next season to give KP reason for optimism in a reconfigured Kelley-Rex Division of the Hockomock League.

I was able to return to Foxboro girls’ basketball telecasts this year after a year’s absence, and I enjoyed watching veteran coach Lisa Downs mold a young team into a winning unit over the course of the season.

Most of the games I did were of the Mansfield boys and girls, two established winning programs that did not disappoint. 

The girls were a little streaky, having to mesh returning veterans with newcomers or returnees taking on new roles, but they still made it to the Division 1 tournament and defeated Worcester’s Doherty High in the first round before losing a nailbiter at Woburn in the Round of 32. With standouts Abby Wager and Kara Santos returning next season, I expect good things in Heather McPherson’s third season as head coach.

The more games, the merrier, I always say.

The boys, meanwhile, made a strong bit to maintain the excellence established over the past two decades under Mike Vaughan’s leadership. Losing Matty Boen’s 27-point average was a hit the team had to absorb, but senior guard Matt Hyland stepped up as a consistent scorer and on-court leader, and Chris Hill, Anthony Sacchetti, Trevor Foley and Andrew Slaney developed the classic Mansfield chemistry over the course of the season.

The Hornets finished 20-5 overall (19-5 for MIAA purposes because their game against Cranston West was considered an “endowment game” for charitable purposes). And for them, this new statewide tournament actually took on the look of one with an entirely new set of postseason opponents.

Dropped to Division 2 because of Mansfield’s shrinking enrollment, the Hornets faced some unfamiliar foes during their tourney quest. First up was Middleboro, which was clearly unaccustomed to playing at the pace the Hornets maintained over their 13-year tenure in Division 1. But Shepherd Hill Regional High of Dudley proved up to the task in the Round of 16, giving the Hornets all they could handle with a strong defensive effort before Mansfield clinched the win on the last possession of the game.

That brought the surprise team of the tournament, seventh-seeded Norwood, to the Albertini Gym in the Round of Eight. As I told anyone that would listen as the tournament began, this was the matchup I wanted to see. The Mustangs are coached by one of the brightest talents in the profession in this state, Kristen McDonnell, who has clearly proved that her knowledge of the game and her motivational skills know no gender boundaries. And of course, Mansfield’s Vaughan has repeatedly proven himself worthy of his status as a state coaches hall of fame member.

The game was a double-overtime classic, 57-51 in Norwood’s favor, with more twists and turns than I could recount here without you having to continue reading this post into next week. Perhaps one of the strangest twists came with 10 seconds remaining in regulation time, when Hyland drove to the basket and beat his defenders to put up what looked like the game-winning shot with 1.8 seconds left — only to have the ball stick between the rim and the backboard, turning it over to Norwood on the alternating possession. That sent the game into its first overtime, and a second was required to finally send the Mustangs to the Final Four.

I spent the entire game standing on the top row of the bleachers behind the scorer’s table, holding on to the auxiliary basket for dear life so I could get the best view I could amid the overflow crowd. That’s not any easy thing for me to do at 68 years of age and with a left knee that would prefer to be immobilized in a prone position. But Alex Salachi and I persevered for the duration — and without patting myself on the back, I can say without hesitation that it was one of the best calls of a game that we have ever done.

Kristen McDonnell broke barriers.

Norwood went on to eliminate Burlington, but then ran into the best team that money can buy in Division 2, Malden Catholic, which pinned a 50-point loss on the Mustangs. I have never been one to want to segregate the Catholic schools of the MIAA into their own tournament, but when your team in Malden has a starting center from Stoughton and a talented guard from Quincy leading the way, one has to wonder how this sort of abusive recruiting is allowed to continue. It’s not like Bishop Feehan, which has a somewhat more contained regional appeal. This level of abuse makes life a lot more difficult for the smaller Catholic schools that follow the rules and should not have to suffer because of the behavior of others.

And that’s why, if I had to pick a state coach of the year, it would be McDonnell. In her third season with the Norwood boys, she motivated a smallish and not overly deep team to take on all comers, maintain their poise and follow their coach’s teachings, and reach a state title game. Norwood has every reason to be proud of its boys’ team, as well as the state-finalist girls coached by former Feehan standout Amy Lepley Quinn.

I did enjoy the statewide tournament, but there must be tweaks made to the rating system to give more weight to a team’s record. One reason for the change to power ratings was because the old “Sullivan Rule” allowed schools to qualify with miserable records if they defeated teams that were in the same tournament division as theirs. The membership wanted losing teams purged from the ledger, but under the power ratings, there were at least three or four teams in each division with sub-.500 records in the top 32. It was even worse in the hockey tournament.

Of course, accommodations were made and all teams with records of .500 or better were allowed to qualify, which resulted in brackets as large as 46 schools in some instances. I’m not opposed to a “the more, the merrier” approach, but these power ratings are too strongly based upon the strength of teams’ schedules and the margin of victory in games, and not enough upon whether you win those games.

Still, for variety’s sake, I’ll give the statewide tourney a B-plus to start.

Alex Salachi, Tom Faria and I man the mics.

Finally, I want to offer a lot of thanks to a lot of people for helping me and my broadcast partners do our jobs.

