From under the snow, a renewal of spirit.

A fearless bunny emerges from its burrow to survey its snowy surroundings.

Most of you are aware that southeastern Massachusetts and surrounding regions have been blessed with a late-February snowfall that rivaled, and maybe surpassed, the ferocity and tragedy of the two-day storm in February 1978 that caught the entirety of New England by surprise.

And yes, I'm smack-dab in the middle of it. 

Here at La Casa Farinella in Mansfield, Mass., the snowfall appears to be a fairly consistent 24-26 inches through most of my yard, although that's an estimate based upon a number of factors, including a yardstick lashed to the post lantern in front of the house. The closest I got to being able to actually measure any of the snow was when I opened my garage door to find a significant area of drift piled up against it. The tape measure recorded 36 inches at its worst, and 28 at its lowest point. 

Needless to say, I am trapped within my house. I have someone coming later this week to dig me out, but fortunately, I have adequate supplies of bread, milk, pasta and sauce and Dr Pepper Zero to tide me over until I am reconnected to the outside world. But I am particularly pissed off that I couldn't free myself. 

It takes a while, but I can clear my own driveways.

I have two pieces of mechanical snow-removal equipment, a three-year-old Toro electric snowblower that can handle 12-inch snowfalls with ease but is overmatched by this sort of event, and a small and ancient Toro "electric broom" that I've had since the 1970s. It is surprisingly effective at knocking down the top level of heavy snowfalls if I use it in a rocking, back-and-forth motion -- as long as I don't disconnect the extension cord that brings it life from a garage outlet.

With a lot of perseverance and a heavy dosage of Aleve, I suppose I could have devoted most of yesterday to the effort of carving out a 70-foot by 12-foot path to the street for the SUV to traverse. I also have a spur to the driveway that leads to a second garage door, but I have surrendered to the notion that I won't need the convertible stored within until April.

I did manage to carve out a 3-foot semicircle around the entrance to my main garage door through a mix of snow-sweeping, snowblowing and old-fashioned shoveling. But it didn't take long before I realized that this was far exceeding the limits of my physical ability -- some naturally because of my advanced age (I am 72 years old, after all. Neither of my grandfathers made it past that point.) and because of the ravages that have been inflicted upon my body during this particularly harsh winter.

In heavy snow, I clear only one path.

After two full winters without significant snowfalls, we were due. And we've been socked in the mouth several times this year to pay that debt. Just a couple of weeks ago, we had 12-14 inches dropped on us by a storm that was supposedly edging out to sea, but caught us by surprise on its back end. I was able to handle that amount with relative ease -- attacking the driveway twice during the storm so it would be easier to clear for good once the weather cleared, then attending to the spur driveway a week later to briefly free the convertible from its prison.

We had a smaller event a few days later, and that was easy as well. But during the town's snow removal effort, the street plows dislodged some of the frozen mounds along the edge of the sidewalk, and left that residue in front of my driveway entrance and everyone else's on the street. It was easier to just drive over those slabs of ice for a few days, but when forecasts of this weekend's nor'easter became dire, I thought it would be a good idea to clear the space in front of the driveway a little better.

And that was a big mistake.

As you know if you've followed these posts, I've had bad knees for a long time. I usually just strap them up with neoprene braces and head out into battle at times like this. I also seem to have developed some back pain since the first major snowstorm -- understandable for a 72-year-old man trying to do what challenges much younger men. So when I got to the sidewalk and started pushing the slushy residue out of the way before it froze, I was hobbling. Then, I had the misfortune of stepping on a flat slab of ice that was covered from slush and hidden from view. It shot out from under my foot and suddenly, my balance was entirely lost.

In what seemed like an eternity, I thought I was going to be able to regain my balance and not fall. But just as I thought I had achieved that, my right knee buckled -- and that sent me straight to the asphalt. I had enough presence of mind to shift my fall so I would land on my right shoulder and thus protect my head, but I hit hard -- and I felt a white-hot, searing wave of pain upon impact.

I thought I had broken my arm or my shoulder at first, but as I lay there flat on the street, I found that I was able to move the arm and manipulate my fingers normally. I turned over on my knees, crawled about 3 feet to the fence at the edge of my property and grabbed the chain links with my left hand, giving me the leverage I needed to stand.

Still flushed with adrenaline, I was able to ignore the pain and shock and push the snowblower around a few more times, then drag it up my driveway to the garage. Upon going inside the house and shedding my excess layers of clothing to check for bruising or other damage, I saw none -- but I could not lift my arm beyond horizontal to the ground, and even that was a struggle.

Because it was late on a Saturday and a storm was coming, I decided against a trip to urgent care or a local hospital. I could still drive left-handed and my arm functioned normally below shoulder level, so I fashioned a sling out of Ace bandages and spent the rest of the night sitting in the recliner and watching Mad Men on HBO Max.

That's how I entered Sunday's storm -- literally, on a wing and a prayer. 

