Beacon Hill Inactivity Turns the Bay State Into Laxachusetts

Wiser heads than the hardworking staff undoubtedly already knew this, but it turns out the Massachusetts legislature has a batting average well south of Jackie Bradley Jr.’s.

Axios Sneak Peek crunched some numbers published in a new analysis from Quorum and came up with this helpful chart.

So, according to those numbers (and if our math is correct, no sure thing), the 200 Massachusetts lawmakers – 160 House, 40 Senate – introduced 6960 bills this year and passed 60 of them.

Batting average: .oo8.

For those of you keeping score at home, JBJ finished the season at .163.

Then again, thank God for Minnesota!

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Let the Wild ‘Team o’ Destiny’ Rumpus Begin!

Jonathan V. Last, the in-house hardball geek at The Bukwark, totally nailed it last week in his daily newsletter, The Triad.

When it comes to the World Series, there is nothing I love more than a Team of Destiny. You can win 106 games and be utterly dominant. You can have the biggest payroll and the best starting rotation.

But if you’re up against a Team of Destiny? Forget about it.

A Team of Destiny doesn’t appear very often. Most years, the best team wins the World Series and that’s that.

But watching a Team of Destiny emerge, out of nowhere? There is literally nothing more exciting in all of sports.

JVL’s pick?

The Boston Red Sox had a torrid first half of the season, then an All-Star collapse, and then a last-minute, gut-check run to sneak into the playoffs.

Then they beat the Yankees in the one-game Wildcard. Got one of the flukiest breaks you’ve ever seen in the 13th(!) inning of Game 3 against a superior Tampa team. And then they walked-off back-to-back games to advance to the ALCS.

Could they be a Team of Destiny? Stay tuned.

(As a special bonus, he included “this production on the Greatest Team of Destiny Evah.”)

After blowing a Game One that they arguably should have won. the Sox blew out the Houston Astros 9-5 yesterday, launching two – count ’em, two – grand slam homers.

 

 

As Boston Globe scribe Dan Shaughnessy notes in today’s edition of the stately local broadsheet, “Red Sox are unbeatable after a loss in the postseason under manager Alex Cora.”

But . . . lose one, win one?

If math is destiny, that won’t add up.

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Why the NYT Is a Great News Organization (Exhibit Umpteen)

Say what you will about the Grey Lady’s shortcomings (looking at you, Caliphate), but when she’s good, she’s very very good.

Case in point: Yesterday’s edition of The Daily, the wildly popular New York Times podcast.

When the Taliban took over Afghanistan in August, our producer started making calls.

With the help of colleagues, she contacted women in different cities and towns to find out how their lives had changed and what they were experiencing.

Then she heard from N, whose identity has been concealed for her safety.

This is the story of how one 18-year-old woman’s life has been transformed under Taliban rule.

The podcast – produced by the redoubtable Lynsea Garrison and Stella Tan – tells, in her own words, the heartbreaking story of a young Afghan woman whose family’s male members (father and two brothers) wanted to force her – as in beat her with pipes – into a marriage to a Talib in the hope that it would save their sorry asses.

The audio of her phone calls to Garrison is gut-wrenching, especially since N absolutely adored her father, who turned out to be the most craven of the lot.

Spoiler alert: N eventually did escape. Sadly, there are an infinite number of other Ns who will not be as lucky.

Or as dramatically profiled.

And that is a tragedy for which America is more than a little responsible.

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Remembering Tommy Ashton, Murdered 20 Years Ago on 9/11

My cousin Tommy Ashton was 21 years old on September 11, 2001, working his second day as an apprentice electrician at the World Trade Center. Tommy was on the 95th floor of the north tower when American Airlines Flight 11 flew into floors 93 through 99 at 8:46 AM.

From the great Portraits of Grief series in New York Times.

In the weeks after the terror attacks, the Ashton family confronted the tragedy head-on, as this October 3, 2001 Legacy.com post detailed.