First, of course, are the bosses — North TV’s Peter Gay, Foxboro Cable Access’ Mike Webber and Mansfield Cable Access’ Jack O’Neill, who put their faith in my talents to deliver a listenable telecast despite my having only a few years of experience at doing it. And the camerapersons — Scott Tooker and Loren Carpenter of North TV, all the volunteers in Foxboro and the incomparable Maureen O’Neill in Mansfield — all delivered an outstanding product to the viewing public.

And of course, the athletic directors and coaches of the teams I covered all deserve thanks for fitting our needs into their very busy schedules. Thanks to you all!

Most of all, I want to thank my broadcast partners for the expertise they shared to make me sound less of an idiot than I really am. I’ve talked to many great big-time broadcasters in my day and every one of them credited their analysts with being the bedrock upon which a strong broadcast was built — and through personal experience, I’ve learned the truth in that statement.

Glen Farley, at left, makes the KP telecasts better.

For King Philip hockey, my old friend Glen Farley serves as my partner. A long-time Brockton Enterprise sportswriter and former Patriots beat scribe, Glen has great timing for when to interject, as well as a love and full understand of hockey and sharper eyes than I, bailing me out on several occasions when I couldn’t follow the puck into the net. We work together just as well on KP football, field hockey, baseball, softball and (new this season) lacrosse, and I’m privileged to have him by my side.

My former co-worker (and boss) at The Sun Chronicle, Mike Kirby, joined me for a Feehan basketball game this year and I really enjoyed having an old friend (and former basketball referee) at the mic. I hope we get a chance to work together more going forward.

Always thankful for Lisa Downs’ help and support.

At Foxboro this year, I had a rotating crew of analysts for the games I did. Mark Davis returned to the table following the graduation of daughter Lizzy in 2020 for two games with me, and it was like there had never been a pause. Kate Hill (freshman Ava’s mom) joined me for one game and senior Hannah Blake’s dad, Tom, joined me for another. All were welcome additions.

And in Mansfield, I had plenty of help.

My partner of three previous seasons, Tom Faria, had other responsibilities this year as a proud grandfather to Samantha Faria, a freshman and starting guard at North Attleboro. But he was able to join me for three games, and I’m very happy he did. I intend to make sure Tom stays involved with his beloved Hornets when there’s no conflict with his family responsibilities.

I was also privileged to join up with Kathy Hill, mom of all those Hill kids and, as Kathy Finn, a 1,900-point scorer at Providence College in her day. Can’t beat her background and her enthusiasm. And when I couldn’t do a Mansfield game because of a schedule conflict, Kathy and Bridgett Casey (now in her 25th year as Bridgewater State’s coach after stellar careers at Oliver Ames and Bryant) filled in admirably.

And of course, my primary partner for KP and Mansfield games is my brother from another mother, former Mansfield star hoopster Alex Salachi, who coached the Mansfield girls briefly before embarking upon a long career as an assistant and head coach at Xaverian Brothers High in Westwood. Alex and I had built-in chemistry because of our long friendship, and his knowledge of the game and coaching strategies has been absolutely invaluable to our telecasts. And the feedback we get proves that. 

Aside from that, it’s also a joy to work with a friend that has been there through thick and thin for almost 60 years. At this stage of our lives, it’s almost the fountain of youth for both of us.

And now, it’s on to lacrosse. Anyone got a rule book I can borrow?

 

A stupid, sloppy error.

Cpl. James C. Albertini, US Army

The fellow you see in the accompanying photo is a young man named James Christopher Albertini. He never got a chance to grow up to be an old man like me. 

Jimmy Albertini, you see, was Mansfield's only casualty in the Vietnam War. He was a member of the Class of 1965 at Mansfield High, a three-sport athlete, handsome and popular, and one of 10 children from one of the most beloved families in the town. His dad, whom we all knew as "Peppy," was the long-time superintendent of the Mansfield Water Department, and today, the town's operating headquarters for the water system is named for him. One of Jim's brothers, Eddie, worked a part-time after-school job at my father's clothing store for many years before becoming a teacher at Mansfield High -- and becoming my homeroom teacher in the process.

In 1967, Jimmy and his twin brother John enlisted in the US Army together, and in January 1968, Jimmy was deployed to Vietnam and was assigned as an infantry scout to Company B, First Battalion of the Fifth Cavalry.

Less than four weeks later, on Feb. 13, 1968 (exactly 54 years ago as I write this), Jimmy was killed in action in Quảng Tri Province. He was promoted posthumously to the rank of corporal and returned home to his grieving family to be laid to rest in St. Mary's Cemetery.

Not long after, with the opening of a new Mansfield High School in the late winter of 1969, the decision was made to dedicate the gymnasium in Albertini's memory. 

It is a Mansfield tradition of sorts; about 14 years earlier, when the first high school on East Street (now the Qualters Middle School) was opened, its gymnasium was named for Don Currivan, an outstanding athlete at Mansfield High and Boston College who went on to play seven years in the NFL with the Chicago Cardinals, the Boston Yanks and the Los Angeles Rams before returning home to open an insurance agency that had offices in Mansfield and Foxboro. He had two children (I attended elementary school with his daughter, Nancy, at the former Dominican Academy in Plainville), but he died suddenly and tragically of a cerebral hemorrhage while playing golf on Cape Cod in 1956.

