Coming soon in South Attleboro ... maybe?

The TV show "Family Guy" was created by Seth MacFarlane, who was raised in Connecticut and attended the Rhode Island School of Design, where he became quite familiar with what's on both sides of the Massachusetts-Rhode Island border. And over the many years that "Family Guy" has been on the air, he has often slipped in references to South Attleboro, for reasons known only to him.

This is one of the best.

In an episode in which Brian, the Griffins' family dog (often said to represent MacFarlane's real persona), impregnates the prize-winning greyhound owned by Lois Griffin's father, Carter Pewterschmidt, Brian is taken to court in an effort to deny him the right to have contact with the puppies. In this scene, the prosecuting attorney attempts to discredit Brian by questioning him about an incident that happened at the South Attleboro Denny's restaurant.

Well, at the time, there was no Denny's in South Attleboro. But now, after a very long construction delay, there is one -- right next to the Chik-Fil-A on US 1, not far from the May Street intersection. It's open, and I'm sure the breakfast menu has a Moon Over My Hammy on it.

Here's what Brian did at the South Attleboro Denny's. Is this history imitating art? And can we expect to see a white dog taking a break from his breakfast to yell at a crying baby? You be the judge. 

When the taste buds think for the big head.

Sadly, you don't see many of these restaurants in New England anymore.

Ever had that itch that you just can't scratch? I have for some time now.

I miss Arby's.

Yes, Arby's -- the fast-food restaurant that serves that paper-thin "roast beef" (and I will address the questions about the constitution of that meat product later in the post), and has of late expanded its offerings to several different types of sandwich filler to justify the use of Ving Rhames' booming voice proclaiming that "We have the MEATS!!" in television commercials.

I loved Arby's in my early days of personal mobility. When I first got my driver's license in 1970 and was given permission to drive our family's 1963 VW Beetle, I made many a trek to the Arby's restaurant located on US 1 in Dedham, beyond the long-since shuttered Lechmere Sales store and not far from the VFW Hospital in West Roxbury.

I've long been a carnivore and spent much of my early life gleefully devouring whatever red-meat products I could find, which probably led to some of my later-in-life health problems. And yes, I could tell the difference between a finely cooked New York strip sirloin or a delicious slab of medium-rare prime rib roast and the peculiar version of roast beef served by Arby's on a sesame-seed covered bulkie roll. But it didn't matter. Whether it was the strange texture of the "meat" or the wave of salty flavor that would hit your tongue like a sledgehammer, or that spicy concoction called "Arby's Sauce" in the foil packets that resembled no other flavoring sauce known to Western civilization, there was a guilty-pleasure irresistibility to an Arby's sandwich that I could not resist. 

I made those pilgrimages to the Arby's in Dedham for many years, well into young adulthood. Even into my career of covering the Patriots in far-flung cities across the nation, I would pick up my rental car and make a point of finding the nearest Arby's so I could stop and indulge, even before checking into my hotel. 

Finally, when an Arby's opened inside the food court at the Emerald Square mall in North Attleboro in the late 1980s, I was in hog heaven. I had the good sense not to stop there every day, but at least twice a month I would go to the mall for no reason other than to order the biggest sandwich I could buy and then slather Arby's Sauce all over it -- often grabbing multiple packets at the condiments bar and then emptying the full contents of one onto the sandwich every time I took a bite, so my taste buds wouldn't find an uneven coating of the seductive sauce.

Amanda Peet finds Arby's Sauce irresistible.

I didn't mess around with any of their other offerings. No curly fries for me, no "beef 'n' cheddar," and I passed on the Big Montana -- although if you recall the movie "Saving Silverman," the 2001 flick in which Jason Biggs plays the lead singer in a Neil Diamond tribute band that is going to quit because he's getting married, you remember that his buddies (played by Jack Black and Steve Zahn) kidnapped Biggs' fiancée as a means of preventing the band's breakup. She's played by actress Amanda Peet, and the scene of her chained to a chair and being fed a particularly messy Big Montana by Zahn was about the best product placement Arby's could get at the time.

But gradually, the restaurants started to disappear -- at least in this part of the world, although you wouldn't know it from their advertising budget. 

For the most part, Arby's has deserted the New England market. There aren't any at all in Maine, Vermont or Rhode Island, although Little Rhody has plenty of roast beef to tide itself over at places like Walt's and Miller's. There are six in Connecticut, but who wants to go there? 

