Time for Foxboro to decide.

The proverbial feces is about to hit the fan in Foxboro, where the debate over the use of Native American imagery to identify its high school athletic teams will be debated this week, and then decided next week.

The School Committee will have a forum Tuesday night at the Ahern School for residents to offer three-minute presentations on the topic. Then on Oct. 2, at the committee's regular meeting, the issue will be put to a binding vote.

The current Foxboro High sports logo.

There are many ways this can go. Either the town will stop using the logo that was formerly the intellectual property of the NFL franchise in Washington, D.C., or it will also drop the nickname "Warriors," or maybe it will keep "Warriors" and cease any connection to Native American imagery -- something recently done by the King Philip Regional High School athletic program.

The open forum has been limited to Foxboro residents only, although an exception was made for those in the METCO program which brings inner-city youngsters into the Foxboro school system. Would-be speakers had to register to speak, and the School Committee intends to keep a tight rein on the proceedings.

I would have loved to put in my two cents' worth on this issue. I've covered Foxboro sports regionally since the late 1960s and then post-college at The Sun Chronicle and The Patriot Ledger of Quincy from 1977 through 2018. Today, I do occasional work for Foxboro Cable Access, having called several girls' basketball games for Cable 8 Sports including last season's Division 2 state championship game. And I lived in the town from 2002 through 2015. But this is my only forum for personal opinion now, and while I may be as knowledgeable on the subject as anyone that will speak on Tuesday, it's not my place to ask to do so.

Had I the opportunity, however, I may have opened by telling the School Committee that they really botched this process. 

For at least a couple of years prior to the current controversy, Foxboro was already phasing out the Native American imagery. They've done it quietly and without calling attention to it. In most correspondence regarding the athletic program, the former logo of the Washington Redskins, which the NFL team adopted in the early 1970s and didn't appear on Foxboro football helmets until 1983, had disappeared in favor of a stylized blue and gold F. Gradually, the logo also disappeared from the few athletic uniforms that previously had an embroidered version of it. About the only place where the logo was still in use was the football helmets.

This also identifies Foxboro sports.

I have a feeling that an order could have been issued quietly from above to remove the Redskins logo and to replace it with the same logo being used on school correspondence, and no one would have been the wiser. There may have been a few grumbles at first when someone actually noticed the change, but eventually, everyone would have gone on with their lives and dealt with far more pressing issues, and it wouldn't have become a public bitch fest -- which it has already become, given the petitions circulating around town and the signs touting "Warrior Pride" on front lawns.

But no, the school committee brought this up several months ago and had a series of meetings, and public pronouncements of angst attracted the Boston TV stations' cameras to chronicle yet another battle over political correctness brewing in the commonwealth. It now has a life of its own.

Even my former newspaper has chimed in. They've suggested in different editorials to drop the logo, to drop "Warriors," and even to rename the Foxboro teams after the professional football team that calls the town home. Personally, I don't believe there's a lot of sentiment in favor of the latter -- especially now that the Brady-less Patriots can barely beat the New York Jets. 

The fact is, this could have all been handled quietly and with sensitivity to Native American culture by dropping the Redskins logo that was ripped off Washington's helmets in 2020. They could have kept "Warriors," as King Philip has, without the triggering imagery.

I imagine the oratory will be emotional on Tuesday. There will be townies that will decry wokeness and blame Communists and so on, and there will be well-meaning individuals that will try to point out that the younger generation of Foxboro students are rejecting the old stereotypes and trying to show more respect to other races and other cultures.

Foxboro, after all, is changing. Once one of the whitest communities in the commonwealth, the student population (currently about 2,500) is 74.6 percent white, 8.6 percent Hispanic, 7.5 percent African-American and 5.2 percent Asian. The numbers from the state Department of Education also indicate that Foxboro's student population is 0.2 percent Native American. The kids don't do the tomahawk chop at their games and they probably don't have the same feelings for the old logo as their parents did -- or maybe even their grandparents.

Now that this has become a full-blown issue, I don't see a happy ending for those that want to embrace the current logo, and maybe even the nickname. Natick, Barnstable, Nashoba Regional, Taconic High of Pittsfield and several others have either changed their nicknames or dropped Native American imagery, or both. Walpole dropped "Rebels" and Westford Academy altered "Grey Ghosts" to simply "Ghosts" because their nicknames carried the hint of Confederate taint. Stonehill College and Bryant University made clean sweeps of old nicknames and imagery. Others like Tewksbury, Braintree and Dartmouth have battled tooth-and-nail to keep theirs.