But in the context of the times, in the midst of an unpopular conflict overseas that fostered great division at home, I think the loss of Jimmy Albertini struck a deeper emotional chord in the community. And since the new gymnasium was truly a magnificent edifice -- although it would take many years for the school to produce teams fully worthy of their surroundings -- it was only fitting that people be reminded of a good kid that represented the town with honor before his tragic death overseas.

There is a bronze plaque next to the entry door of the gymnasium that reminds those who enter of James Albertini's sacrifice. But as all things change with time, the folks at Mansfield High feel that additional honors are needed to educate today's students about why their gymnasium carries a name. Mike Redding, the athletic director, told me late last week that a new memorial will be put in place inside the gymnasium to tell Albertini's story.

It's fitting. I always made a point of either typing "the James Albertini Memorial Gymnasium" in my past stories about games played within it, and now, as a broadcaster, I mention his name proudly and frequently in every game I announce.

So, imagine what I was thinking when I read a story in last Thursday's edition of The Sun Chronicle, my former newspaper, in which it was written that the Hornet girls' basketball team welcomed Stoughton for a game in "the Ken Pickering Gymnasium" for the first time in two years.

The Ken Pickering Gymnasium. Which is in North Attleboro.

Under no circumstances should a daily newspaper that has been part of the community in one form or another for more than a century make that mistake. 

Yes, I know that the sports department over there is in a state of upheaval with the sudden departure of Peter Gobis, the veteran of 49 years, who formally retired on Jan. 31. Along with my tenure at the newspaper, we offered our readers 90 years' worth of local journalism experience, and I can guarantee you, we never would have made that mistake. I'm not saying that we never made mistakes, but in a situation like this one, if one guy made the mistake, the other one surely would have caught it before it went into print. 

Not so at the "Sun Comical" these days, where budget-slashing carpetbagger ownership has laid waste to what was once one of the most talented newsroom staffs in New England. The sports department is a mere shadow of itself and is prone to errors -- some through unfamiliarity with the area, others through a callous disregard for accuracy.

I'm not that angry at the poor part-time intern that made the mistake in the first place. I know what it's like to be unfamiliar with someplace -- I was dropped into the newsroom of the Binghamton (N.Y.) Evening Press in January 1974 and told to start working that very same day. My only knowledge of Binghamton was that the commanding officer on "McHale's Navy" bore that surname.

But the individual doing the bulk of the editing in Attleboro has been under the employ of the Dinky Daily since the days when the Patriots had only three Super Bowl championships. You'd think that a certain level of familiarity would follow. Apparently not.

"So, what's the big deal," you might ask. "It's just a gym."

Maybe that's what you think. Others would not. And the error was actually a slap in the face to two rival communities.

Ken Pickering, of course, was the long-time boys' basketball coach at North Attleboro High for whom the current gymnasium there is named. A 1959 grad of NAHS, "Pick" worked in the town's school system for 36 years in various roles, including a successful tenure as athletic director. But folks my age will recall him an entertaining sideline presence in an era in which coaches could let if all hang out. Along with Oliver Ames' Val Muscato, Mansfield's John Dunn, Canton's Marty Badoian, Stoughton's Don Edmonston and Sharon's Dudley Davenport, Pickering's energetic coaching style (which probably wouldn't fly in today's over-officiated game) lent further excitement to the games between traditional Hockomock League rivals. The gymnasium was named in his honor in 2011, at the time of his retirement and not long before his passing.

It's a fitting honor to an individual that gave his life's work to the betterment of North Attleboro children. And it's pretty amazing that a newspaper that was created by the merger of the Attleboro Sun and the North Attleboro Chronicle would relocate that gymnasium to Mansfield in a news story.

Amazing, and just plain stupid.

I'm not sure many people in Mansfield read the paper anymore. I spent 42 years there, but I'm finding that fewer and fewer people whose kids are involved in sports are aware of my past profession. They just don't buy the paper. And that was a problem even when we had one of the best newspaper staffs in New England. People aren't reading newspapers, and maybe that's why we're in the mess we're in as a nation these days.

But there is an older segment of the population that is still reading -- seniors, like me or older, that still prefer the actual hard-copy product in their hands. They are the ones that are most likely to remember the Albertini family and their loss, and they might be wondering why in the world The Sun Chronicle would insult them in that manner. 

It wasn't intentional. It was just callous, sloppy and stupid. 

I emailed them, asking rather pointedly for a correction. I did not buy the paper at the stands the next day to see if they complied. But I also never heard from anyone at the paper, either. I guess I'm just regarded as a disgruntled former employee -- not entirely true, but if that's how they want to feel, so be it. I prefer to think of myself as a reader that's severely disappointed with the product, and I wish they would be equally disappointed with their own performance.

If the season ended today ...

You see that phrase all over sports journalism today. "If the season ended today," it goes, "the Patriots would still be on the golf course instead of in the Super Bowl." 