Yet a day doesn't pass when you don't hear Ving Rhames touting the MEATS!! that Arby's sells. And every time I hear it, a little bit of muscle memory kicks in and my mouth starts watering at the prospect of tossing down a couple of roast beef sandwiches covered in Arby's Sauce.

For about a week now, I've been craving an Arby's sandwich. I've been eating less thanks to my work schedule (the benefit of that being much lower blood sugar numbers), so having paid the requisite penance for past sins, I decided that on one of my rare days off, I would embark on a quest for the MEATS!! -- or at least one specific one.

Earlier today, I made the commitment. It was a nice day, a little coolish, but a good time for me to haul my 2015 VW Beetle convertible out of the garage in which it spends most of its existence and put some miles on it. The Beetle is my "play" car, but I haven't played in it much lately -- it has only 36,000 miles on it, and I drove it less than 1,800 miles last year -- so the time was ripe for it to stretch its stubby little legs a little.

But where to go?

Google told me that there are only three Arby's restaurants left in all of Massachusetts. The Dedham and Emerald Square stores are long gone, leaving my only choices as Chicopee, Marlboro and Auburn. The latter, only 34 miles away as the crow flies, seemed the most logical choice.

So I hopped into the car, popped the top, cranked up the heat to compensate for the autumn coolness, and after an overly long wait in the local Starbucks drive-thru line (Seattle's gonna hear about that ...), I was off on a quest for the MEATS!!

The ride up I-495 to the Mass. Pike was relatively uneventful and pleasant, save for a few jackasses in giant SUVs and pickup trucks that think it's their God-given right to cut off a guy without any warning as he minds his own business driving his tiny Beetle convertible. I'm learning that it doesn't pay to leave a little more room than I used to between me and the car ahead of me, an accommodation to my 52 years of driving, because someone's going to see that extra half-car length as an invitation to insert his car's ass into my face.

But it was after exiting the turnpike in Auburn that the trip became the stuff of legend.

My Beetle has a Garmin GPS unit in it that's about five or six years old. I haven't updated the maps for a while, and it doesn't have the new exit numbers for Massachusetts highways, but that wasn't the problem. What I didn't know was that it inputted the wrong address for the Arby's when it calculated the route, and thus it kept directing me in circles and down roads that looked as if they had not been driven upon since covered wagons started heading west.

Once I reached a deserted recreational field that appeared to be guarded by a suspicious old man and his very hungry-looking German shepherd, I determined it was best to let the Waze app on my phone take me the rest of the way. In just a few more minutes, the familiar 10-gallon-hat logo of an Arby's restaurant was visible in the distance.

Seeing another long line at the drive-thru, I pulled into a parking space thinking it was smarter to order inside and maybe also take a bathroom break. But when I got to the door, there was a sign on it. It read:

"LOBBY CLOSING AT 5 P.M. BECAUSE OF STAFFING SHORTAGE. DRIVE-THRU REMAINS OPEN."

As I walked back to my car, another individual that had parked his Tesla in the next space over was about to get out of his car to do presumably the same thing. I told him the lobby was closed, and the drive-thru was still open. He thanked me, and we both pulled out of our parking spaces and settled into the line.

It didn't take long to get to the speaker, where I ordered two large roast beef sandwiches and a large Dr Pepper. I had taken a $20 bill from my wallet, thinking that was more than enough to cover the order. I was told that it was $26.80. After a wave of sticker-shock, I pulled out a $5 bill and plucked a couple of ones out from under the garage-door remotes that I usually hand to baristas at Starbucks for tips.

When I got to the window, the young man taking my cash didn't say a single word to me -- even when I asked him to put some extra Arby's Sauce packets into the bag. Not to make any judgments, but given the time it took him to take the four bills and figure out they added up to $27, and to deduce that he owed me two dimes in change -- well, I figured he just didn't have his heart in his job.

It took another four or five minutes at the window to get my order. I didn't see any packets of Arby's Sauce go into the bag, so when he handed it to me, I asked if the extra sauce packets were there. No response. As there was a big line behind me, I didn't want to be the guy holding up the show, so I took the bag and started to pull away. 

But before I reached the street, a thorough examination revealed that there were no sauce packets inside the bag. I wasn't going to stand for that, given that I had already driven about 50 miles in a quest for the MEATS!!