My compromise for Foxboro, because it has increased visibility from the Patriots' presence in town, would be to drop the logo and keep Warriors -- and then hope that some attention-seeking lawmaker doesn't again file a bill in the state legislature seeking a complete ban of nicknames and logos with even a hint of Native American imagery. It's already happened four times in the last decade, and one of these days, one of those bills may make it out of committee and force everyone to adopt non-offensive monikers such as "Screaming Turtles" or "River Rabbits."

I feel for Foxboro. I really do. Nobody likes to be told to do something. But maybe we should remember that "Redskins" was a slur from the very beginning, and its sports use originated right in our own backyard, with the Boston Redskins NFL franchise that adopted the name in 1933 and kept it when it moved to Washington in 1937. I would not want the former logo of that team to be associated with my community solely for those reasons.

This Hornet offends no one.

But then again, I don't have to worry about that in my hometown. In the 1940s, one of the more popular serials on national radio was "The Green Hornet," stories of a crusading newspaper publisher named Britt Reid that fought crime at night as a costumed hero, with his trusty Asian sidekick Kato at his side. When Mansfield High School students were polled to adopt a nickname, they voted overwhelmingly for "Green Hornets," with "Marauders" a distant second. 

To date, nobody I know has been offended by "Green Hornets" or the accompanying insect imagery -- although the students of the 1970s embraced The Incredible Hulk as an alternate mascot (well ahead of the curve of Hulk's current popularity) without changing the nickname. But fortunately, the students of the 1940s were wise not to create a mascot based on the Kato character. We'd be in a world of hurt over that, I suspect.

I wish my friends in Foxboro the best of luck in settling this without too many ruffled feathers. I'd have a hard time thinking of the Foxboro Warriors as anything else. And I think there's still time for the art of compromise to preserve "Warriors" for a long time, no matter what the state legislature does. I'll probably tune into Foxboro Cable Access to see how the battle is waged.

Sad to be losing 'Winning Time.'

Larry Bird, Red Auerbach, Magic Johnson and Dr. Jerry Buss in "Winning Time."

Yes, I know it was basically pro-Los Angeles Lakers propaganda.

Yes, I know it was highly dramatized and that it played fast and loose with the truth.

Yes, I know that it was intended as entertainment, and not as a documentary.

I still very much enjoyed "Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty" on HBO. And I'm sad that the network I first paid to see as Home Box Office in 1976 has decided to cancel it with so much of the story untold.

HBO has not been kind to my favorite shows of late. Most recently, they decided not to renew the grittier take on "Perry Mason" that was a tour de force for Welsh actor Matthew Rhys (late of "The Americans") in the role that Raymond Burr originated on the late-1950s CBS show of the same name. And now, they've blown up "Winning Time," based on the book by former sportswriter Jeff Pearlman about the emergence of the franchise under the frenetic "Showtime" ownership of Dr. Jerry Buss.

The show got two seasons, but it may have gotten off on the wrong foot right off the bat by changing the name from that of the book -- after all, "Showtime" is the name of a competing, CBS-owned premium cable network. And in many ways, the cable Showtime has been kicking HBO's ass with quality programs for a while now, so the Warner Bros./Discovery empire was not about to give CBS free publicity. 

Kind of like the Lakers and the Celtics. But I digress.

The fictional LA Lakers of 1984

"Winning Time" opened on March 6, 2022, with Earvin "Magic" Johnson (played admirably and endearingly by newcomer Quincy Isaiah) learning for the first time of his HIV diagnosis inside a hospital examination room. That was certainly enough to pull me in from the start -- but little did I know that we'd never revisit that moment despite its importance to the entire Lakers saga because the series would end abruptly on Sunday night. As I said in a social media post, that left an extinction-level crater in the plot for all time.

As the series unfolded, we were introduced to quite a few compelling, if exaggerated, characters -- John C. Reilly (whose gifts as a likeable character actor keep him working steadily) as the flamboyant team owner whose intricate comb-over must have been Donald Trump's inspiration; Jason Segal as the out-of-his-element coach Paul Westhead; Adrien Brody in a steadily more appealing portrayal of player-turned-announcer-turned-coach Pat Riley; Jason Clarke as a foul-mouthed and wound-too-tight Jerry West; DeVaughn Nixon (Laker guard Norm Nixon's son) as his father; Solomon Hughes as the gruff, aging Kareem Abdul-Jabbar; Sean Patrick Small as a surprisingly believable Larry Bird; Michael Chiklis as Red Auerbach (a great villain for this tale if ever there was one); and Hadley Robinson as Jeanie Buss, the owner's daughter, who was starting to emerge as the heir apparent to the Laker legacy before the premature demise of the series ended the storyline.