OK, that was a little bit of a cheap shot. But I wanted to play the game a little bit ... and since I don't know a damned thing about Wordle and don't intend to learn, I figured I'd play the game in an arena with which I'm a lot more familiar.

I've been doing a little bit of bracketology for the upcoming MIAA basketball statewide playoffs, and now that I know where to find the correct templates to create odd-numbered brackets, I thought I'd take today's MIAA power rankings in the MIAA Division 1 and 2 boys' and girls' tournament fields and see who'd be playing who at the end of this month. I stopped there because it's a lot of work and the teams in which I have the most interest are located there.

Of course, there are a lot more games to be played, but just for the sake of argument, remember this. The power ratings dictate the first 32 qualifiers in each division. But teams that finish at .500 or better but don't reach the top 32 with their power rating also qualify, and are added to the field.

For instance, if the season ended today, according to Jim Clark's rankings in the Boston Globe (not the official MIAA ones, but more accurate for the time being). there would be 41 qualifiers in boys' Division 1 and 45 in boys' Division 2. On the girls' side, there would be 41 qualifiers in D1 and 38 in D2.

Those numbers could change, of course. But right now, it's interesting to see how things would line up for the local teams.

In Division 1 of the boys' tournament, 18 teams would be sent into a preliminary round. That fate would be avoided by Attleboro, currently ranked 10th in the division, and the Bombardiers would draw No. 23 Everett in the Round of 32. No. 7 Franklin would entertain the winner of No. 26 Cambridge and No. 39 North Andover, and presuming the Panthers get past that, would entertain Attleboro (if victorious) in the Round of 16.

In Division 2, Mansfield currently has the top seed and would be guaranteed home games all the way to the state semifinals if successful. Meanwhile, 26 of the 45 teams will have to play in a preliminary round -- and from there would come Mansfield's first opponent, currently the winner of No. 33 West Springfield at No. 32 Nauset (there's some travel for you!).

Moving on, Mansfield would then get the winner of No. 17 Sharon at No. 16 Holyoke in the Round of 32. It's good to be the top seed, eh?

Stoughton, checking in at No. 25, would entertain No. 40 Somerset-Berkley, with the winner playing Kristen McDonnell's No. 8 Norwood team (which could face Mansfield in a Round of 8 game).

Over on the other side of the bracket, No. 31 Foxboro would play host to No. 34 Masconomet in a prelim, then get No. 2 North Quincy. No. 26 Oliver Ames would entertain No. 39 Nashoba with No. 7 Scituate up next. And No. 22 Canton, first entertaining No. 43 Revere, would visit No. 11 Whitman-Hanson with a win. 

As for girls' D1, No. 29 King Philip would be one of the 18 teams playing in a preliminary round, playing host to No. 36 Durfee. The reward? A trip to No. 4 Springfield Central in the Round of 32.

Bishop Feehan is the top-seeded local team at No. 7, and the Shamrocks would play host to either No. 26 Peabody or No. 39 Medford. Feehan would entertain either No. 10 Bridgewater-Raynham or No. 23 Reading in the Round of 16.

Maybe I should count Franklin as local (old habits die hard). The Panthers are the top seed today, and would get No. 32 Weymouth or No. 33 Boston Latin out of the prelims.

No. 8 Attleboro would face either No. 25 Lexington or No. 40 Worcester Doherty in the Round of 32 -- and could face Franklin in the Round of Eight.

No. 20 Mansfield (still in Division 1 unlike the boys) would travel to No. 13 Hopkinton in the Round of 32. Springfield Central is a potential opponent in the Round of 16.

And in Division 2, Dighton-Rehoboth right now has the 34th seed and would travel to No. 31 North Middlesex for the right to play No. 2 Oliver Ames.

Foxboro currently owns the 13th seed and would entertain No. 20 Ashland in the Round of 32, the winner visiting No. 4 Medfield. There is the potential of a Round of Eight meeting of Foxboro and No. 13 Canton.

But with at least 8-10 games left for everyone, it's all like New England weather. Wait a minute, and it will change.

Keep the Bombardiers flying high.

Changing the names of high school sports mascots is a topic that's been in the news a lot lately, but this is one time when it's not for the reason that immediately comes to mind.

There will be a public forum in Attleboro later this week to discuss the possible change of the high school's team nickname which has been in place for about 75 years -- Blue Bombardiers -- because it may not represent a lively and forward-looking branding effort that some folks at the high school want as they prepare to move into their new $250 million home next year.

I'll say right from the top that I'm against it. I've only known Attleboro High's teams as the Bombardiers for as long as I've been on this planet. In fact, there have been very few changes in the nicknames of local schools that have been around for more than 70 years or so, since the first wave of nickname selection started back in the 1940s. I've known nothing other than Hornets, Rocketeers, Warriors, Bulldogs and the like from our area's oldest schools, and I would prefer to see them endure.

Yes, it's irritating to see it misspelled as "Bombadiers" (as it once was on the gym floor) or shortened to "Bombers" (pronounced as "Bommas") out of sheer laziness. I like Bombardiers. It's unique. And it's not something contrived such as "Swamp Cats" or "River Hawks" for political correctness.