The shoulder has improved some over the last three days. Mobility is still limited, but almost normal below chest level -- and I can help the arm to horizontal without excruciating pain. But I certainly can't go nine innings. Even typing is somewhat of an adventure, but at least it's manageable. I may have to have this wing looked at by a doctor once we get through all the disruptions that this storm's aftermath will cause.

I am also fortunate that I'm not scheduled to work again until Friday of this week. Right now, the Mansfield High School boys' and girls' basketball teams are scheduled to play in a MIAA Tournament doubleheader at home, but that may be at risk if some of the preliminary-round games scheduled for Wednesday are postponed. One way or another, I can chill and heal for a while.

Now, however, would be a good time to return to the topic and explain the photo at the top of this missive. 

It was after digging only 3 feet out into the driveway that I parked my butt under the open liftback of the SUV inside the garage, and assessed my situation. I was angry that there was a ton of snow still waiting to be moved, frustrated that my personal stubbornness forced me to attempt to do it myself, sad and in pain because of the damage I had inflicted upon myself, and generally depressed. I've talked a lot in this space about my "second act" as a retired gentleman of leisure, but I was feeling trapped and helpless as an old man coming to grips with the limitations of age.

And then I heard something.

It was a very faint crunching noise, so faint that I probably couldn't have heard it if not for the fact that there was no traffic on the nearby main streets and thus hardly any background noise. In the eerie silence of the snowbound neighborhood, the sound of tiny feet on the loosely-packed snow was clear as a bell.

I looked up. It was a little bunny, a precious little soul that had crawled up from its burrow close to my house's foundation (it's warmer there and a good place for wild rabbits to hunker down during the winter) to survey the surroundings and maybe even to determine the source of the disruption of its solitude.

These precious bunnies fill me with joy.

Long-time readers know that I have a great and enduring affinity for the bunnies that call my yard home. They entertain me with their presence in great numbers during the warmer months, and I will sit for hours watching them go about their bunny duties. Sometimes they remain skittish for the entire year, but more recently, they seem to recognize me -- or, at least, they get used to me as something that's not a threat -- and even approach me when they hear my voice. Given that they are not domesticated, I welcome their tolerance as somewhat of an accomplishment.

Anyway, this particular bunny had made its way from ground level to a spot on a snowdrift above a planter and retaining wall at the edge of my driveway. Of course, upon seeing it, I shouted, "BUNNY!" out of sheer joy of seeing another living being that was not afraid to make its presence known under the glare of the floodlight shining down from the top of my garage. 

Upon hearing me, the bunny turned its head and looked straight at me. I feared it would panic upon seeing a winter-garbed human nearby and run away, but it didn't. So again, I spoke to it. "Stay there," I pleaded. "Stay there so I can take a picture of you! I have to preserve this moment!" Of course, I seriously doubt that wild rabbits understand English ... but I was hoping that maybe this was one of the bunnies that got used to me during the previous summer and somehow recognized the non-threatening tone of my voice.

To my joy, the bunny stood still. And since I was texting to a friend at the moment when it arrived on the scene, I had the iPhone in hand and needed only a second to turn on the camera. I did, hoping the floodlighting was sufficient to take a decent photo without blurring, and I hit the button. Not long after, the bunny decided to retreat to warmer surroundings. 

The photo was what you see above. I texted it to my friend, another bunny lover, and she was thrilled to see it. I then posted it on Instagram and Facebook, and got lots more likes for it than anything else I have posted in quite a while.

And suddenly, my depression was gone. It was replaced by renewed optimism and confidence that things would get better. My attempt to clear my driveway may have been an ignominious defeat, but I was suddenly reminded of how insignificant that was in the grand scheme of things. 

My driveway will eventually be cleared. My arm will eventually heal. Life will return to normal soon enough, the snow will disappear and the yard will turn green, and it won't be that long at all until, God willing, I'll be sitting in my backyard in sunshine and 80-degree temperatures, chatting with my bunny friends with nary a care about what anyone might think about that.

And all it took was the well-timed appearance of one fearless bunny on a cold and inhospitable February night.

How about that.

MARK FARINELLA, an avowed fan of bunnies, may be reached by email at theownersbox2020.com. 

Kraft embarrasses self, team, and all of us with renewed ties to Trump.

The New York Times captured this photo of Robert Kraft at the Melania movie.

These should have been the happiest of times for the New England Patriots and their 84-year-old owner, Robert Kraft.

After all, his highly-successful football team has advanced to another Super Bowl on his watch -- his first without the snarling sourpuss named Bill Belichick at the helm. And as a result, the Patriots had the opportunity to dispel some of notions created by Belichick over his two-decade reign that the team couldn't do anything worthwhile without cheating.

But no, Kraft had to go and spoil it all. One photograph of the team owner, standing shoulder-to-belt buckle with President Donald J. Trump at the premiere of the entirely unnecessary $70 million "documentary" about Trump's mail-order bride, has once again made the Patriots the team that America loves to hate.