I pulled over next to one of the locked entrances of the restaurant and figured that the only thing I could do was to emulate Dustin Hoffman as Benjamin Braddock in "The Graduate," pounding on the glass windows separating the balcony of the church from where the love of his life was marrying another man. I didn't do it quite as dramatically, of course.

A young employee walked to the other side of the window. I held up the bag and said "I need Arby's Sauce" in a voice loud enough to penetrate the glass. Quickly, he returned to the door with six packets of the liquid gold, and I thanked him profusely.

Piled high, this beef awaits a sauce bath.

Back in the car and driving along Route 12 toward the Mass. Pike exit, I realized I couldn't wait any longer for my treat. I pulled into the parking lot of an Outback Steakhouse and set to the task to devouring one of my two large sandwiches, exhausting three of the six packets of Arby's Sauce so I could savor every bite -- probably for the first time in at least six years.

I mentioned earlier that I would explain something about Arby's meat product, so here we go. It's an urban legend that Arby's roast beef is not really roast beef, but instead some sort of reconstituted substance consisting of artificial proteins, gelatin, food colorings and God knows what else. The Arby's people vehemently deny that, and have for years. They claim that their product is indeed a real cut of roast beef, and those cuts are packed along with a preservative soup-like substance in cooking bags that are shipped to its restaurants, to be cooked on-site and sliced fresh with every order (which is why there's a little wait for each sandwich). Not being privy to the secrets of the fast-food industry, I'll take their word for it. 

Once my first sandwich was safely in my belly, I put the unused packets of sauce in the bag and began the drive home. Despite listening on the satellite radio to Wisconsin putting up a huge score over Northwestern's football team, it was still an enjoyable drive, quite pretty in the early dusk with a huge, almost-full moon rising above the tree line to the east as I navigated the rolling hills of the Mass. Pike on my way back to the old Exit 11A. It wasn't peak foliage time yet, but that doesn't do much for me, anyway -- just another reminder that it will be at least another seven months before I can feel warm again outdoors.

I was home by 7:30 p.m., and my first task was to stick the second sandwich in the microwave for about 30 seconds and to start the devouring process anew. Which I did, gleefully. That should tide me over for at least another six years -- although I'm sure the folks at Miller's Roast Beef in South Attleboro will see me long before then.

Was this quest a silly pursuit? A waste of time and gasoline? Probably so.

But if you have the gall to read this and tell me to my face that you've never done something similar in your lifetimes, I will laugh in your face. You've heard of something called "the pursuit of happiness," I presume? There is my definition of it.

Occupational hazards at my workplace.

Glen Farley, left, and I await the start of another high school event we're calling.

I enjoy announcing high school sports for local cable TV, but none of the organizations for which I work offer me hazard pay. And maybe they should.

Here's why.

Not long ago, I was sitting in the press box at King Philip's Arnold Macktaz Field, minding my own business and enjoying the nice weather. I had just finished setting up the control panel that makes the magic happen through our microphones, and was simply awaiting the arrival of my color commentator and cameraman to begin our coverage of a field hockey game that was about a half-hour away from starting.

As I sat there contemplating life in my golden years, one of the young lasses from the KP field hockey team entered the press box and hooked up her iPhone to the amplifier at the far end of the box that controls the loudspeakers on the roof. Like just about everywhere else I go these days, the youngsters play quite an eclectic selection of current music ... and usually crank it up to ear-shattering volume so they can go through their pre-game rituals immersed in the anthems of their youth.

Now, if I had been sitting outside the press box, I probably would have been writhing in pain over this assault on my eardrums. The music isn't to my tastes (there's no Sinatra included), and it's just way too loud. I don't have a decibel meter, but if I did, I think it might register something close to the Logan Airport tarmac at peak departure time.

But as I was sitting inside the press box, I was offered some protection from the direct assault upon my senses. So I just chilled as best I could and continued pondering the human condition. After all, it's the kids' show. They don't need for me to be doing my grumpy-old-man thing while they're trying to have fun being young.

After a few minutes, I was stirred from my self-imposed torpor by someone shouting at me.

"Is this it," asked a red-faced man that entered the press box in somewhat of a huff. "Is this where the music is coming from??" He was pointing at the mixing board that is the property of North Attleborough Community Television.

"Uhhh, no, there no music coming from this," I said somewhat dumbfoundedly. It takes a few minutes for the hard drive of my aging mind to kick in once I enter one of my contemplative states.

"Well, goddammit, where is it coming from," the gentleman continued. "Are you the one that's controlling this goddam loud music???"