Jason Clarke as the fictionalized Jerry West.

Almost immediately upon the show's debut, the critics started chirping with their all-too-pious nitpicks over the accuracy of the subject matter. At the top of that list was the portrayal of Jerry West, whose lawyers demanded apologies and retractions regarding the over-the-top portrayal by Clarke as the ex-Laker star and eventual general manager. I've seen more than my share of sportswriters that covered the Lakers -- even the great Bob Ryan, whose coverage of the Celtics of that era is the stuff of legend -- offering testimony that the "real" Jerry West was not the cartoon figure he was portrayed as in "Winning Time."

Well, I'm sure that's so. But once I got the feel of this show, I didn't much care. I wasn't looking for a Ken Burns documentary. I was looking for something to make me laugh and keep me watching -- and listening to the Jerry West character unleashing megaton-level tirades against coaches, players and even Dr. Buss kept me coming back.

Besides, seeing that incorporated into this long, lingering wet kiss to the Lakers of the early 1980s helped me to forget the indignities heaped upon Boston and the Celtics in the name of dramatic license.

Of course, the show portrayed the Celtics and Auerbach as entitled and condescending. Given that the franchise absolutely dominated the NBA in the years before anyone really cared about pro basketball, perhaps it was deserved. It certainly served the narrative.

Yes, I quibbled with the portrayal of Boston basketball fans and all Bostonians in general as racist assholes. That's just too familiar and too easy a stereotype that screenwriters use to set the scene of anything involving Boston. We're either all hoodlums from Charlestown or the bastard sons of Whitey Bulger, and we all speak with the flattest R's and all extend the word "there" to two or three syllables, and I'm just fucking sick of it. By the way, all Italian-Americans are mafioso, as well.

But again, it was just a story. I didn't lose any sleep over it. I may have been more upset that they absolutely blew the rare casting and use of Celtics play-by-play legend Johnny Most during the narrative. Johnny was a unique character in real life, no getting around that, but what "Winning Time" presented was unrecognizable to me.

Sean Patrick Small and Quincy Isaiah as Larry and Magic.

At the same time, I thought as the show progressed into its second season and matured in its narrative, it took great pains to present a more balanced and relatable version of Larry Bird to its Laker-friendly audience. One of the episodes this season compared and contrasted the personal and private lives of Bird and Johnson as they faced both triumph and tragedy on the road to an eventual battle-of-the-titans showdown that they both wanted and needed to legitimize their legacies.

Dyed-in-the-wool Angelinos probably still hated Larry Bird after that episode, but I have to believe they may have respected him more after getting a glimpse of what made him what he was. And even if it was fictionalized, it was still worthwhile to watch.

After two seasons, I really came to appreciate that "Winning Time," while intended to lionize the Lakers of the 1980s, wasn't afraid to show a few warts as well. There was a lot of in-house tension both on the court and off it, and the off-court stories (even if wildly exaggerated) are what fueled my continued interest in the narrative. I particularly enjoyed John C. Reilly's frequent breaking of the fourth wall to converse with viewers about Dr. Buss' occasionally slap-dash motivations. But at the end of the day, learning that the show had been canceled left me feeling like waiting all day to hit the free shrimp at the end of the press box buffet line, only to find they're run out by the time I got there.

The series ended happily for Celtics fans, with Bird & Co. winning the 1984 title and leaving the Lakers to sulk in the old Garden's locker room. (And as an aside, how about that CGI? The old scoreboard, the tiered upper balconies, the banners in the rafters ... they really made it look as if the old Garden had been reconstructed and used for filming the basketball scenes. Kudos!)

But that clearly wasn't where it supposed to end.

Season 3, I'm told, was supposed to be about the Lakers' redemption. But there are other topics I'd have wanted to see. For instance, it's now well-known that Bird and Johnson left their personal animus behind when they filmed a commercial for Converse shoes in the 1984 offseason. They later wrote a book together (with former Globe writer Jackie MacMullan) about the formation and strength of their friendship. Would we have seen that reach the small screen? I also wonder if the show would have reached Dr. Buss' losing battle with lung cancer and the eventual groundbreaking succession of Jeanie Buss as the team's owner.