Kathy Ashton is relieved her son was not alone when the World Trade Center collapsed. Though Thomas Ashton’s body has not been found, his family has chosen to accept that he died that day, rather than endure the continued agony of hope.

By Friday, after providing DNA samples, filing a missing person’s report and exhausting a two-week search for some sign of Thomas Ashton, his parents took on the dreaded task of applying for their 21-year-old son’s death certificate.

“We had to say, it’s over. And how do you say that about your child? How do you give up hope?” said his mother, Kathy. Ashton’s father, John, had frantically searched city hospitals after the terror attack on the World Trade Center. An uncle, who is a retired New York firefighter, and a cousin ran to the rubble that day and started digging.

Beyond that, “Ashton’s two sisters, Colleen, 25, and Mary, 18; and Jackie, his girlfriend of 6 years, gathered with his parents to try to come to grips with the reality that the introspective and athletic young man would not be found alive, if at all.” And so the family planned a “memorial wake” for October 6th.

According to published reports, out of an estimated 2974 people killed at the World Trade Center, fewer than 300 corpses were recovered.

Tommy’s was one of them – found three days before that planned memorial wake, which miraculously turned into a funeral service.

•  •  •  •  •  •

Everyone who suffers a tragic and untimely loss of somebody dear to them has to come to grips with it in their own way. Take, for instance, the McIlvaine family, profiled in this beautifully written piece by The Atlantic’s Jennifer Senior.

Bobby McIlvaine, 26, died in the World Trade Center collapse. In the aftermath of his death, his mother, Helen, bottled up her grief for years, turning her, in her own words, “cold, distant, strange.” Bob Sr. become a celebrated 9/11 truther, preaching the Gospel of the Inside Job. Younger brother Jeff had four children so that, he said, none of them would ever lose an only sibling the way he did.

Their story, as Senior recorded it, is alternately heart-wrenching and heartwarming.

As for the Ashton family, in 2003 John and Kathy dedicated the intersection of 60th St. and 47th Ave. in Woodside as Thomas J. Ashton Way in a ceremony that Ayala Ben-Yehuda documented for qns.com.

A young electrician who was killed during his second day on the job at the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001 was honored Saturday when the street in front of his family’s Woodside apartment was renamed in his honor.

Tommy Ashton, 21, was remembered on 47th Avenue in the Big Six Towers apartment complex by family and friends as an accomplished athlete and youth mentor at St. Sebastian’s Church and Archbishop Molloy High School, his alma maters.

“Tommy truly was a gift to us,” said his older sister, Colleen Ashton, recalling her brother’s honesty, sense of humor and devotion to family.

“He truly inspired me to be a better person,” she said.

Here’s the street map pinpointing Thomas J. Ashton Way.

And here’s the street sign.

Around the same time, Colleen and younger sister Mary established the Thomas Ashton Foundation, dedicate to “[providing] charitable donations in the name of Thomas Ashton to institutions, organizations, worthy causes and individuals, including contributions to philanthropic endeavors and to community enhancing activities.”

For 13 years Colleen and Mary hosted the annual Tommy Ashton 3-on-3 Basketball Tournament, which raised over $285,000 for worthy charitable organizations and local projects in Woodside.

Truly remarkable.

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

The Foundation is now gone, but Tommy’s memory lives on in numerous places. The Voices of September 11th Living Memorial Project has a page with about a dozen links to memorial sites dedicated to Tommy.

Branka Kristic, a family friend, posted a lovely tribute on the Hofstra Parents, Hofstra Pride website on the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

We Remember

Peace and early morning sunshine have descended on a usually very busy Calkins Hall green at Hofstra. For the past week, students and staff have have been planting hundreds of American flags in remembrance of the heroes of 9/11, in the shape of our great country. We all know where we were on that day, on that moment.We remember the loved ones lost and the heroes who helped in recovery.