I looked in the man's eyes, and it was suddenly clear to me that unless I offered a much better answer, this fellow might pick up the $600 mixing board and heave it out of the press box window. So I explained, in calm tones (as best I could over the din of music coming out of the speakers), that the mixing board was how North TV provided sound to the pictures he would see on his TV, and that it had nothing at all to do with what was going out over the loudspeakers.

The gentleman seemed to accept my explanation, and thus he calmed down a little and explained his presence. It seems he was a resident of a house on a neighboring street, and he had been frustrated by the increasing loudness of the music blaring out of the press box speakers for some time now. And he basically was mad as hell and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

He asked me where the music was coming from, and I thought it was prudent to feign ignorance of the situation. I told him that it was best if he talked to Gary Brown, the KP athletic director, whom I was certain was someplace nearby ... probably in the gym, where the KP volleyball team was playing at the same time as the scheduled field hockey game. I didn't want to tell the guy that the iPhone sitting at the other end of the press box was the culprit, lest he be tempted to grab it and start stomping it into smithereens, leaving some poor girl out of an expensive piece of technology for which her parents would probably have to assume the cost.

The gentleman took my advice and left the press box to search for the athletic director. Breathing a sigh of relief, I waited until he disappeared from view before I strolled over to the iPhone and tapped the volume button down a few notches.

In a few minutes, Gary Brown arrived at the press box. "Thanks," he said in a wry tone, an indication that it might not have been his first choice to deal with an enraged neighbor at that particular moment. But he adjusted the controls on the amplifier (which was below the tabletop and thus hidden from view), the sound lessened, and apparently that was sufficient to placate all parties concerned.

It's not that I didn't have some measure of sympathy for the gentleman. I did. No one really wants a peaceful afternoon disrupted by loud noise coming from nearby. Maybe the poor guy worked nights and was trying to get his sleep in the daytime.

But I was also reminded of an old saying: "Let the Buyer Beware." Anyone in that particular area of Wrentham that moved into a house any time after 1957 (when King Philip Regional High School opened) probably should have known there was a high school next door, and that high schools create traffic and noise.

It's just like the folks on North Street in Foxboro that recently bought a house there and then were shocked to find that their weekends in the fall were ruined by large crowds, fireworks, music noise and impenetrable traffic because of the presence of a 68,000-seat stadium just a few football fields away. Surprise, surprise! If you've moved there at any time since 1971 (when Schaefer Stadium opened) and didn't know there was a huge stadium there, that's on you.

But that's not my worry. My only worry was protecting North TV's mixing board -- with my life, if necessary. Mission accomplished.

I'm going to be a very busy announcer.

Press box broadcast locations will be my home away from home this coming fall.

With the fall school sports season upon us, I can now announce to the world that this fall (and maybe beyond that), I'm going to be a very familiar voice to fans of high school sports at North Attleboro, Bishop Feehan, King Philip and Tri-County high schools.

I've been working at North Attleborough Community Television (North TV) since the fall of 2018, following my departure from The Sun Chronicle via layoff in August of that year. Then in 2019, with expansion of North TV's services into Plainville, I was made the play-by-play voice of school sports at King Philip Regional High. 

Well, I'll still have that job going forward. But because of staffing changes at North TV, I'm also going to be picking up a lot more games.

The very talented Jared Ware, who has been a fixture at North TV for several years, has accepted a full-time job with the National Federation of High Schools Network, where he will be doing tons of play-by-play work. I'm sad we're losing him at North TV, but I know he'll do a great job before a broader audience going forward. 

So, starting with Thursday's girls' volleyball game at NAHS pitting the Red Rocketeers against the Canton Bulldogs, I'll be assuming the role of play-by-play announcer for most of what Jared would have been doing. It's a challenge for this old, retired soul, but one to which I'm looking forward.