And of course, there was that opening sequence about Magic's HIV diagnosis. We never will see how "Winning Time" would have treated that.

And that's a damn shame. 

The whole thing may not have been entirely true, but then again, Donald Trump was our president for four miserable years. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. But at least fiction is still more entertaining.

The Owner's Box, Ep. 49

Norwood hoop coach Kristen McDonnell makes her fourth appearance on the podcast.

A good podcast is usually the result of having good guests. So it is for Episode 49 of The Owner's Box, in which I welcomed Norwood High School girls' basketball coach Kristen McDonnell to Fulton Pond Studios (virtually, at least) for her fourth appearance on the show.

It was the first time in 53 months that we've been together on the podcast, so we had a lot to talk about. We discussed her transition back to coaching girls from a successful stint with the boys' team, during which she led Norwood to a state title game. She also explained her innovative summer program of "pickup basketball" for high school girls, and she even offered me a few tips about what to expect if I get a knee replacement.

It's always a pleasure to talk hoops with Kristen, who is as successful and knowledgeable a coach as there is in Massachusetts these days. I hope you'll enjoy listening to it as much as we did recording it.

The Owner's Box, Ep. 48

Replacing the ancient scoreboard at right has raised hackles in North Attleboro.

Even the best quarterbacks have to call audibles at times, and thus, the latest episode of The Owner's Box shifted from a guest-driven one to me on my own again. But Episode 48 should be worthy of a listen, as I tackle a multitude of topics -- include the controversial proposal to replace the ancient scoreboard at North Attleboro High's renovated Beaupre Field with a modern video scoreboard.

As you can see in the photo, Beaupre's current scoreboard has been a fixture on the site since the mid-1970s. A new scoreboard with limited video capabilities (and the possibility for advertising to create an additional revenue stream) would cost about $300,000 and is basically already paid for as part of the $5 million appropriation for the overall field and stadium renovation. But as usual, some residents are screaming bloody murder about it because they think it's going to drive their tax bills through the roof -- which it won't.

I also talk about how Robert Kraft will still have to overcome past controversies if he becomes a finalist for Pro Football Hall of Fame enshrinement again next year. And there are other topics in the Lightning Round, so click on the link below to listen.

Originally, my guest for this episode was supposed to be current Norwood High girls' basketball coach Kristen McDonnell, one of the most celebrated coaches in the state. But she had car trouble and we rescheduled the recording session for this Thursday. Unfortunately, because I've practically used up all of my recording allotment on my hosting service for this month, that episode will be posted on Aug. 31.

In the meantime, please enjoy my rants in Episode 48.

The Owner's Box, Ep. 47

This big blue A is raising a lot of hackles from the peanut gallery in Attleboro.

Solo flight tonight, but there's a lot of good stuff to talk about. 

We start with a look at the upcoming fall sports schedule for King Philip Regional High School on North TV, with a laser focus on the football games -- I'll be doing seven of eight regular-season KP games including three road games (and yes, I forgot to mention that the North Attleboro crew will be doing the North-KP game late in the season, so that's actually eight of nine, not including the playoffs).

Then I discuss the controversy, or tempest in a teapot, over the big blue letter A that now graces the center of the traffic circle in front of the new Attleboro High.

Patriots fans and media are jumping to record-setting conclusions over one performance against fourth-string Houston Texans talent by rookie QB/WR Malik Cunningham. Is it Malik Mania or Cunningham Colic? You decide.

I also chime in about yet about another date in court for Der Amerikaner Fuehrer, Donald J. Trump, and then I reveal the identity of my next guest on The Owner's Box, coming next week.

I try to keep it lively, so enjoy.

The Owner's Box, Ep. 46.

Foxboro coach Lisa Downs holds the state title trophy aloft at the Tsongas Center.

I told you I was going to start podcasting at an accelerated rate, and I'm a man that lives up to his promises. Here's the 46th episode of The Owner's Box, and the sixth appearance on it by Foxboro High girls' basketball coach Lisa Downs.

Downs' 2022-23 team, of course, won the state Division 2 championship back in March, but we've already talked about that. In fact, just scroll down for a post from April 22 and you'll find the episode of "Around Foxborough" that we did for Foxboro Cable Access as a celebration of that great playoff run.

