Rebecca Hardt, 46.

Nikki Lima, left, and Rebecca Hardt put Attleboro basketball on the map.

I can't give you an accurate number of the number of local female basketball players about whom I wrote on a regular basis during my 41-year career as a sportswriter at The Sun Chronicle of Attleboro. But a quick estimate gave me a number exceeding 6,000. And that number has continued to grow in the four years of my retirement as a writer as a result of my play-by-play announcing for local cable TV systems.

I may not be able to recall all of those young women's names instantly, but fortunately, I have volumes of archives that can produce complete statistics with just a few keyboard clicks. But of course, there are many for whom no research is necessary for me to remember them -- which only serves to heighten the sadness I feel when one of them is lost.

So it was this morning when I read that former Attleboro High School standout Rebecca Hardt had died in her sleep on Tuesday of this week.

In a year in which I've already endured too many sledgehammer swings to my heart, hearing this news hit me hard. I covered quite a few of Rebecca's 72 high school games from 1990-94, which was a period of rebirth for the Attleboro High girls' basketball program. In tandem with her teammate of those four seasons, Nikki Lima, Rebecca put the Bombardiers back on the map in local girls' basketball and put down the foundation for future successes for the program.

Former Attleboro star Rebecca Hardt.

She was 46 years old at her passing. Far too young. And, coming just two months after the death of her father, Dave, who was a true icon in Attleboro High athletic history -- well, it's just a terrible time in the Jewelry City.

My recollections of Rebecca coincide with those of Nikki Lima, who's now known as Nikki Correia and is the head coach of the North Attleboro High School girls' basketball team. Those two came to the Attleboro varsity in the 1990-91 season and immediately embarked upon a course that would lead them to become the first of three sets of AHS teammates that would reach 1,000 career points in the same season.

Nikki was the high-energy guard that could score and distribute with equal skill, and always played with a broad smile on her face. Rebecca was the gazelle-like frontcourter whose quiet grace and athleticism made everything she did look easy -- almost too easy to believe at times. I can recall several times when I'd be sitting in the stands at the old AHS gym and groaning audibly because an old and overmatched referee, unable to keep up with the speed of the game, would whistle a foul against Rebecca as she attempted to block a shot even though the block was clearly clean. It was as if the referee just assumed that a superbly agile 6-foot-1 forward could not leap high into the air from behind the shooter and pluck the ball away without making contact. And this happened far too often.

Sometimes, having two players of elite talent on the same team might lead to conflict. But the skills displayed by Rebecca and Nikki were complimentary in nature, and they fed off each other's talents. And they knew that would be the case from the very moment they entered Attleboro High. Here's what Nikki had to say about that to Sun Chronicle sportswriter Tyler Hetu in a very touching story that appeared in Wednesday's paper.

"When her and I got there, from Day 1, the chemistry with her and I was like nothing else," she said. "Rebecca didn’t care about accolades, or the stats, or being the No. 1 girl. She just went out there and played. I say it about her all the time, I don’t think she realized how good she really was because she was just dominating, but she was humble. She’d kind of go through the motions and still give you a double-double.”

From a 1-17 initial season, the Hardt-Lima combination turned around the program and led Attleboro to 13-8 and 14-8 seasons over the next two years. That led us to create the page you see at the top of this post. With the help of graphic artist Mike Forgette, we dubbed Rebecca and Nikki as "Attleboro's Dynamic Duo" to introduce our 1993-94 girls' basketball preview.

That was no overstatement. They were that good, and so much fun to watch. Their team was 40-42 over their four seasons as postseason success would elude them in the tough MIAA Division 1 field, but I'm certain that their elevated level of play was inspirational to younger Bombardiers-to-be -- some of whom would forge a team later in the decade that would play in a state semifinal at Boston Garden.

Rebecca played in 72 games over four years, missing six in her freshman year and four as a senior. She averaged just under 17 points a game for her entire career, finishing with 1,221 -- the second-best total for Attleboro High girls and fourth overall in school history. She held the girls' record for 23 seasons before Sarah Deyo (1,341 points) passed her in 2017.