America's "First Concubine."

You screwed up, Bob. By attending the premiere of "Melania" (which could have been subtitled, "The Unhappy Hooker") at the Kennedy Center, you've made the Seattle Seahawks "America's Team" just one week before they and the Patriots are to do battle in Santa Clara, Calif., in the 60th Super Bowl.

There's a very good chance that Kraft has done everything he can, quite unwittingly, to undercut everything Mike Vrabel has done in his first year as the Patriots' head coach. By being caught on camera emphatically applauding the movie while standing next to the hulking Trump, looking very much like an obedient pet, Kraft has stoked a social media firestorm fueled by resentment of No. 47's dictatorial-inspired ignorance of and disdain for the Constitution of the United States.

Fans of reasonable intelligence that hated the Patriots to begin with have had that hatred reinforced by Kraft's renewed friendship with the so-called real estate tycoon that has turned governance into his own personal get-rich-quick scheme. Even those on the fence about the Patriots, who may have been sensing that Vrabel had brought new energy and new philosophies to the team in his efforts to rebuild it, are profoundly disappointed to see Kraft's smiling face endorsing the man and his alleged "wife" (at least she is while the checks keep clearing) that have gleefully overseen the complete destruction of due process while turning America into a police state that has more in common with the world's dictatorships than it has with the democracies that had been staunch allies for more than a century.

They were bosom buddies.

I, personally, wonder if Kraft has become too addled at his advanced age to remember why he parted ways with Trump in the first place.

According to past interviews he did with local media, it was because of the Jan. 6 insurrection -- a dark day in American history when an unpopular and defeated president that couldn't accept his loss stoked the fires of hatred in a speech that sent thousands of acolytes to the steps of the U.S. Capitol, their intent being to stop the certification of Joe Biden's election by any means possible, including the hanging death of Trump's own vice president.

Five years later, Kraft has apparently forgotten all that. While Rome (or in this case, Minneapolis) is burning and as the pardoned Jan. 6 criminals are marching in jackbooted joy through the streets of several American cities as Trump's personal Gestapo, Kraft is gushing over a film commissioned by a billionaire seeking favor with the ruler of the Fourth Reich and directed by an accused sex offender.

I just hope the popcorn at the Kennedy Center was tasty.

Kraft had another reason to be at Der Führer's side for the Melania movie. It's because Trump threw Bobby a bone by putting his second wife, Dr. Dana Blumberg, on the board of trustees of the "Trump-Kennedy Center" -- and just that name alone is a deep affront to the memory of President John F. Kennedy, one of this commonwealth's most revered individuals.

There certainly does seem to be a significant level of hypocrisy afoot here.

The opposite of Trump's
vision of today's America.

Kraft, as you may know, was the benefactor behind a public-relations blitz to combat the rise in anti-Semitism in the United States. At one of the last games I attended as a beat writer of 42 years' tenure, a little blue lapel pin was distributed to every member of the media in attendance -- square in shape, with a white symbol "#" in one corner -- that represented what Kraft called "the Blue Square Alliance to Stop Jewish Hate." Since then, every televised NFL game includes commercial spots touting Kraft's battle to eliminate persecution of those of the Jewish faith.

As I have many wonderful friends of that faith, I have worn the pin. So have many others. Mike Vrabel occasionally wears one on the vest he dons as part of his coaching attire. It would seem to be a very worthy statement -- even though the revelation of the horrors of the 1940s should have been enough to eradicate anti-Semitism just about anywhere on this earth where blind religious fervor does not dictate every facet of everyday life.

But in the United States of the 2020s, anti-Semitism is back in a big way. So is race hatred. And it's all tacitly (if not openly) endorsed by the Christian nationalists of the Trump Administration that still contend that Jesus Christ was a blond-haired, blue-eyed Aryan. To them, the only good America is one that's white, fundamentalist Christian and purged of equal rights for women, gays, transgender individuals and anyone whose skin color is not the same ashen-pale hue as our President when he isn't wearing his multiple layers of orange tanning agent.

How does that dovetail with Bob Kraft's campaign against anti-Semitism? It doesn't. Kraft really should know by now (and maybe he did when his brain was a little more functional) that Trump tolerates Jews or anyone else only as much as they can benefit him.

Back to the team, I'm wondering how Vrabel sees all this as he is about to take his team to the West Coast.

Obviously, I covered Vrabel for the full extent of his Patriots playing career. He was clearly smart and ultra-productive, although he occasionally bristled at media attention -- probably because those were the orders of the day for anyone that played under Belichick. Only a few notable exceptions treated the media corps as actual human beings, individuals who had established their credibility elsewhere and could not be brow-beaten by Belichick. I'm immediately reminded of the late Junior Seau, who knew and respected the limitations of the program but could still be himself. I still mourn his passing.

Mike Vrabel has Kraft's pin on his vest.