So instead of rehashing an old topic, Lisa and I talk about various others -- how she has developed such a great rapport with her players (most of whom return for a bid for another title this year), how some important rule changes will affect her team and all of high school basketball in Massachusetts this winter, and her efforts to raise funds for a team trip to Florida in December for a three-game tournament -- among other topics.

Lisa is always a great interview, and we could talk hoops for a lot longer than just the 40 minutes or so we spent at Mass. Premier Courts in Foxboro last week. I hope you will enjoy it as much as she and I enjoyed recording it.

The Owner's Box, Ep. 45

Creating sweet vocal "music" on the keyboard once again.

We're back, baby ... with the first in what I hope will be a regular series of podcasts under a familiar brand.

This time, the second episode of our third season is just me, but it's the first totally recorded on my new computer. I talk about the Northwestern University football hazing scandal (which breaks my heart), the start of Patriots training camp, a summer of joy with my backyard bunnies, the U.S. women's national soccer team in the World Cup, and lots more.

Oh, I also reveal the identity of the guest on next week's episode. I told you I was working on these things again!

Here's a direct link:

Where Mansfield styles began.

Sannie's clothing store in Mansfield in 1975, 40 years after its founding.

My most recent post on this blog elicited a fairly good response from its readers, at least as far as I can tell from the number of looks it got according to the little meter that appears on the left-hand side of the browser version. That was heartening, given that I post a lot less frequently than I used to.

The meter doesn't give me the demographics of the reading audience, but I have to believe they're usually in the 40-70 range, age-wise -- especially when the posts refer to something that hasn't been a part of the Mansfield landscape for more than 30 years.

My last post, if you didn't read it, was about my having to retire a well-worn pair of pants, and how that reminded me of a little two-line classified ad that used to run in the weekly Mansfield News (itself no longer in existence) touting the quality of the pants sold at my father's downtown clothing store.

Over the many years I've been involved in local journalism, I've had the infrequent occasion to mention that store, which closed in 1992, in opinion pieces or other retrospective pieces. The store was named "Sannie's," after the eldest brother of the four sons born to Carmelo and Gandolfa Farinella, formerly of Palermo, Sicily. My uncle, Santino (yes, like Sonny Corleone), left the family bakery and founded the clothing store on North Main Street in 1935, and was gradually joined in the venture by brothers Frank, Tony (my father) and Charlie.

The Wasserman Block in 1955, two years before Sannie's expanded.

Originally just a single storefront in a building originally built in the 1800s as a livery stable, Sannie's gradually expanded to take over a whole series of stores in what was then called the Wasserman Block. First came a small adjacent shop for ladies' wear, then in 1957, a major expansion encompassing the entire Wasserman Block, which was gutted and rebuilt as one large storefront connected to the original building. The store was expanded or reconfigured several more times in the decades that followed, including the purchase of an adjacent bicycle shop that was repurposed as "Sannie's Little World," devoted to infants' and toddlers' wear and other related products.

Inside the pre-1957 Sannie's display area.

The store did a hell of a business for many years -- so well, in fact, that I live comfortably off an inheritance that sustained my mother for 14 years after her husband's death in 2001, and so far, another eight for me after her passing. Sannie's probably would have survived longer than it did if not for changing business conditions brought about by the opening of a local megamall (Emerald Square in North Attleboro) in 1989, and the advancing age of the surviving founding family members.

Strange it is, indeed, to see Emerald Square on the verge of collapse here in 2023 because of the advent and popularity of online shopping.

I guess the secret of Sannie's success during its heyday was that it provided a ready-made clientele what it needed the most -- the basics, every-day goods that met a family's daily needs, not far from home and in a pleasant shopping environment, and at reasonable prices. Sannie's was where you shopped for school clothes, or a good pair of jeans, or underwear or socks, or casual wear for all ages made by companies you knew and trusted.

The four Farinella brothers (Charlie, Frank, Sannie, Tony) in 1958.

The secret to that was some shrewd buying tactics by my father and his brothers. They would scour the wholesalers for big-brand closeouts, styles that were discontinued or about to be, and they'd load up on them and sell them for very attractive prices -- often much less than the big-name retailers such as Jordan Marsh or Filene's. You want Levi's? You could go to the big stores and pay a lot for them, or you could go to Sannie's and not notice the few stitches that weren't in the same place as the newer products and come away with a great pair of jeans and a few extra bucks still in your pocket.

These weren't damaged goods, either. This wasn't a Building 19 or Ocean State Job Lot. These jeans didn't fall off a freight train and then get shipped to an outlet store for quick sale, and let the buyer beware. I wore Izod Lacoste polo shirts from Sannie's that were every bit as good as what was on sale at Jordan Marsh, even if they were no longer current offerings from the manufacturer. Nobody knew the difference.