I like tradition. I like names that have a tie to history. And unless there's an overwhelming reason why the name might have been offensive at some point -- imagine, if you will, if Mansfield had chosen "Fighting Guineas" as their nickname to represent the large Italian population in town, how that name would be received today -- I see no need to rush to a name change just for the sake of "branding."

But Attleboro has been in search of a new identity (if not just a sports nickname) for a long time. In fact, leaving the sports issue aside for a while, Attleboro definitely needed something to paint a more positive image for what many believed to be a school in decline at the dawn of the 21st century.

Enter Principal Bill Runey, who came over to AHS after holding the same job at the city's Catholic high school, Bishop Feehan. Runey is a Southerner familiar with the importance of school nicknames to their fan bases, and he's a great salesman who is keenly aware that if you repeat something enough times, people will start to believe it.

So when he took over the Attleboro job, he coined the phrase "Blue Pride" to describe the atmosphere he wanted to create on Rathbun Willard Drive. At first, it was a little bit of a joke. Attleboro High, opened in the early 1960s, was falling apart and the school attitude was best described as defeatist, if not worse. But Runey is no quitter, so he turned "Blue Pride" into a mantra to describe anything and everything related to Attleboro High School.

And you know what? It worked.

Surrounded by both long-time administrators, teachers and coaches and new hires, both interested in committing themselves to the transformation of the school, the "Blue Pride" movement started to take hold and prosper. And today, with a more positive outlook regarding education at the forefront of the operation at AHS, Blue Pride has actual meaning to the student community.

The new high school is going to be a real palace, a showcase for the former Jewelry City. I can almost understand why there might be a desire for a new sports identity to go along with the new building and new outlook. But at the same time, it's not as if the existing nickname is patently offensive to anyone.

Yes, it is militaristic in nature. That's true. But is that entirely bad? 

Before Attleboro athletes were Bombardiers, they were ... well, I'm not entirely sure. The city was steeped in the jewelry industry for a long time, and I'm told that athletic teams in town were unofficially called "the Jewelers" for a long time (although those were mostly "town teams," semi-professional outfits that represented the city but not just the high school). As in the case of most of our other area communities, the references were usually to the team colors, as in the Blue and White.

Mansfield's Hornet, after a
1940s radio program

But somewhere in the 1940s, either during World War II or just after it, schools started adopting mascots as professional teams had. My hometown of Mansfield chose "Green Hornets" in 1948 to reflect the popularity of the popular radio serial about a newspaper publisher that became a mysterious crimefighter after dark, "The Green Hornet," which was adapted for the small screen in the 1960s as a campy TV series on ABC in the "Batman" mode. The town of Canton adopted "Bulldogs" because of the famous pro team that played in Canton, Ohio. Other schools selected names that reflected the Native American heritage of their regions, which is proving to be very controversial 75 years after the fact.

No one has ever pinned down to me why Attleboro selected "Bombardiers," other than its syllabic similarity to North Attleboro's choice of "Rocketeers." But at least it's understandable in the context of the times.

The Boeing B-17 bomber from World War II.

One of the tide-turning aspects of the war in Europe was American air power, sending wave after wave of B-17 "Flying Fortress" bombers from English air bases into Germany to devastate the industrial capabilities of the Third Reich. And on each of those aircraft, the bombardier was the crewman most entrusted with the responsibility of delivering an awe-inspiring payload of destruction to the factories that had fueled Adolf Hitler's dreams of world domination.

The bombardier sat at the very front of the B-17's fuselage, practically defenseless to the danger of attacking fighter planes or anti-aircraft flak guns from the ground, focused upon his bombsight and choosing the very moment when the plane's payload could be dropped accurately upon the target below.

The level of bravery among the airmen flying B-17s was staggering. Some 55,000 US airmen lost their lives during the European air war. And those that survived returned to America able to tell tales of abject horror in the skies, of having to endure wave after wave of fighter attacks and a veritable wall of shrapnel from the flak guns over their targets, and somehow making it back to their bases in England with their planes held together seemingly only by the power of prayer.

If you wanted to choose a symbol of bravery from the just-concluded world war, "bombardier" was as good as any.

Attleboro High School's eagle logo.

Attleboro is also questioning the use of an eagle as its mascot. Well, that probably has its roots in the war as well. The eagle was a popular symbol of the US Army Air Corps, which became the US Air Force in 1947. It represented the might and ferocity of what American war planes brought to battle, dovetailing with the already-existing imagery of the eagle as a national symbol. Unless you want your teams to be represented by a giant marshmallow, the eagle is a good choice.

It was good enough for Sharon High, which chose "Eagles" to replace "Hilltoppers" as its school sports identity about 70 years ago.

Keep in mind, I do not believe that Runey is forcing this change upon Attleboro High -- although I don't think he will be disappointed if there is a change. He says this has been part of student marketing research since the fall, and that the result of the survey distributed in the school indicated a disconnect between students and the nickname. Some objected to the militaristic nature of the nickname.

Maybe there needs to be a little more history taught inside AHS to offset that. While not all of the air war against Germany was altruistic in nature (do a Google search for Dresden), overwhelmingly the reason for the air war and its terrifying results was to stop perhaps the greatest evil ever known on this earth.

Or maybe there's just no real need for change.