When Vrabel was named head coach of the Patriots, I thought it was a good hire -- far better than Jerod Mayo, for sure, because of his experience level -- but I also wondered if he would be just another Belichick that would circle his wagons around the team and build walls around it. 

While I'm not there on a daily basis as I was in the past, I've come away with the belief that Vrabel is entirely his own man as head coach, and not a Belichick clone. He clearly has taken the best of what Belichick espoused and incorporated it into his own coaching and managerial styles, but there is more of an openness, an enthusiasm, and an acceptance that the full Belichick treatment just doesn't work in the NFL of the 2020s. 

I'm very impressed with how Vrabel treats his players. He thanks every single one of them for their effort when they come off the field. I'm sure there are rules that can't be broken that Vrabel won't reveal because he correctly believes that what happens within the locker room should stay within the locker room. But Vrabel preaches accountability, he accepts it, and he doesn't drop into a deep funk and shoot daggers out of his eyes when the inevitable questions come to him.

So, the new coach has created an environment that has made the Patriots a team you want to like, not hate. He has quickly broken from the hard edges of the past and created a winning team that is encouraged but not coddled. He has put his own stamp upon it -- although I have heard people compare his approach more to Bill Parcells than Bill Belichick -- and it was all going so swimmingly, until ... oops.

I suspect there are two approaches Vrabel could take to all this.

First, he could just shut it out and claim it has no effect at all on his preparation for Super Bowl 60. That's a time-honored approach. All of the coaches I covered during my tenure on the beat, from Chuck Fairbanks to Belichick, had the occasion to claim that ignorance is bliss, even as the walls of the stadium were crumbling around them.

Vrabel could also use it as motivational. It wouldn't be the first time that a Patriots coach could use "us against the world" as a rallying cry. They used it even when the Patriots were No. 1 seeds, steamrolled their way to any one of their six Super Bowl championships, and still had the audacity to claim that "nobody thought we could do this!"

Does Jonathan Kraft (left) also endorse Trump?

But it's all so unnecessary. Perhaps someone a little farther down the food chain, like No. 1 Son Jonathan, should have told his daddy that this was not the right time to be caught buddying up to the most unpopular president in modern history. But just as Trump's minions of hate are all terrified of him, either Jonathan is equally terrified of his father -- or maybe he endorses the connection his family has to the Cheeto Benito.

I'm sure some of my readers are chiming in with an opinion. "You've always been anti-Kraft, you small-time hack," might be a popular refrain.

Well, I can't deny I've criticized the ruling family from time to time. I don't get down on one knee and genuflect when Robert walks by. I don't call him "Mr. Kraft" in feigned admiration as some of my former colleagues still do. I admire and respect the rings, but I never kissed them.

I'll also admit that I may owe Robert Kraft my life. If he hadn't spearheaded the Patriot Place development and attracted what is now Mass. General Brigham to set up a healthcare center there, the stroke I had in 2014 might have killed me. Instead, I went there for treatment, they immediately got me to Boston, and six days later I was able to return home (and back to the Patriots beat) with a new lease on life.

For that, I'm grateful. I'm also grateful that I was able to cover one of the greatest dynasties in pro football history. In terms of "Promises Made, Promises Kept," Kraft has fulfilled that far more than Trump could ever hope to claim.

That doesn't change the fact that buddying up to Trump right now is a very bad look for the aging patriarch of the Patriots. It's something that could have and should have been avoided -- and not just because there's a Super Bowl looming that could have dispelled all of what made America hate the Patriots in the first place.

Look around you, Robert. Look at journalists being jailed, a total suspension of individual liberties to not just immigrants but to Americans of all nationalities and races, and jackbooted thugs "enforcing laws" of oppression. People are being shot in the streets, for God's sake.

This snapshot from the Kennedy Center was Nero playing his violin while Rome burns.

MARK FARINELLA, a liberal but not affiliated with a political party, believes Trump Derangement Syndrome is the cure and not the disease. He can be contacted at theownersbox2020@gmail.com

He pissed us off, but he should be in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Bill Belichick's famed scowl is as much of his legacy as his six Super Bowl titles.

(Author's note: The following missive originally appeared as a Facebook post earlier in the week. Since then, some of its readers asked if I could share it to other platforms, and since this blog is the only platform over which I have any sort of editorial control, I dutifully comply with those wishes.)

Let me be blunt. 

Bill Belichick reaped what he had sown.

And it wasn’t just the pettiness of media members that denied him the chance to be a first-ballot inductee into the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Most beat writers would have voted for him.

Yes, he pissed off a lot of us over his long career as a head coach in the NFL. He treated most of us as if we were sub-human, conspiratorial subversives whose only task in life was to attack and destroy what he was building. Maybe there were some individuals that fit that description, but the majority of reporters that covered the Patriots over my 42 years on the beat were good people, family men and women, educated souls that had a job to do and deserved a greater level of respect and to be treated with simple human dignity, as opposed to what Belichick was willing to offer.