Hence was the genesis of one of the opportunities for my peers to tease me in my youth, however.

Not long after the opening of the store and the purchase of the original three-story building at 310 North Main Street, my uncle Sannie decided to buy a big neon sign for the store. It was a tall, vertical sign -- an estimated 18 feet in height, maybe a little more -- that spelled out the store's name one letter at a time from top to bottom. At the base of the sign were the words "Wearing Apparel" in neon script, and there was still room enough for one more line of print without the neon, so the brothers chose "Where Mansfield Styles Begin" as the slogan.

At the time of my entering high school in 1968, Mansfield was a town of barely 5,000 residents, and the "Where Mansfield Styles Begin" slogan became somewhat of a joke. The comedians would add, "... and End" to the phrase. Others would note that Mansfield had no style at all (although their mothers would dress them in Sannie's clothing from head to toe). So the saying on the sign was eventually changed to "Your Brand Name Store," which was inoffensive and accurate.

That sign shined brightly in the town for nearly 50 years, even more prominently when it was hoisted onto a pole anchored at the farthest north corner of the expanded store. Indeed, it could be seen from miles away under the right circumstances. On Route 106 heading east from Plainville to Mansfield, there was a higher-elevation point right at the Foxboro town line where at night, you could see the lights of the sign in the distance, probably about two miles away. It was like a welcome-home beacon to me on long nights spent at the newspaper in my early years of employment.

Sadly, a few years ago someone told me that they discovered the rusted remains of that sign in a landfill on Cape Cod. How it got there, no one knows. I had always hoped it would have gone to a neon graveyard like the ones in Las Vegas, but no such luck.

The expanded Sannie's in 1975. The famous ramp is at far right.

Of course, people my age (now teetering upon 70) remember the store quite well. Even my friends with 1970s or 1980s birthdates have memories of the store -- most of them of running up and down the ramp that joined the original building and its higher foundation to the reconstructed Wasserman Block area. As a child, it probably seemed like Mount Everest, but it was good, clean fun -- unless they somehow commandeered a shopping cart and made the downhill run on wheels. My father made many sprints from his office at the back of the store to the base of the ramp to catch would-be Evel Knievels before they collided with display tables or other shoppers.

Portrait of the author as a young man.

I have many fond memories of Sannie's -- not just as a young tyke, but also in my young adult years when I lived next door to it, in an old white house at 8-10 Thomas St. that had been built in the late 1800s by one of the original magnates of the Attleboro jewelry industry, a man named Doliver Spaulding. That giant three-story structure was moved intact in the late 1990s to a new location on Pratt Street, but it served as my home for 14 years under the family's ownership. I parked my car in the store lot at night and often stopped by to chat with my father or to flirt with the store's young female part-time help.

By the way, that old house is on the state's registry of historic buildings -- but unfortunately, not as recognition for my long residence within it.

As close as I was to Sannie's and as fond as I am of my memories of it, I own a distinction not shared by any of my first cousins. Of all of the offspring of the four Farinella brothers, I believe I am the only one among them who never worked at the store in any capacity. When I became of age to look for part-time employment in high school, and with an interest in writing already evident, I got a job writing sports for the local weekly paper.

As I was an only child, I think my father was a little disappointed at first that I had no interest in working at the store. But after he read the first article I wrote for the Mansfield News in the fall of 1968, any disappointment he may have felt quickly disappeared. He was my biggest fan until the day he died, which was on June 9, 2001.

As the photo at the bottom of this post illustrates, Sannie's is now just a fading memory to Mansfieldians. My Uncle Frank retired early due to health issues, then Uncle Sannie died of cancer in 1980. My father and his much-younger brother Charlie continued to labor on for 12 more years, and Charlie's son James came on board toward the end, but times had changed and shoppers were dazzled by the shiny new things opening elsewhere. What had been a staple of Mansfield shoppers for almost seven decades was now an afterthought. The decision was made in April 1992 to close the doors and to sell off everything -- even the shopping carts, one of which sits in my backyard shed.

Demolition of the block begins in 2019.