Here's an example to consider. 

The athletic teams of my college alma mater, Northwestern University, are known as the Wildcats. In the 1970s, almost every Northwestern team sucked, and sports had become a bad joke on campus. So, students voted overwhelmingly in a referendum to change the nickname to “Purple Haze” — a tribute to Jimi Hendrix and to what they were all smoking on campus. 

Fortunately, the Athletic Department ignored them. Now that Northwestern is much more competitive in all sports, people are proud to be Wildcats again. Purple Haze would have been an unmitigated disaster.

Earlier today, I asked a young woman and recent Mansfield High athlete if she was proud to be a Hornet when she played at MHS. Of course, she was. But it should be pointed out that she was unaware that back in the late 1970s, there was a move afoot to change everything about MHS because the sports teams had fallen upon hard times and the changing demographics of the student population saw nothing awe-inspiring about hornets. 

That old mural of the Incredible Hulk on the gym wall? It had a painted banner above it that said, "MHS Green Machine," and that was the name suggested for future Mansfield teams as the school committee pondered a move to the Tri-Valley League or the Mayflower League because Mansfield was being manhandled every day in the Hockomock League.

Well, again, no one jumped the gun. New and better coaches came to town. A larger student population meant more candidates for teams. More competent administrators supported positive changes for academics and athletics. And the wins started coming. A positive aura developed around the school -- and now, it's a matter of intense pride in Mansfield to be a Hornet, the logo of which adorns almost every aspect of school operation these days.

I can see the same for Attleboro.

With a beautiful new school coming and more success in all sports being enjoyed with an even brighter future possible, I believe Attleboro can continue to embrace tradition … and sure, maybe even put “Blue Pride” on the uniforms the way North Attleboro uses “Big Red" on some of theirs -- even though that's a brand of chewing gum.

I'd like to see Attleboro take the chance to fully remove whatever tarnish there may still be on "Bombardiers" before it's time to scrap that part of history.

Addressing the issue that almost nobody else understands.

The media and Bill Belichick can be like oil and water without added provocation.

I wasn't going to write this piece. Really, I wasn't. I had tossed it around in my head many times since its topic became a cause celebre on Sunday afternoon after the Patriots lost to the Buffalo Bills at Gillette Stadium, and thousands of television viewers tuned in for "The Fifth Quarter" on Channel 38.

But then social media erupted about it, and opinions (some barely knowledgeable, others totally out to lunch) were expressed about it from coast to coast, and as I sat back and read many of them, I was again reminded of why our nation is in the mess it's in. People just aren't informed, and the news media (or maybe more accurately, the social-media wing of the sports media) wouldn't be informing them properly even if the Great Unwashed wanted to be less stupid.

I'm talking about what's been one of the biggest tempests in a teapot to soar through the sports world in recent months -- the audacity of a female "reporter" to ask Patriots' coach Bill Belichick for his New Year's resolutions during a televised press conference after one of the more crushing defeats the Patriots have suffered in a long time.

As I read all the nonsensical statements and demands for the identity of the reporter, I bit my tongue. I could have identified her from the very start, as she was representing the newspaper for which I worked for better than 40 years. I was not going to "out" her because I believed it would be dangerous to reveal her identity to a social-media audience that thrives in false bravado. There's an element out there that might threaten her -- most likely without following through on such nonsense, because those keyboard warriors tend to turn into the contents of a newborn's diaper once confronted with proof of their transgressions and the legal ramifications they could be facing. But why risk it?

But then Boston Globe columnist Joan Vennochi revealed the reporter's identity to the public on Wednesday, and my former newspaper followed suit with a hurried follow-up appearing in the Thursday paper. And since she was on TV for all to see, someone that actually wanted to do a little investigative work (like a phone call to the Patriots, which Vennochi made) could have found out. So, I won't be telling you anything you don't already know.

Yes, the reporter's name is Juliet Pennington. We worked under the same corporate umbrella for about 30 years, I would guess. She used to be a full-time reporter for The Sun Chronicle and other publications under our wing, left full-time work several years ago during one of our first cost-cutting rounds once the advertising boom that followed the opening of the Emerald Square mall in North Attleboro petered out, and she was kept on as a part-time writer thereafter. She also branched out and has contributed to many other publications, including the Globe, using her keen writing skills to address topics in a number of different disciplines.

She's a nice person. I covered her daughters' basketball games when they played at a local high school several years ago. I think she once claimed she was a distant relation to former Jets' quarterback Chad Pennington, although she may have been pulling my leg. I wouldn't say we are close, but we could sit and chat like old friends at times. And other times, we would be at loggerheads because I frequently objected to how she participated in post-game press conferences at Gillette Stadium. Neither of us are totally right, or totally wrong.

Let me state from the top that this is not a gender issue for me. I absolutely believe that women reporters should have the same right as men to do their jobs in a professional sports locker room. Ask Lisa Olson or any number of other female professionals about my decades-long support for their cause. But I also absolutely believe that it's wrong for any reporter of any gender to be attending a post-game press conference for the purpose of asking non-sequitur questions that are bound to be dismissed (possibly angrily) by Belichick in the supercharged post-game environment -- and in this particular situation, I believe it exceeded the scope of the original assignment given to Juliet. You see, this isn't the first time she's done this. It's just the first time that the perfect storm of TV coverage and social media involvement made such a big deal out of it.