Here's a list of the games I'll be doing by school, including my analysts:

Bishop Feehan  

Thursday, Sept. 29 – volleyball vs. St. Mary’s-Lynn, 5:15 (with Del Malloy)

Tuesday, Oct. 11 – boys' soccer vs. Cd. Spellman, 4 (with Martin Grealish)

Thursday, Oct. 13 – field hockey vs. St. Mary’s-Lynn, 3:30 (with Del Malloy)

Saturday, Oct. 15 – football vs. Cd. Spellman, 1 (with Del Malloy and Ethan Hamilton)

Monday, Oct. 17 -- girls' soccer vs. Bishop Stang, 4 (with Martin Grealish)

Nov. 4-18 – MIAA playoffs as needed

King Philip

Monday, Sept. 12 -- boys' soccer vs. Franklin, 6 (with Martin Grealish, tentatively scheduled)

Friday, Sept. 16 – field hockey vs. Attleboro, 3:45 (with Glen Farley)

Friday, Sept. 16 – football vs. Needham, 7 (with Glen Farley)

Tuesday, Sept. 20 – field hockey vs. Foxboro, 5 (with Glen Farley)

Thursday, Sept. 22 – volleyball vs. Milford, 5 (with Glen Farley)

Friday, Sept. 23 – girls' soccer vs. Milford, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Friday, Sept. 23 – football vs. Xaverian, 7 (with Glen Farley)

Friday, Sept. 30 – football vs. Taunton, 7 (with Glen Farley)

Monday, Oct. 24 – volleyball vs. North Attleboro, 5 (with Alex Salachi)

Monday, Oct. 31 – boys' soccer vs. Catholic Memorial, 4 (with Martin Grealish)

Nov. 4-18 – MIAA playoffs as needed

Thursday, Nov. 24 -- football vs. Franklin, 10 a.m. (with Glen Farley)

North Attleboro

Thursday, Sept. 8 – volleyball vs. Canton, 5:15 (with Del Malloy)

Wednesday, Sept. 14 – field hockey at Mansfield, 6:30 (with Glen Farley)

Thursday, Sept. 15 – boys' soccer vs. Mansfield, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Monday, Sept. 19 – girls' soccer vs. Milford, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Monday, Sept. 26 – volleyball vs. Norton, 5:15 (with Del Malloy)

Wednesday, Sept. 28 -- field hockey at Oliver Ames, 6 (with Glen Farley)

Monday, Oct. 3 – field hockey at Foxboro, 5:30 (with Del Malloy)

Friday, Oct. 7 – football at Milford, 7 (with Glen Farley)

Wednesday, Oct. 12 – boys' soccer vs. Sharon, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Friday, Oct. 14 – football at Foxboro, 7 (with Del Malloy and Ethan Hamilton)

Tuesday, Oct. 18 – boys' soccer vs. Milford, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Thursday, Oct. 20 – girls' soccer vs. Franklin, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Monday, Oct. 24 – volleyball at King Philip, 5 (with Alex Salachi)

Thursday, Oct. 27 – girls' soccer vs. Attleboro, 6 (with Martin Grealish)

Nov. 4-18 – MIAA playoffs as needed

Tri-County

Saturday, Sept. 17 – football vs. Nashoba Valley Tech, 1 (with Glen Farley)

Tuesday, Sept. 27 – boys' soccer vs. Diman, 3:30 (with Martin Grealish)

Thursday, Oct. 6 – girls' soccer vs. Wareham, 3:45 (with Martin Grealish)

Wednesday, Oct. 26 – volleyball vs. Old Colony, 5 (with Alex Salachi)

Nov. 4-18 – MIAA playoffs as needed

That's a lot of sports. That may also extend into the winter season, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Now, some of you North fans may be wondering where your football coverage is other than the two games I mentioned. Well, worry not. 

Peter Gay is coming out of semi-retirement (as an announcer, at least) to do North's games at Feehan (this Friday night), at Mansfield, at home against Franklin, at Taunton and home against Attleboro, and I assume whatever playoff games may be necessary. He'll be joined by Del Malloy and former Red Rocketeer standout Ethan Hamilton in the booth (and I get to work with them at Foxboro).

Most of these games will be televised live at northtv.net, most on the Community Channel and the KP games on the Plainville Channel. As always, go to North TV's website for full details.

As Tom Brady might say, LFG!

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!

Ponderous thoughts I was pondering ...

Proposed site of a soccer stadium in Everett, near the Encore casino at left.

Ponderous thoughts I was pondering while continuing to live the leisurely life in retirement (before the telecasts start up again in September) ...

** I read in the Boston Globe today that the Massachusetts legislature has cleared the way for Robert Kraft to build a soccer-specific stadium in Everett adjacent to the Steve Wynn-built Encore casino property -- although they did so in a typically sneaky way that's so commonplace in this state's politics.

According to the Globe story, the lawmakers added language to a wide-ranging, multibillion-dollar economic development bill Thursday evening that would exempt the 43-acre industrial property straddling the Everett and Boston line from a slew of environmental requirements so it could be developed as a “sports, recreation or events center.”