She also shared the school's single-game record for girls under five-player rules with 33 points, achieved in her junior year, with Emily Houle and Julia Strachan. The only female player at AHS to surpass that was Rebecca King, who tossed in 44 in a 1953 game against Mansfield when girls played six a side, three of them couldn't cross the center stripe, and the center could stand in the lane all day without penalty.

Rebecca Hardt's career was one of constant improvement. She averaged 10.9 points a game as a freshman, 16.1 as a sophomore, 18.3 as a junior and 20.6 as a senior. And her success didn't prevent Nikki Lima from carving out her own place in the AHS record books, as she finished with 1,030 points over 79 games. Thus, they became the first of three sets of Bombardier basketball players that would graduate as 1,000-point scorers from the same team, followed by Leland Anderson and Derek Swenson in 1999, and Bryant Ciccio and Qualeem Charles in 2020. Sarah Deyo and Emily Houle also played together for three of their four seasons, and both would eventually go over the 1,000-point plateau.

Rebecca would go on to play at what's now Bryant University, under current coach Mary Burke.

The poignancy of Rebecca's passing is multiplied in that it comes less than two months after the death of her father. Dave Hardt was perhaps Attleboro's most accomplished athlete in multiple sports, and he went on to play at Kentucky and was drafted by the New England Patriots as a tight end in 1971. I attended Dave's only game as a Patriot -- the first game at Schaefer Stadium in Foxboro -- in which he suffered a career-ending knee injury on special teams.

The area has lost some wonderful people this year -- first former North Attleboro High football and baseball coach Bob Guthrie, then Heidi Deppisch, the sharpshooting forward of the 1987 state Division 2 champion basketball team from North. And now, Rebecca Hardt. My heart goes out to their families and friends, and also to those that just enjoyed watching them participate in sports, as I did.

Patriots' "honorary Bombardier" retires.

James White became one of the Patriots' best leaders, on and off the field.

Several years ago, when the New England Patriots made running back James White of Wisconsin their fourth-round pick in the 2014 NFL Draft, I got a tip from someone close to the draft braintrust. White, it turned out, was almost a "local."

Sometimes, those are dreaded words to hear while covering an NFL Draft. 

It's one thing to know if you have a local athlete that's projected to be a draft pick, as it was for me when North Attleboro native Anthony Sherman was eligible for the 2011 draft. You prepare in advance with interview requests and phone numbers at your fingertips, and you can move quickly and purposefully when the player's name is announced.

That made it relatively simple for me to jump into action when the Arizona Cardinals made Sherman their fifth-round pick in 2011. Within an hour of the selection, I was on my way to Sherman's family home in North Attleboro to interview him and his parents, and thus fulfill my responsibility as the reporter of record for the local daily newspaper.

But James White's situation was different. He was a native of Fort Lauderdale, which was a long way from The Sun Chronicle's circulation area. But my tipster told me that the young man's aunt and uncle lived in nearby South Attleboro and had since 1989 -- which, of course, would be of great interest to the readership of the local paper. But other than the names of White's relatives, I had nothing to go on -- and not a lot of time to track them down before that night's deadline.

James White chats with the media
in the week leading to Super Bowl 51.

That's when the training and experience kicks in. I used every search engine possible to find the phone number of Arnold and Desiree McNeil, called several times, left pleasant (but urgent) messages asking them to return the call -- and then I waited. 

Just about the time I started to feel a little desperate about whether I would get an actual scoop (or be beaten to it by the metropolitan papers), I got the calls -- first from Arnold McNeil, then from his wife, the latter being the sister of James White's father. The conversations were pleasant and productive, and the next day's newspaper rewarded its readers with a feel-good local story that nobody else had.

And to me, that's a good way to regard the eight-year career of White, who retired today as the result of the serious hip injury he suffered last year. It was always a feel-good story, and not just because of what he accomplished on the field.

It was during the conversation with his aunt that I learned the most about James White, the person, as opposed to the football player. I learned he was grounded and humble and the sort of young man that would totally dedicate himself to self-improvement and helping his team succeed. As time passed, and White fulfilled those expectations, I often jokingly referred to him as an "honorary Bombardier," employing the sports nickname of Attleboro High School as a well-meaning reference to his family ties in the city.