Here's the deal, as our President might say. 

Juliet would almost always be sent to the stadium on gamedays to do the "color" piece -- a light and fluffy story, usually asking fans in the parking lots questions that vaguely tie into the game-day experience. Do you think the Patriots will win another Super Bowl? Is it too cold to be here? Will you be heartbroken if Tom Brady leaves? And so on. 

It's not Pulitzer Prize winning stuff. I tend to look at it as a necessary evil, the stuff that newspapers need to do to claim they are in touch with their readers, and it's something that I absolutely refused to do in 41 years as a beat reporter covering the team -- except, that is, for the last two Super Bowls I covered personally before my retirement, Nos. 49 and 51. I spent one day during each of the "hype weeks" mingling with the crowds at the special events being staged in the downtowns of Phoenix and Houston, seeking out fans from our area for quick interviews.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone from any of the 10 towns covered by the local newspaper amid a crowd of 100,000 or more fans? No, you don't, so don't even try to tell me you do.

Anyway, over the years, Juliet expanded the scope of her original assignment to include staying in the press box for the entire game, then going down to the post-game interviews and into the locker room. As these were supposed to be fluffy pieces about local fans, I didn't understand why she needed to be there. Other reporters (male or female) that were assigned to the same task either left upon the conclusion of their work or joined me in a tour around the locker room to gain understanding of the post-game dynamic, even occasionally mining a few quotes for me out of a cluster I couldn't reach. 

Contrary to the beliefs of some of the past week's sudden experts on journalistic protocols, I'm not sure if Juliet has ever been given specific orders by any Sun Chronicle editor to ask questions of Bill Belichick or the players about topics that didn't have anything to do with the game that had just been played -- although, not having sat in on any such phone calls or other contact, I can't say that for a fact. All I knew was that I was there because it was my job to ask questions and seek out interviews that were specific to the game, and, having done that since Chuck Fairbanks was head coach of the Patriots, I saw no need for anyone else representing our newspaper to be operating differently.

Players hate us when they play football,
then become us when they can't any more.

There were times, however, when I should have understood that it was basically harmless stuff. Yes, Juliet has always had an issue with "reading the room," maybe in accurately judging the locker-room mood or the dynamic of the post-game presser. But I'll admit to occasionally overreacting. Chatting it up with a player at his locker about non-football topics may have been actually welcomed by some, despite fears that it might somehow run afoul of Belichick's omnipresent distrust of the media. And while my newspaper nickname was "Fearless," Juliet was the one who was truly fearless in her ability to just let it fly and disregard the potential fallout. Contained within the hustle and bustle of a post-game locker room, it was just part of the overall experience. But in the formal press conference with the coach, it could be cringeworthy.

Some of my objections may have also stemmed from the fact that for 41 years or so, I worked for the smallest newspaper covering the team on a regular basis and that tended to minimize the respect we got in some corners of the sports world. As relationships with media relations staffs became more adversarial, I felt pressure to obsessively play by the rules so I wouldn't get passed over in favor of papers with larger circulation figures. It didn't help, I thought, for someone else from my newspaper to come into a press conference and turn it in to a clown show. And yet when I would complain to my bosses about that, I'd be the one threatened with my job. "It's just sports," I would be told dismissively, while at the same time being admonished against creating a hostile working environment for a female co-worker.

Many times, I would return to my desk and think back to the days when I covered the Norton Board of Selectmen as a news reporter. Now, THAT was a bunch that rivaled Belichick for having disdain for the media (unless we served their purposes, of course). I could just imagine what reaction I might have gotten if I stood up during the midst of a heated discussion and asked the selectmen what they were going to wear for Halloween. I'd probably have been thrown out of the town hall on the spot, and then fired the next day. 

I thought about that a lot this week, too, after I was scolded by some hack at ESPN for thinking that my sportswriting career was anything more than a meaningless existence in the playpen of journalism. To be honest, other than the superlative Mike Reiss, who is far too good for that corporation, I don't think anyone at ESPN should be lecturing anyone on proper journalistic ethics and protocols given the many stories that have come to light over the years since The Total Sports Network was just a tax write-off for Getty Oil.

That's what really pissed me off the most this week. It's the premise that "sports" (and sports journalism) has less validity than what's perceived as the real world. That's what justifies a bitter and angry individual such as Fox News' Laura Ingraham to react to commentary by LeBron James, one of the most socially aware athletes in the pros, with a dismissive "Shut up and dribble!" comment. It also justifies how assignment editors can lean back in their chairs and send their attack dogs (as Channel 7 would always do with Dan Hausle or Byron Barnett) to football press conferences looking to trap coaches or players into damning revelations about some hot-button issue, while the regulars on the beat were just trying to get them to say something about the next week's opponent in the brief time available.

No, I'm not calling Juliet an attack dog. Not even close. But it does bother me that some believe covering a multi-billion-dollar industry is somehow exempt from the normal protocols of our industry because it involves moving a leather-covered air bladder up and down 100 yards of grass.