That being said, I believe that most beat writers here, self included, would have voted to keep Belichick in the running for first-ballot eligibility. The proof was in the pudding, as they say — six Super Bowl championships.

But media members were not the only ones Bill pissed off along the way.

If reports are accurate, former NFL executive Bill Polian made an impassioned plea to the voters to make Belichick wait a year before induction. Polian was the general manager of the Indianapolis Colts at the time of the grossly overblown “Deflategate” scandals, in which the Patriots were accused of intentionally deflating game-used footballs during the playoffs to give Tom Brady a better grip. Deflategate was mostly debunked by the time it was over, but because Belichick had already been labeled a “cheater” because of the earlier “Spygate” videotaping affair, the league fined the Patriots and suspended Brady, and further labeled its first true dynasty of the 21st century as fraudulent. 

In his own little world.

Spygate was much more legitimate of an infraction, although not uncommon around the league. What made it uncommon in its importance was Belichick’s smug refusal to admit that he had simply done what many of his profession do regularly — to try to see how far he could bend the rules until they reached the limit of flexibility.

Belichick also refused to play the publicity game that made the NFL the towering presence in American pro sports that it is today. His sour attitude and petulant press conferences after losses were embarrassments to a publicity-sensitive organization that expected its coaches to display their disappointment in a more dignified manner. He became the poster boy for bad behavior, and eventually, a running joke.

Granted, anyone that voted against Belichick because of his current soap opera should lose his or her vote. After all, this is the league that still has O.J. Simpson in its hall of fame. And please don’t tell me he was innocent.

This foolishness doesn't matter.

Many former players say that the media never saw the Belichick they did — the coach that had their backs, the coach that developed an environment that put them in positions to win. But to Belichick, that was the team’s business and no one else’s. That is how he did things, and no one had any business telling him to do things differently. 

Not even his boss, as it turned out.

The bottom line is that on the merits of what he accomplished with the Patriots alone, Belichick should be a first-ballot enshrinee. But at the same time, he burned enough bridges that it should come as no surprise that this has happened. Bill is a smart man — but as it turned out, he was never smart enough to play the NFL’s game.

It should have been just business, not personal. But to some, payback is indeed a bitch.

MARK FARINELLA covered the New England Patriots for The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro, Mass., and other news organizations, for 42 years, including all but four of Bill Belichick's seasons with the team. Send condolences his way at theownersbox2020@gmail.com.

It used to be a very busy time.

The madness that is Media Day in Phoenix prior to Super Bowl 49.

I've said many times in this space that while I covered the New England Patriots for more than 40 years as a sportswriter, and certainly enjoyed being part of history during their transformation from doormat to dynasty over that time, I don't miss the job now that I'm retired. 

The long hours and deadline pressure were tough to handle the older I got -- and while I tried to coax one more year out of my aging self as a part-time writer for the Associated Press in 2019, I no longer felt like an "insider" (if I ever was one) because my presence at Gillette Stadium was no longer daily. Then COVID interrupted everything, I got a new job as a local sports announcer on cable TV, and I began to fully appreciate the comfort of watching games on TV, turning the tube off once they were over, and relaxing for the rest of the day as opposed to writing my ass off.

The aftermath of SB 38 in Houston.

But some of the more pleasant and amusing memories of all those years come flooding back as the Patriots clung to a 10-7 lead in Denver and won the AFC Championship. In another week and a half, they will be in Santa Clara, Calif., to play the Seattle Seahawks in Super Bowl 60 (I don't use the Roman numerals anymore), and once I get back from the Mansfield-Bishop Feehan boys' basketball game that day, I'll hunker down and hope that Mike Vrabel's team will bring the seventh Lombardi Trophy back to Foxboro afterward.

As the final seconds ticked off the clock on Sunday, my thoughts immediately flashed back to a couple of situations I faced during my tenure as a Patriots' beat writer. One of those was while I was sitting in a charter bus outside what was then called Heinz Field in Pittsburgh; the Patriots had just beaten the Pittsburgh Steelers, 24-17, to win the 2001 AFC Championship, and I and several other beat writers awaited word that our credential requests for Super Bowl 36 had been approved.

I had already been to two previous Super Bowls (20 and 31), but I had yet to have earned a permanent spot on the NFL's credentialing list, so I just put my trust in the Patriots' media relations department, headed by Stacey James (who still has that job today) and waited for the word from above before finalizing air travel plans and other assorted things.

Suddenly, one reporter's cellular phone beeped. Then another's, and another's, and the bus became a cacophony of cell-phone notifications. After a few seconds of nervous anticipation, my tiny Motorola phone chirped as well. I flipped it open and read the text message on its tiny screen that included all of the instructions I had to follow to ensure that I would have credentials and a hotel room for the 10 days I planned to stay in New Orleans.