“Sweet Feet,” as James would come to be known, became probably the best among a line of productive third-down backs in the Patriots’ offense. Steady and reliable in that role over the majority of his career, his amazing performance in the second half and overtime of Super Bowl 51 in Houston made the difference in the Patriots’ comeback from a 28-3 deficit to the Atlanta Falcons -- and I think he should have been MVP of the game because of it.

But that was just a sample of his on-field contributions. In many ways, White deserves to be remembered as fondly for what kind of a player he was off the field and in the locker room.

Never boisterous, White was the epitome of players that are able to become strong locker-room leaders by example. Soft-spoken and thoughtful, he displayed a constant and unflinching work ethic that was respected and admired by every member of the organization. He set the baseline for rookies and veterans alike, and from the indications being posted today on social media, they took notice.

"James defines the term, 'consummate professional,'" Patriots' coach Bill Belichick said today in a prepared statement. "His dependability, consistency, unselfishness and performance under pressure were elite. ... While soft-spoken, he brought exceptional leadership and competitive toughness to the team. He was a multi-year captain and one of the most respected (and) best team players I have ever coached."

Indeed, one of White's most shining moments of leadership came during a terrible time in his life. 

His father, a respected former police officer in Fort Lauderdale, was killed in an automobile accident early in the 2020 season, and his mother was critically injured. James grieved, as we all would. But after a brief trip home to be with his family during the crisis, he returned to the team and resumed his daily commitment to being the best player and person he could be for his teammates.

From a media standpoint, White was always accommodating to reporters that would stroll past his locker looking for insight. It wasn’t self-serving on his part, but an acceptance that accountability was part of the job. And he was respectful at all times, even when I’m sure it might not have been the easiest thing to be. I'm not certain he was ever truly comfortable in the spotlight -- sometimes when the media scrum would congregate in large numbers around his locker, his responses to question might include a brief nervous laugh -- but he took the responsibility seriously as a true professional would.

He was one of the first recipients of the “Ron Hobson Good Guy Award,” so named for the gregarious former beat writer from The Patriot Ledger of Quincy. It's annually bestowed upon players that are cooperative with the media, but as I indicated before, not in a self-serving way. We of the media see it as an important honor because we didn’t honor “gabbers" -- players that loved the sound of their own voice but rarely made plays worth remembering. White, like past recipients Devin McCourty and Matthew Slater, was a player that backed up any and all of his words with non-stop effort and a level of dignity that served as inspiration to everyone in that locker room. 

As I learned of White's decision to retire earlier today, I was reminded of the predictive comments made by his aunt in her phone call to me in 2014.

"He’s easy-going, truly focused on football and willing to do whatever he can to excel, and to be a good team player," Mrs. McNeil said. "And if he's called upon to be a leader, he has the fortitude and ability to lead."

Mission accomplished.

It was a pleasure and a privilege to cover James White's career for as long as I did, and I wish him and his entire family all the best going forward.

More ponderous thoughts I was pondering ...

Ponderous thoughts I was pondering while perusing some of the Tweets I've been writing lately and coming upon the realization that some deserve to be expanded in scope and presented here:

** It's been a bad week to read the obituary page, but comments are begging to be made, so I'll start with the first one.

I am so glad that in my formative years as a basketball fan, I had the Celtics and the magnificent Bill Russell on hand to teach me what greatness was all about. The long-time center of the team died at the age of 88 on the last day of July, and the outpouring of sentiment on social media has been heartwarming, to say the least. In fact, it was just a shame that it took a loss of this magnitude to make Twitter actually enjoyable to read.

Bill Russell won 11 NBA championships.

I don't have any personal Bill Russell stories to tell, unfortunately. I was still a teenager when his playing days ended. Nor did I see him play much in person, perhaps only one time (when the Celtics played a game at the old Boston Garden before a performance of the Ice Capades). But as he played during my awakening as a basketball fan, I spent a lot of time in front of the old 25-inch General Electric black-and-white set watching Russell, KC Jones, Sam Jones, Tommy Heinsohn, Bob Cousy and John Havlicek running up and down the old parquet -- and remember, these were the days when the NBA wasn't the big draw that it is now, and the networks often carried playoff games on tape delay because the ratings didn't justify prime-time exposure.