Besides, it's not as if there aren't other avenues for writers not assigned to the team to get light and fluffy information.

You see, chances to do the lighter stuff are built into the weekly schedule during football season -- or at least there were before the pandemic gave the NFL the license it has desired for many years to be far more restrictive when it comes to media coverage. Under more normal circumstances, there are usually press conferences with the coach on Mondays and Wednesdays through Fridays, with locker-room availability periods afterward. Wednesdays and Fridays were always the best opportunities for off-the-football-track questions because the former was the main day of availability, and the latter was the day with the lowest attendance of beat reporters and TV crews (which always seemed to put Belichick more at ease).

What's more, as a reporter like Juliet is not regularly assigned to cover the team, it makes more sense for her to work with members of the media relations staff to arrange personal interviews or to forward such questions to players or coaches. This used to be a very easy task under less repressive regimes in Foxboro, but Belichick's belief that all media is potentially disruptive has caused the door to such interview sessions to be locked well in advance. Even Bill Parcells, who famously set down the first edicts that chipped away at the chummy relationships between the team and the media, understood the difference between "gotcha" journalism and fluff pieces.

Case in point: A fellow beat writer once approached the VP of Communications, Stacey James (I covered his sports-playing kids, too), to set up an interview with a new assistant trainer on Belichick's staff because the gentleman had grown up in his newspaper's circulation area. The reporter, one of the most trustworthy souls on the beat, assured James that this was simply going to be a happy "local man makes good" story and not a "gotcha" piece looking for inside dirt. The request was summarily denied.

It was reported in recent days that Juliet decided to ask her question of Belichick (and also of one player that followed him to the podium) because in-person opportunities for interviews have been practically eliminated by pandemic protocols. That's probably correct. But I still don't believe that justifies the "gotcha" moment she chose at the Sunday post-game presser for a question that had no relation to the loss to Buffalo -- one that everyone in the house at that moment knew for a fact that Belichick would not answer.

Perhaps we should be thankful that Belichick (probably sick as a dog at that moment, given the weakness of his voice) chose to be polite. I'm sure he knew what was coming the second that Juliet raised the microphone to her mouth. They've danced down this road before. What's more, I'm also sure that Belichick knew what the ramifications would be if he tore Juliet a new orifice with his response. He did not want that shitshow to descend upon Foxboro for the next several weeks while he was fighting to get his staggering team into the playoffs. He would be decried from Sitka to Sarasota and from San Diego to Sanford, Maine, as a misogynist that bullied the poor woman reporter -- even though this particular reporter spends probably less than eight days total within the confines of Gillette Stadium every year.

And that would have been a shame, because Belichick is an equal-opportunity grump. He hates distractions from anyone and everyone. But I know he has great respect for reporters and columnists such as the Herald's Karen Guregian, former Globe and ESPN scribe Jackie MacMullan, the NFL Network's Kim Jones and many others he has met over his long tenure in the league. 

No, he wanted nothing to do with it. Nor did anyone else. For the most part, it's been people all over the country that have absolutely no clue about what's going on that have flown off the rails with their speculative comments. To paraphrase a famous putdown of the media by former Colts' coach Jim Mora, they don't know what they don't know, and they never will.

Personally, I'm sorry this all came up because, among other things, it has exposed how I still haven't made the total break from my former career. I worked hard during that time, and while I made my share of mistakes and came close a few times to pissing it away for stupid and immature reasons, I managed to fly the straight and narrow for most of that time, winning lots of awards and apparently fostering some good will along the way. I was actually embarrassed by what I heard on Sunday, even though I have not worked at the Blue Ribbon Daily since Aug. 27, 2018, less than one month after the official sale of the paper to a bunch of Canadian carpetbaggers and seven months shy of my planned retirement.

And I don't need to be. One of my former fellow beat writers certainly reminds me of that fact every time something like this comes up. But as he was also let loose from his job before his choosing, I try to remind him similarly when he mentions how far his former paper has fallen. For both of us, it falls upon near-deaf ears. We put too much of ourselves into our work for too long to be able to let it drop to the ground like a hot potato.

I could say a lot more, but there's really no need. I imagine I'm already regarded on 34 South Main Street as a disgruntled former employee that has overvalued his importance. Yes, the paper is still publishing without me. But I still frequently hear comments about how my work is missed. Even just a few hours ago, as I prepared to chart a basketball game to assist me in later duties as a play-by-play announcer for local cable TV, a gentleman pulled me aside and told me how much he missed my contributions to the paper and the effort that used to be put into the product. I thanked him.

To be honest, there's more effort being put into it now. Peter Gobis, now in his 70s, is trying to do the work that it once took five full-time reporters and a slew of part-timers to do. Ditto for the few reporters left in the building. I've come to believe that St. Jude, as the patron saint of lost causes, should become the enduring symbol of the newspaper industry -- and that he should cast his good favor among my former co-workers as they try to navigate the uncertain waters of their careers.

I just hope that acknowledging the affiliation of the reporter that asked for New Year's resolutions isn't being seen as some kind of stunt to curry favor with a dwindling audience. It could be seen as kind of a "hey, we're famous!" moment. And that would just be another error in reading the room.