Upon the store's closing, the property was purchased by a local developer and converted into a mini-mall of sorts, with the spacious interior converted into multiple stores and a diner -- the latter of which seemed to have ventilation problems that caused its patrons' clothing to smell like bacon for hours afterward. Then the entire corner of the block was sold to another developer, and the whole area was leveled in 2019 to make way for a giant apartment complex. We have a lot of those in Mansfield these days, many near the train station along the main Boston-Providence corridor, with more to come. "Location, location, location," as they say.

It does make me wonder what might have happened if my father and his brothers had gone through with plans to purchase a parcel of land at the intersection of US 1 and Route 152 in Plainville before they bought the Wasserman Block, and had moved their store there instead. For a latter-day reference, the lot is where the huge Lowe's is now. Would my family have moved as well? Would I have gone to King Philip Regional High? Would I be even more of a "homer" on my KP sports broadcasts than I already am?

One can only speculate about lives not lived. But every time I drive down North Main Street and see that huge apartment complex at the corner instead of the yellow cinder-block façade of the family store, I wonder. Those thoughts also engage when I pull into my driveway, as I managed to save one of those cinder blocks from the wrecking ball in 2019, placing it upon a retaining wall next to my front door.

Yes, we all got good laughs out of "Where Mansfield Styles Begin" and "Pants That Wear." But my family got a good life from it as well, and that's worthy of a lot of respect. I don't mind singing its praise more than 30 years since it became simply another part of Mansfield history.

The new apartment/retail complex where Sannie's once stood.

Pants that wore!

I'm the guy on the right, and the pants I'm wearing are the stuff of legend.

If you're a resident of Mansfield, Mass., and you're old enough to remember the original weekly newspaper called the Mansfield News, you may recall that among the classified ads, there ran a simple two-line advertisement for a clothing store that read as such:

PANTS THAT WEAR

SANNIES

The ad had been placed in the local weekly from 1936 through the closing of the clothing store in 1991, without change -- even ignoring the typographical error that failed to establish the correct name of the store. It was actually "Sannie's" (please note the apostrophe), so named for the store's founder and my uncle, Santino Farinella. He and his brothers -- Frank, Tony (my dad) and Charlie -- left the bakery business that was founded by their father and went into the clothing and dry goods business, expanding the store from a single storefront in a converted livery stable to a fully-modern department store covering a significant portion of North Main Street at the intersection of Route 106 over the course of nearly 60 years until changing business conditions and attrition of the ownership finally signaled the end of the line.

Sannie, Charlie and Tony Farinella at Sannie's in 1975.

I mention the store and my family ties to it not because of its relevance to this post. It's actually not that relevant, although Sannie's remains relevant to me personally, as the inheritance that sustains me into my old age is directly tied to the thousands (maybe millions) of customers the store attracted over seven decades because it provided them with basic necessities at affordable prices. No, this mention is related more to the marketing scheme that kept that two-line classified ad running in the newspaper long after the newspaper forgot to bill the store for it.

Yesterday, I had to retire a pair of pants. No, I didn't buy them at Sannie's (although I think I still may have a few items of clothing that date back to the early 1990s). But they definitely lived up to the "pants that wear" slogan that was part of the Sannie's legend.

I'm fourth from the left in front, and those are the pants.

They were gray slacks, cotton-polyester blend, 50-inch waist and 30-inch inseam (because I'm chunky), branded "GS" by the retail concern that now calls itself "Destination XL," although I believe it was called "Casual Male" when I bought them. And for the life of me, I can't remember when that was. Cuffs were in when I bought them, if that's a hint. I have photographs of me wearing them as far back as 2010, but they look well-worn already.

I do recall that I bought three pairs of pants on the day that I bought these, and it might have been at the Casual Male store in Dedham, in the strip mall across the street from a Best Buy that used to be the famous Lechmere Sales department store. I bought the same size and style in brown and black, but over the years I wore the gray ones more. They were a match for just about all of the polo shirts I wore, and they were a little more comfortable and forgiving of my belly than the other two.

Over the years, the gray pants showed their age. They became uneven in color, showing it more around seams, the zipper and the belt loops. The fabric became thinner in texture in areas of greatest stress (mostly my butt), growing dangerously close to transparent. And the pockets were becoming frayed and were close to ripping.

But dammit, they still wore well. They were still the go-to pants I needed for casual use, even though I had purchased two new pairs (one black and one Navy blue) about a year ago -- no cuffs, but the same measurements, can you believe it? -- for more formal use. I wasn't planning upon retiring the Old Grays or their brethren just yet.