That will always be "real" basketball to me, not the "bump, run, gun and strut" stuff that passes for basketball in the NBA these days. And one thing about the Celtics is that you can find a common thread through the ages, an abiding respect for the fundamentals of the game, whether it was in the Bird-Parish-McHale era or the Garnett-Allen-Pierce period. I'm still waiting to see it kick in with this current crop of Celtics, although sometimes I think they are too inflicted with the ills of the current NBA to fully embrace it.

We could talk forever about all the things Russell accomplished on the court. All of the titles. All of the individual awards. All of the success in elimination games, and so on. But his lasting legacy will be as much for what he accomplished off the court as he did on it.

Russell remained relevant after retirement, and possibly became even more so, because of his activism in the battle for civil rights. It is indeed unfortunate that he played his entire career in a city that was not ready to accept African-American athletes as human beings worthy of equal treatment, but I'd challenge you to find any New Englander today -- aside from the most hard-core racists, of which there are still far too many -- that doesn't view Russell as a member of the region's Mount Rushmore of professional athletes.

In recent days, some social media pundits have used Russell's death to repeat the tired old trope, "Boston is a racist city." Well, it certainly was at one time. Bostonians hated just about anybody at one point in history, and not just Black people. Irish and Italian immigrants also drew the scorn of the old Brahmins, although as Caucasians, both were able to assimilate more quickly than others.

President Obama presents the Presidential
Medal of Freedom to Bill Russell.

Yet this is also a state that has had a Black governor and a Black senator. Boston has an Asian woman as its mayor. And while it's clear that the region still has its problems in race relations, I defy you to show me any city in America that doesn't. And I've been in every single city where the NFL currently plays except Las Vegas, so you'd better be more traveled than I am.

No, we have our faults. But it's safe to say that people like Russell helped alter this nation's thinking for the better. He fought with dignity to be treated equally, and despite the terrible treatment he received in Boston when he first arrived, I think he probably left this earth knowing that those who would be most saddened by his death were those that fully embrace his importance to the city of Boston and environs in retrospect.

What a moment it was a few years back when Bill Russell received the Presidential Medal of Freedom from the nation's first Black president. Never was one so deserving. It's too bad that the guy that followed Obama in office decided to devalue that medal, but Russell got it when it really meant something.

Long-time Boston Globe sportswriter and columnist Bob Ryan, guesting on the Red Sox radio broadcast on Sunday, did you younger folks a service by describing Russell's signature laugh -- a full-throated, wholehearted cackle that was absolutely infectious. In many ways, it's important to note that Russell still had the ability to laugh and enjoy life despite the indignities he endured for so long. And it is the measure of the man that he was able to forgive Boston and eventually embrace it, instead of allowing those past indignities to simmer for the rest of his life.

As I was thinking about writing this piece, and was searching for photos to illustrate it, I came upon the realization that the uniform he wore in his latter days as a Celtic is practically identical to the traditional home whites worn today. Thus, as I see the younger Russell with the big "6" on the front of his shirt, it reinforces my belief that the team should NEVER wear an alternate jersey. The old whites and greens mean something.

** Just hours after I first learned of Russell's death, I saw the news that Nichelle Nichols, the actress that had originated the role of Lt. Nyota Uhura on the original Star Trek series, had died. She was 89.

Admittedly, I am a Star Trek fan. Not a "Trekkie," mind you, because I've never been prone to dressing up in a Starfleet uniform, sticking points on my ears and pretending to be a Vulcan at fan conventions. Besides, I can do the "live long and prosper" hand salute with only my right hand (which I believe is also William Shatner's problem). But ever since the show debuted in 1966 on NBC and through all of its iterations since, I have embraced Gene Roddenberry's image of a future society in which exploration and knowledge have replaced avarice and aggression as humanity's favorite pastimes.

(OK, I know. Jim Kirk was a raging horndog that never followed the rules, banged females on every planet he visited and ignored the Prime Directive with phasers and photon torpedoes blazing when it could resolve the conflict at hand by the end of 46 minutes or so. But let's face it. When done right, it worked -- and what else has lasted so long as a national entertainment obsession?)