Remember, we didn't yet have iPhones, whose capabilities far exceed by thousands of times than the computers that brought man to the moon in the 1960s. So as more than 20 reporters in that bus started to click away at their phones to confirm their credentials and hotels, there were frequent outbursts of anguish from those that had been disconnected or had clicked on the wrong prompt in the middle of filling out their applications. It would have been funny if it wasn't so frantic.

I managed to get through my application without error, and quickly learned that I would be in an auxiliary press box in the Superdome (what would have been a baseball press box if they had a team), which was acceptable for someone from the smallest newspaper covering the Patriots. And I got a hotel room in the New Orleans Hyatt, the NFL's headquarters hotel, which was a huge bonus. After all that was confirmed and our bus started making its way back to the William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh, I was able to help a technology-challenged veteran reporter complete his application.

I slept well that night.

In place at Lucas Oil Stadium for SB 46.

There were other times when planning and execution failed because the game didn't end as hoped. One was a wild-card game in Jacksonville during the 1998 season, when Scott Zolak started at quarterback in place of the injured Drew Bledsoe, and by halftime, most of the Patriots' reporters had their airline reservations in place. But the Patriots lost that game, 25-10. I had my plans finalized as well, but I was waiting for the final score to pull the trigger -- and thus, I saved myself hundreds of dollars in cancellation fees. I didn't pay for those trips myself, but my travel budget from the newspaper was extremely limited, and the bosses would not have been pleased with such a costly error is judgment.

The same was the case at the 2006 AFC Championship Game at the old RCA Dome in Indianapolis. Again, I and everyone else in the Patriots media corps had our reservations for Miami and another Super Bowl ready to go, but the Patriots couldn't hold the lead in that game and lost 38-34 -- and the sound that could be heard that was louder than the final gun was the sound of 40 writers clicking "delete" on their computers.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy being part of the Super Bowl scene for nine of the games. I spent 9-10 days on the trips, and all of the cities (New Orleans three times, twice for Houston and Phoenix, Jacksonville and Indianapolis) were accommodating and interesting. One of those trips, however, was a personal victory of sorts for me.

At Brigham and Women's in 2014.

Late in the 2014 season, I suffered a mild stroke. It was apparently not life-threatening at the time and did not leave any lasting impairments, although it did reveal some other problems I had that I needed to address once I recovered. I spent six days at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, but I didn't miss a single game because the Patriots had home-field advantage all the way through the AFC title game. 

But when it came time for me to go to Phoenix for Super Bowl 49, there were concerns. I had easily arranged credentials and hotel reservations long before the game, but my treatment team at the Brigham was not in love with the prospects of me being on two five-hour flights such a short time after the stroke. 

Still, I charged ahead -- although I had no idea what was in store for me over that week. 

My hotel was close to the convention center where all the Super Bowl interviews were to take place, but it was a huge facility -- and according to my iPhone, I walked an average of 11,000 steps a day over a six-day span to make the several treks from the media workroom to the interviews and back.

Convention center in Phoenix.

There were times when it was almost too exhausting, but I told myself that it was my choice to do this and that it would be no one else's fault if it proved too much. I walked and walked and wrote and wrote -- and on game day, I was rewarded with one of the greatest finishes ever to a Super Bowl, Malcolm Butler's interception at the goal line to preserve the Patriots' win over the Seahawks.

I'll tell you the truth, though -- that entire trip was exhausting. I was never happier to return home than I was after that week in Phoenix, because I honestly believed many times that I had asked too much of myself. It also underscored the need for me to pay attention to what the doctors told me, to take the medications and make alterations in my lifestyle that were designed to extend my presence on this earth. And it reminded me that no matter how dedicated I was to the job, the most important thing for me was to do what was necessary so I'd be in the physical condition to perform it.

Proud to have been part of the Fourth Estate.

It will be the Patriots and Seahawks again on Feb. 8 -- two different teams, two different coaches, two different philosophies for each. But for me, I'm glad I did what I did 11 years earlier, because it set the tone for me to make sure I'd be around to see the next time these teams play in the big game.

I won't be there at Levi's Stadium, and honestly, I won't be sad. As those teams are different, so am I -- older, wiser, a little more frail and a little more interested in the world around me and being a part of it. But I'll always be proud of what I did over those many years, and it's comforting to know that the words I wrote will still be accessible long after I'm no longer around to read them.

A new member of the 1,000-point list.

Connor Houle, right, has been a standout for Attleboro High for four seasons.

Although I have not been in the employ of The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro since 2018, I do remain a "keeper of the flame" of sorts. As I was obsessed with historical statistics and wanted to preserve records of the past, I compiled what I simply call "The 1,000-Point List" -- a compilation of all the athletes from the schools we covered that reached that level for career basketball scoring. 

At one point in time, it had maybe 10 names on it. But with the passage of time, better research methods and ongoing achievements by our local athletes, that list has grown and grown ... now well over 100 boys and girls. 