The property, like much of the site upon which the casino and hotel complex was built, has environmental concerns after decades of use by manufacturing that left toxic deposits in the earth bordering the Mystic River. Right now, it's the site of a power plant. An adjacent oil tank farm owned by ExxonMobil is also being considered for further development.

Needless to say, reaction has been immediate and mixed.

Some applaud the Krafts for finally zeroing in on a development plan for the smaller soccer stadium they have sought for their New England Revolution MLS team practically since its founding in 1996. Others decry the development of what would probably be a 30,000-seat venue in an already congested area that's even more challenged by the casino development and would likely be further beset upon if the tank farm is developed for commercial and residential use. And, of course, the plan has been met with objections from those that decry another "wink-wink, nudge-nudge" move by the legislature without the benefit of public discourse.

A quick look at the comments under the story revealed the usual saucy comments about Kraft's visits to an Asian "massage spa" in Jupiter, Fla., as well as outrage over how another entitled billionaire is getting unworthy assistance from his politician buddies on Beacon Hill. And so on, and so on.

This all comes without even an artist's rendition of what a soccer stadium would look like on the site (which is pictured above courtesy of Google Earth) -- although I suspect that the wheels will move quickly if indeed this bill makes it possible for Kraft to realize his dream of getting a soccer stadium built in a metropolitan area filled with potential fans that fit the MLS demographic.

Fewer empty seats in a soccer-specific stadium.

Yes, there are eyebrow-lifting aspects to this plan (if there is a plan). As the stadium would be neighbors to the Wynn-built casino, it would give Kraft the long-desired opportunity to become a quasi-partner with the 80-year-old gaming mogul, although Wynn stepped down from his role as CEO of Wynn Resorts in 2018 amid accusations of sexual misconduct. You may recall that Wynn originally wanted to build a casino complex across the street from Gillette Stadium before meeting with staunch opposition from residents of Foxboro and South Walpole that would have been directly impacted by the development. The NFL also was not pleased at the time by the potential presence of legal gambling across the street from one of its stadiums -- although I'd bet that today, now that the NFL is in bed with gambling sites such as Draft Kings and whatnot, Wynn's plan would be welcomed with open arms.

There's not a lot of public transportation leading to the potential stadium site, either, but that's not our problem down here in the boonies. There's a T station a little less than a mile away from the site, I'm told. When money talks, people walk. In any event, let the folks in Everett take note of what's happened down here if they're expecting the state to fix their traffic woes. There have been two stadiums on US 1 since 1971, each of them seating more than 60,000 people and selling out year after year, and yet it's still one road in and one road out, and one rickety spur railroad line that is about as useful to the area as teats on a bull.

Not discussed at all in this matter is, "what about Foxboro?"

It's my understanding that the town still gets a share of ticket revenue from the sale of Revolution tickets, which is rarely more than 20,000 per game (although that has been trending gradually upward in recent years). But I'm not sure how much of that is affected by the attendance cap that stops revenue collection after a certain number is reached for all revenue-producing events within the stadium.

Currently, the Revs are averaging 18,600 per game, which is starting to approach the pre-pandemic high average of 22,175 in 2016. But that still looks lost in a 66,000-seat facility in which two-thirds of the seats are covered with tarpaulins. And in the scheme of things for MLS as a whole, the Revs are the 14th best draw among all 28 teams, right in the middle of the pack. Even if they bang out a 30,000-seat venue in Everett, they are still likely to reach no higher than fifth or sixth if current numbers can be used as a guide.

Kraft will make the ultimate decision.

I'm sure there is some concern about trading a relatively loyal fan base from south of Boston to the unknown potential of the metropolitan area, and whether losing the Revolution crowds will negatively impact commercial traffic within the Patriot Place development. But I don't have demographic breakdowns of either situation. I'm sure the Krafts do, and they wouldn't have been trying for 20 years to get a soccer-specific stadium built if they didn't think they could take the hit.

It should be noted, too, that this is not a precursor to eventually moving the Patriots away from Foxboro. If it was, the Krafts would not be investing $225 million (just about $100 million less than the original construction price) to renovate the north end zone of Gillette Stadium. It's a significant move because the stadium is now 20 years old -- by some estimates, about half of its anticipated lifespan -- and the improvements indicate an ongoing commitment to Foxboro as home base.