Nichelle Nichols as Lt. Uhura on Star Trek

One key to Roddenberry's vision of the future was that the future had to be inclusive. So it was that the USS Enterprise's bridge crew had to reflect that wish. In addition to the testosterone-fueled white male captain, the obligatory alien and the slightly cartoonish chief medical officer and chief engineer, the helmsman (Lt. Sulu, played by George Takei) was Japanese and the communications' officer (Lt. Uhura) was Black. And they were officers in full standing, equal in importance to the operation of the Enterprise as any other characters.

In 1966, network TV had yet to see any Black actors or actresses in roles that weren't automatically subservient to the Caucasian stars in one way or another. And while there was the matter of rank to be dealt with on the Enterprise's bridge, Lt. Uhura was not Yeoman Rand, there only for window-dressing in the first season.

Nichols also considered leaving Star Trek after the first season, close to accepting a role in a Broadway musical as a means of broadening her career. But a conversation with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. changed her mind. Dr. King understood that Lt. Uhura's place on the Enterprise bridge was important to a younger generation that lacked role models on television, and Nichols' continued role on the show could help convince young Black girls that they could grow up and do anything in an America that was bound to eventually throw off the shackles of racism. 

Nichols went on to play Uhura (we never knew her first name until the first of J.J. Abrams' three alternate time-line movies) for all three seasons of the original series, the animated series that followed, and for the first six motion pictures in the franchise. Later in life, she remained a working actor until about three years ago. She also served as a special ambassador and "recruiter" for NASA, which sought to attract more young women and minorities into space exploration. And it wasn't just a publicity stunt; the space agency can point to several astronauts who were influenced to come on board by someone that had already gone where no one had gone before.

** If you don't remember these words, you are not a true Boston sports fan, was born yesterday, or both.

“Little roller up along first … behind the bag! It gets through Buckner! Here comes Knight, and the Mets win it!”

Legendary sports broadcaster Vin Scully.

Those were spoken by the late and great baseball broadcaster, Vin Scully, in the 10th inning of Game 6 of the World Series between the Red Sox and Mets at Shea Stadium, played on Oct. 25, 1986. He was handling the NBC broadcast of the game and I was sitting in my hotel room in the Buffalo area (the Patriots were to play the Bills the next day), surrounded by fellow Patriots beat writers as we watched baseball and gulped down Buffalo wings and Canadian beer.

I had given up hope that the Red Sox could get out of the jam, even before Mookie Wilson stood in against Bob Stanley with runners on first and third and two out. Wilson saw 10 pitches from "The Steamer," including a wild pitch that brought one of the runners home and sent Ray Knight to second base. Not filled with confidence, I buried my head in a pillow before the 10th pitch was thrown -- and thus I never saw Wilson's slow roller scoot between the legs of the sore-kneed Bill Buckner at first base. I just heard the call.

Scully's amazing career as an announcer, stemming back to 1950 as the voice of the then-Brooklyn Dodgers, is as much a slice of Americana as apple pie. It's just sad that the call that registers first in my mind has to be one of my greatest disappointments as a young sportswriter; I had covered the Fenway Park games of that World Series (and still have a garment bag that features its logo), and I was hoping that my articles could have been a small memento of the first Red Sox World's Championship since before indoor plumbing.

Scully, of course, maintained his relationship with the Dodgers until retiring in 2016. He also worked for the major networks at various times in his life and announced a multitude of sports. He has left a legacy of great calls and was truly beloved by Dodger fans everywhere. 

I won't presume to judge what made Scully the announcer he was. I have no experience upon which to base any judgment. But I will say that as a fledgling announcer myself (and one that has undertaken this career choice far too late in life for it to go anywhere), I was always in awe of his precise use of the English language, the swiftness with which he could frame a thought and present it to his audience with the perfect delivery as if he was reading off a script, and most importantly, his keen awareness of when it was the right time to let the moment on our screens do the talking, and not to talk over it.

So many young announcers feel the need to impose their presence over moments of historic importance. Vin Scully never did that. He was a true reporter, content to tell the story and not become the story himself. Maybe that's why so many of his calls live on in memory.

Vin Scully was 94 when he left us. His voice will live on forever.

Oh, and by the way ... let’s also never forget that Scully and Steve “Psycho” Lyons called Billy Chapel’s career-ending perfect game for the Detroit Tigers at Yankee Stadium.