Last night at North Attleboro High, a new member was added. Attleboro High senior guard Connor Houle scored nine points in a big win by the Bombardiers over the host Rocketeers, and therefore became the 15th Bombardier to reach 1,000 points. He is also the 62nd male athlete and 116th overall to achieve the feat from among the 12 high schools covered by the newspaper (or its predecessors, the Attleboro Sun and North Attleboro Chronicle) over the time that it covered those communities.

Connor, of course, is the son of AHS boys' basketball coach and athletic director Mark Houle, who is also on the list.

To commemorate the achievement, here for your viewing pleasure is the entire list as it stands now. I expect at least one more addition before the season is out, so once we've put the basketballs back on the shelves this March, I'll update it.

The area’s 1,000-point scorers:

This list includes 1,000-point scorers that attended 12 high schools covered by The Sun Chronicle or its predecessors (not athletes from the circulation-area towns that achieved the feat at other schools).

GIRLS

Player                                            School                             Points              Games Career

1. Sarah Behn                              Foxboro                          2,562                93         1985-89

2. Kailey Sullivan                         Foxboro                          1,895              97         2021-25

3. Kara O’Neil                             King Philip                      1,883               88         1994-98

4. Rebecca Welch                       New Testament            1,825               89         1997-2003

5. Kim Lynch                                Seekonk                          1,728                94         1988-92

6. Jennifer Brown                       Foxboro                          1,701               95         1994-98

7. Mary Nwachukwu                 Dighton-Rehoboth       1,589              74         2005-09

8. Ashley Sampson                     Foxboro                          1,530              99         2014-18

9. Julie Schmidt                           North Attleboro            1,520                80         1987-91

10. Katie Nelson                         Bishop Feehan               1,439              92         2013-17

11. Katelyn Mollica                    Foxboro                          1,407              88         2017-21

12. Heather Morgan                  Foxboro                          1,394               90         1997-2001

13. Sarah Deyo                            Attleboro                        1,341              92         2013-17

14. Colleen McGahan               North Attleboro            1,330               88         1994-98

15. Lexi Sells                                La Salle/Feehan            1,297              89         2008-12

16. Camryn Collins                     Foxboro                          1,296              84         2020-24

17. Lindsay Vine                         North Attleboro            1,286               82         1997-2001

18. Lea Beattie                            Seekonk                          1,282               n/a        1974-78

19. Emily Cournoyer                  North Attleboro            1,274               86         2002-06

20. Mia DiBiase                           Seekonk                          1,237              73         2016-20

21. Jamie Cournoyer                 North Attleboro            1,223               68         1994-97

22. Rebecca Hardt                     Attleboro                        1,221               72         1990-94

23. Sue Patchett                         Mansfield                       1,214               80         1989-93

24. Sara Wright                           Attleboro                        1,209               75         1995-99

25. Monika Rothemich             Bishop Feehan              1,184               87         1993-97

26. Alyssa Rozak                         Tri-County                      1,168               78         2004-08

27. Laura Lokitis                         Bishop Feehan              1,157               70         2000-03

28. Shannon Halpin                   Seekonk                          1,149               75         1996-2000

29. Kylie D’Ambrosio                 Dighton-Rehoboth       1,144              82         2012-16

30. Rachel Sayce                         Norton                            1,134              78         1989-93

31. Maddy Steel                         Bishop Feehan               1,130              99         2021-25

32. Sierra Schrader                    Hopedale/Feehan        1,126              105       2008-13

33. Patty Cronin                          King Philip                      1,120               90         1995-99

34. Emily D’Ambosio                 Dighton-Rehoboth       1,114              75         2017-21

35T. Melissa Traversi               Bishop Feehan              1,113               68         1998-2001

35T. Maddie Jolin                       Bishop Feehan               1,113              88         2011-15

37. Alyssa Gutauskas                 North Attleboro            1,111               71         1984-87

38. Keli Rupert                            Seekonk/D-R                 1,110               81         1997-2001

39. Meg Hill                                  Mansfield                       1,090              100       2014-18

40. Cheryl Warren                     Attleboro/Feehan        1,088               75         1987-91

41. Sarah Tomaso                      Norton                            1,084               85         1995-99

42. Sarah Gannon                      Norton/New Test.        1,071               89         1997-2001

43. Jill Cullen                                North Attleboro            1,068              85         2008-12

44. Kristen Hoffman                  Foxboro                          1,056              88         2006-10

45. Angela Astuccio                   Foxboro                          1,048               96         1999-2003

46T. Christine Basile                  Bishop Feehan               1,042              69         1969-73

46T. Amanda Cavallaro             Seekonk                          1,042              80         2008-12

48. Rebecca King                        Attleboro                        1,038* 40         1949-53

49. Brianna Rozak                      Tri-County                      1,034               82         2001-05

50. Nikki Lima                              Attleboro                        1,030               79         1990-94

51. Emily Houle                           Attleboro                        1,025              90         2012-16

52. Danielle Murphy                  Foxboro                          1,024               91         2000-04

53. Holly Grinnell                       Foxboro                          1,018               85         1984-88

54. Abby Wager                          Mansfield                       1,008              81         2019-23

* — scored under six-player rules

 