I'll admit, I'm ambivalent to the whole Revolution experience. I've attended one game by choice since 1996, the first game played within Gillette Stadium (then called CMGi Field) in 2002. I don't care one way or another personally -- although I do understand and respect the enjoyment that local fans have derived from their presence. The Revs have been extremely accommodating to local youth soccer organizations that benefitted from the stadium's close proximity. I'm not sure how many of them will follow the team to Everett without the ease of accessibility they enjoyed in the past.

But then again, this project could end up mirroring the vagaries of New England weather. Wait a minute, and it will change.

Still mustard color, but not Heinz.

** Speaking of stadiums, you may have noticed that the naming-rights merry-go-round has finally stopped in Pittsburgh, where Heinz Field is no more. The mustard-yellow seats and the big ketchup bottles will still be there, but the stadium at the confluence of those three rivers will now be known as "Acrisure Stadium," after a Michigan-based insurance company. The Kraft Heinz Company (the former name not belonging to the local Krafts) determined that the cost of extending its deal wasn't worth the exposure it would gain. After all, do we need to be reminded more of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese or Heinz Ketchup? 

So Acrisure will shell out $10 million a year for the next 15 years for its name on the stadium. Heinz, based in Pittsburgh, paid about $2.85 million a year over the 21 years it held naming rights. Fans of the Steelers and the Pitt Panthers, who call Acrisure Stadium home, are livid. Petitions are circulating and outrage is being voiced, but it will all be to no avail. 

Heinz will remain a prominent sponsor within the stadium, but again, money talks. Ketchup walks.

In case you're wondering, Procter & Gamble (owners of Gillette) will own the naming rights of Gillette Stadium at least until 2031, having extended the original deal 15 years beyond its original expiration date of 2016. The Kraft Group reportedly receives $8 million a year for those rights.

** And no, I have never called Gillette Stadium "The Razor." I always thought "Foamy Field" would have been a funnier nickname for the place. 

But on your next visit to training camp, cast a glance at the field house adjacent to the practice field and you will notice yet another new name for it. It's now called the "Socios.com Field House," after a relatively new international company that has created apps that promise users (presumably pro sports fans) will have some sort of special access to the teams they follow, as far as claiming their participation in polls will give then an actual say in a team's decisions for marketing or their "fan experience."

Yeah, right. All I know was that I went to their website and was immediately greeted by the image of Aaron Rodgers holding a cellphone. No, thanks.

** I may have mentioned this in passing some time ago, but it appears that local high school basketball will see a change this coming December.

The National Federation of High Schools, which dictates the rules of play to almost every state in the nation, has recommended the use of a basketball shot clock for all of its state associations, limiting possessions to 35 seconds. Massachusetts currently has a 30-second shot clock and would have to add five seconds to the possession under NFHS rules.

Get used to seeing 35 seconds.

In addition, states have the option to consider resets on offensive rebounds to a lesser amount of time, such as 20 seconds (as is done in the WNBA), so teams cannot use missed shots late in possessions to kill time. It's not clear if Massachusetts will go in that direction, although shorter resets to 15 seconds are now in effect for kick balls or intentionally fisted balls out of bounds with less than 15 seconds showing on the shot clock when play is stopped.

I'm not certain why 35 seconds is the time of choice; 30 seconds works just fine and keeps the game moving. But even more amazing to me is that at the close of last season, Massachusetts was just one of 11 states or districts that required high school shot clocks (the others being California, District of Columbia, Georgia, Iowa, Maryland, New York, North Dakota, Rhode Island, South Dakota and Washington). Idaho, Minnesota, Montana and Utah were also about to adopt shot clocks, and Florida, Nebraska and South Carolina have them in place on a limited basis.

Some traditionalists are screaming bloody murder about the change in the game or the cost of adding shot clocks, but given that Massachusetts adopted the clock in 1998-99, I can honestly say that I would never again want to see the game played without one. It's just better basketball -- and it does prepare athletes for playing at the next level.

** One last note of appreciation, as Mansfield High athletic director Mike Redding has turned over the reins of the department to his former assistant, both in football and the department, Tim Selmon. 

As expected, Redding was organized, efficient and very helpful during his tenure, which coincided with the very worst that the COVID-19 pandemic had to offer. And don't fret, Hornet football fans, because Mike's still the football coach. Selmon has been learning the ropes recently as an assistant AD, and I'm sure he'll keep things moving positively as Mansfield enters a new era in the Hockomock League's Davenport Division this fall.