Yes, I know, it was just a movie -- Kevin Costner's sappy "For Love of the Game," with Scully and Lyons providing the game narrative. But seriously, if you're a casting director and you are looking for a legitimate top-tier baseball announcer to lend some credibility to the in-game scenes in the movie, who you gonna call? Damn straight. 

Lyons must have come cheap, though.

** Just a thought here. Patriots' fans have repeatedly blocked Bill Parcells’ potential entry to the team’s hall of fame because he talked to the New York Jets before leaving to become their coach. Now we hear that Tom Brady did the same thing with the Miami Dolphins while still a Patriot. Will fans reject his potential Patriots Hall of Fame status too? Of course not.

Was Brady seduced and abandoned?

OK, it may be a bit of a stretch to equate Parcells' four years as the Patriots' head coach to the 20 years in which Brady became the greatest quarterback in team history (and maybe also that of the NFL). But in my book, the crime is the same. 

Parcells almost single-handedly saved the Patriots from becoming the St. Louis Stallions by completely revamping not only the team on the field, but also the front-office operation from top to bottom. But he did so under interim owner James Busch Orthwein. When Robert Kraft first purchased the team, he had a lot to learn about an owner's role in the operation -- and his meddling ways (and that of No. 1 son Jonathan) almost immediately brought him into conflict with Parcells' authoritarian rule.

It wasn't until much later that Kraft learned to build a solid football operation and then to let them take it from there without undue meddling. That was not the case when the Patriots were in the fourth and final year of Parcells' tenure. You know the rest of the story.

So now we learn that as Brady neared free agency after the 2019 season, the Miami Dolphins made multiple overtures to him with hopes of eventually signing him. It's not fully known to what extent Brady entertained the overtures, but given his sub-par performance in the 2019 season -- following at least two seasons in which his relationship with Bill Belichick clearly deteriorated -- it's fair to assume that the Dolphins' tampering fueled his desire to go elsewhere at the end of his contract.

Brady didn't go to Miami, but he did get what he wanted in Tampa, where he could basically call all the shots in personnel decisions and have greater input in coaching -- to the point where he basically forced head coach Bruce Arians out of a job with his fake retirement this past offseason. Brady is also now free of the Patriots' repressive policies and can fully realize a level of narcissism that was bubbling just below the surface during his New England days, just waiting for the opportunity to burst free.

No, Patriots' fans will not hold Brady to the same standards to which they've held Parcells. In fact, I suspect that the minute that Brady finally retires for real, the wheels will be set in motion to put him in his rightful place in the Patriots Hall of Fame -- no waiting period, no nomination committee, no fan vote. And not one single care about what the Miami Dolphins tried to do while he was still wearing the helmet with the Flying Elvis on it.

I don't even know why I would expect anything different.

** I was watching the Red Sox drop a 6-1 decision to the Houston Astros on Wednesday, and I was thinking just as it seems the Sox start straightening things out, well, shit happens. But the series in Houston wasn't a total loss.

Indeed, if the Red Sox can continue to win three and lose one over the remainder of the season, that should check them in at something close to 97-65 at end of 162 games. Easy peasy! (Yes, this is intentionally sarcastic.)

I was also thinking that I like Minute Maid Park. I got to walk around it a lot when the Patriots played a Super Bowl in Houston a few years back (you may remember the comeback) and they had Media Day at Minute Maid instead of NRG Stadium. The sightlines were good and the dimensions were quirky enough to make the ballpark interesting.

Yeah, Fenway Park is the most beloved ballpark in America, blah blah blah. But I would not have been unhappy if things had gone in a different direction and the city might have opted for a modern replacement instead.

He pities the fool!

** And finally, I still wear protective masks when I go to supermarkets or other crowded venues because, whether you like it or not, COVID-19 is still with us and people are still being infected every day.

I am vaccinated and double-boosted and have gone 125 weeks without an infection, but that doesn't mean I couldn't still get one. So the next time someone tells me it's time for another jab, I'll stick my arm out and tell them to jab away.

Right now, we’re on the BA.5 variant of COVID, right? Very concerning, but I pity the fools if we get to the B.A. Baracus variant!

Don't know what that means? Google it. Maybe we'll be able to give you an A for effort once you discover what the reference means!