BOYS

Player                                            School                             Points               Games Career

1. Jake Layman                            King Philip                      1,752              85         2008-12

2. Tyler Patch                             Seekonk                          1,746              91         2004-08

3. Tom Blessing                           Dighton-Rehoboth       1,725               90         1996-2000 

4. Leland Anderson                    Attleboro                        1,629               74         1995-99

5T. Casey Carney                        Bishop Feehan              1,463               67         1994-97

5T. Derek Swenson                    Attleboro                        1,463               92         1995-99

7. Mark Schmidt                         Bishop Feehan              1,450               68         1978-81

8. Mike Babul                             North Attleboro            1,423               86         1992-96

9. Ron Gentili                             Mansfield                       1,387               91         1958-62

10T. John Egan                            Dighton-Rehoboth       1,377               60         1987-90

10T. Cliff Reynolds                     Norton                            1,377               n/a        1961-65

12. Mark Gaffey                          Foxboro                          1,350               77         1979-83

13. Ryan Boulter                         Mansfield                       1,324              79         2012-15

14. Bill Emerson                          New Testament            1,298               n/a        1989-94

15. Patrick McGowan               North Attleboro            1,297               59         1997-2001

16. Mike McNally                       Bishop Feehan              1,262               75         1996-99

17. Tim Emerson                        New Testament            1,252               96         1992-98

18. Mike Nelson                         Bishop Feehan               1,246              89         2012-16

19. Andrew Pereira                   Seekonk                          1,236               86         2002-06

20. Josh Koneski                         Dighton-Rehoboth       1,221              84         2006-10

21. Mark Houle                           Attleboro                        1,219               64         1986-90

22. Darren Doucette                 Norton                            1,194              83         2005-09

23. Ryan Walsh                           Dighton-Rehoboth       1,186              68         2010-13

24. Scott Smith                           King Philip                      1,175               63         2002-06

25. Ricky Silva                              Seekonk                          1,170              64         2007-10

26. Tim Grinham                        Tri-County                      1,163               69         1994-98

27. Mike Myers                           Foxboro                          1,156               81         2000-04

28. Paul McCann                        Dighton-Rehoboth       1,143               76         1979-82

29. Jon Dunlap                            Norton                            1,140               83         1985-89

30. Bryant Ciccio                         Attleboro                        1,137              86         2016- 20

31. Tom Sherman                       Attleboro                        1,127               63         1992-95

32. Sean Ribeiro                         Norton                            1,124               80         1996-2000

33. Tim Walsh                             Attleboro                        1,117              74         2010-14

34T. Alden Franklin                    Plainville                         1,096              63         1947-51

34T. Kurt Beloff                          King Philip                      1,096               80         1993-97

36. Frank Oftring                        Bishop Feehan               1,095              70         2012-15

37. Jeff Doane                             King Philip                      1,091               80         1989-93

38T. Glen Field                            Dighton-Rehoboth       1,085               n/a        1962-65

38T. Jesse Martinez                   Attleboro                        1,085               75         2000-04

40. Brandon Borde                    Foxboro                          1,083              85         2016-20

41. Qualeem Charles                 Attleboro                        1,078              89         2016-20

42. John Shockro                        Attleboro                        1,061               n/a        1962-65

43. Matt Freeman                      Bishop Feehan              1,057               60         1988-91

44T. Greg Eitas                            Bishop Feehan              1,047               73         1996-99

44T. Matty Boen                        Mansfield                       1,047              77         2018-21

44T. Mike McCabe                     King Philip                      1,047               81         1997-2001

44T. John Verdeaux                   King Philip                      1,047               82         1994-98

48. Rich Lunn                               King Philip                      1,040               63         1963-66

49. Tim Cheney                           Foxboro                          1,039               85         2002-06

50. Bill O’Keefe                           Dighton-Rehoboth       1,038               59         1967-70

51. Paul Souza                             Mansfield                       1,036               58         1976-79

52. Griffin McAlear                    Norton                            1,030              64         2016-19

53. Brian Thomas                       King Philip                      1,029               62         1989-92

54. Alex Penders                        Foxboro                          1,026              66         2019-23

55. Mike Bedrossian                  Seekonk                          1,025               61         1991-94

56. Brendan Doherty                 Bishop Feehan              1,023               62         1974-77

57. Devon Maiorano                 Dighton-Rehoboth       1,009               57         1999-2002

58. Geoffrey Stearns                 Mansfield                       1,008               64         1956-59

59. John Andrews                      King Philip                      1,007               58         1986-90

60. Doug DiNardo                      North Attleboro            1,005               n/a        1968-71

61. Connor Houle                      Attleboro                       1,003              85         2022-

62. Ryan Sheehan                      Bishop Feehan               1,000              43         2008-10