Thursday morning, I awoke and decided I'd visit my favorite diner for breakfast. I jumped out of bed, asked Alexa for the outdoor temperature to determine the proper weight and weave for the polo shirt of the day, then pulled on the Old Grays. I opted for a lunch menu instead, enjoyed my hot open-faced turkey sandwich, then eventually returned home for an afternoon of contemplating life and nature in my sunny backyard.

It was when I sat down in my brand new Coleman camping chair that I felt something amiss. My right pants leg was a little tighter than normal because I had pulled on a flexible knee brace beforehand to bolster that aching joint, but upon reaching down to make the necessary adjustment, I realized that the entire inseam above the knee had simply blown out.

The threads that held the pants leg together were so stressed and strained from literally decades of service, they had nothing left to give. The end came quickly and mercifully.

I got up, went inside and changed into shorts, and realized sadly that there would be no future life for these pants. Unlike the many polo shirts I have donated to charitable organizations over the years, these were too damaged and too worn out to be of use to anyone else. I folded them, put them in a wastebasket and saluted them for their service.

The two other pairs from that joint purchase are hanging in there, although the black pants have a small separation in the outer seam that may prove catastrophic at some point. The brown pants are in much better condition and may survive even longer.

But the Old Grays were the best of the lot, and now they are gone. If ever a pair of pants was worthy of the two-line slogan of my father's clothing store, those certainly were. They were truly pants that wore.

Another reason to love girls' basketball, and the art of the interview.

Charlie Rose wannabe (left) interviews the state Division 2 champions.

Recently, I had the opportunity to do something I've always wanted to do. And fortunately, it was right in my wheelhouse, topic-wise, so there were few opportunities for me to screw it up.

I sat down inside the downtown studio of Foxboro Cable Access at the beginning of the month to interview Foxboro High girls' basketball coach Lisa Downs and four of her athletes in the wake of their state Division 2 championship, won last month at the Tsongas Center in Lowell by way of a 73-53 victory over Dracut High. It was for FCA's long-running local talk show, "Around Foxborough," and they asked me to be the guest host because I did the announcing chores for the title game and a few others, I'm known to have some interviewing skills, and I have a a long-standing friendship with Lisa, dating back to her playing days at Foxboro High in the mid-1980s when she was Lisa Garland.

Like I said, that was almost a no-fail situation for me. All I asked in return was that they try to keep the camera off me because Lisa and her athletes were a lot nicer to look at than the elderly whale sitting at one end of the table. Indeed, I was likely to make Brendan Fraser look skinny in his Oscar-winning role by comparison.

But this was also a chance for me to emulate one of my interviewing heroes from back in the day.

Before he got into a lot of trouble at CBS for being too randy with the female employees, Charlie Rose had a long-running interview show at PBS that was really one of the best such shows ever. Rose's laid-back style and thoughtful questions got the best out of his thousands of interview subjects, who hailed from all walks of life.

With a dark background behind him and nothing more than a simple oak roundtable (which Rose himself purchased) between him and the guest, the environment of Rose's shows encouraged an intimate connection between him and his subject. It was very good television -- and a great example to follow for anyone that aspired to be an interviewer of merit.

Unfortunately, while he was hosting CBS This Morning with Norah O'Donnell and Gayle King back in 2017, Rose suddenly faced a host of sexual harassment allegations from almost a 20-year span at the network and other affiliations. It was apparently a shock to Rose's co-hosts, especially future CBS Evening News anchor O'Donnell, who had great chemistry with the veteran interviewer and displayed deep personal disappointment while delivering a statement upon Rose's suspension from the show once the allegations came to light.

That effectively ended Rose's long career. But in my opinion, it does not diminish the quality of the many interviews he conducted over so many years, nor does it lessen one's desire to emulate his skill.

So imagine my inner joy when I walked into the FCA studio and found a black cloth backdrop behind where I was sitting. It was my chance to channel my inner Charlie Rose -- just without the sexual harassment part.

I think I did a pretty good job with the interview, but it helps to know the subject matter as well as I did. The real stars, however, were Coach Downs and her athletes -- Cam Collins, Maddie Maher, Erin Foley and Izzy Chamberlin -- as they recapped the joys of the season-long quest for the title and the happy by-play that took place along the way. You may particularly enjoy the story, recapped by Erin Foley, of why they chose to buy a hot pink suit for their coach to wear during one of their tournament games.

Here's a link to the interview, thanks to Foxboro Cable Access. And please, pay no attention to the big fellow seated to the left of the table. The coach and her athletes were the real stars of the day.