I planted a flag to honor Tommy Ashton who died under the debris of the Twin Towers on 9/11/01. My daughter’s friend, this 21-year-old came to his second day on the job in the World Trade Center. I will always remember his youth, exuberance and the pride in his parents’ eyes when they watched him compete in swimming. It is an honor and pleasure to have known you, Tommy.

In a note to me back then, Branka said, “It was an honor and privilege to have known Tommy. He, Colleen and Mary swam on my daughter’s swim team, Flushing Flyers. Sweet young man, fast swimmer, leader, captain of his team.”

(I remember Tommy when he was just a tadpole, splashing around my parents’ swimming pool in Connecticut.)

Tommy’s memory also lives on at the 9/11 Memorial & Museum.

Rest in peace, Tommy. You are never forgotten.

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In Its Current Form, NBA = Not Basketball Actually

So last night I’m watching Game 2 of the NBA Finals between the Phoenix Suns (rising) and the Milwaukee Bucks (buckling) and thinking, what the hell has happened to professional basketball because it sure doesn’t look like the game I loved – geezer moment here – when I wandered the old Boston Garden in the Larry Bird era,

I’ll leave it to wiser heads to debate the impact of three-point-mania on the game. My beef is simpler: traveling violations are officially a thing of the past in the NBA.

The Euro-Step? More like a Eurail Pass – you can travel as far as you want at no additional cost.

Representative NBA-endorsed samples:

 

Many moons ago, when I played a lot of pickup ball around town, I found myself in a game on the outdoor courts at Brookline High with former Boston Celtic Gerald Henderson, who memorably stole the ball against the Los Angeles Lakers in Game 2 of the 1984 NBA Finals.

 

In our playground game, however, Henderson was not quite as adept. On a breakaway that would have won the game, he took four steps before dropping in a layup and I called out “suitcase” – the playground designation for traveling.

Henderson, of course, was incensed, but the other players backed me up. Henderson’s team wound up winning the game anyway, but I’ve always thought the greater victory was mine.

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Let Lord Stanley’s Wild Rumpus Conclude! (Pigs Crash Edition)

As you splendid readers might recall, about a week ago I hitched my hockey wagon to the Montreal Canadiens after decades of despising Le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge (you can review the sad surrender here).

Since then, the Canadiens have been thoroughly outplayed, outcoached, and outclassed by the defending Stanley Cup champion Tampa Bay Lightning.

Game 1 saw the Bolts totally manhandle Les Habitants in a 5-1 runaway.

Stay calm, I thought – Montreal got mugged by the Vegas Golden Knights in Game 1 of the previous round, but then came back to win the series 4-2.

Sure enough, the Canadiens dominated Game 2 until they had a couple of brain freezes at critical times and lost 3-1.

Game 3? Don’t even ask.

As for tonight’s Game 4, let’s hope the Lightning – a team I’ve found impressive although not all that appealing – can put us out of our misery.

And let me go back to hating the Canadiens for a whole new array of reasons.

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The Nude York Times (Instagram Secret Scroll Edition)

From our Grey Lady pearl-clutching desk

The hardblushing staff has long chronicled the growing willingness of the New York Times to bare all in the name of art – or commerce – in its advertising.

Representative samples include this ulp-skirt ad from Louis Vuitton six years ago . . .

and this Gagosian Gallery ad four years ago . . .

 

and this Christie’s ad the same year . . .

and this M.S. Rau Antiques ad two years ago.

That same auction house was back in the Times last year with an ad for “this vibrant, monumental Salon painting” by Julius LeBlanc Stewart.

Yesterday’s edition of the Times indicated that the editorial side also has skin in the game. From Page One of the ThursdayStyles section:

Here’s how Guy Trebay’s piece begins.

It is the parlor game of the pandemic. Among a certain segment of the scrolling classes, art and literary division, firing up their tablets and smartphones each morning has taken on aspects of a whodunit. Rifling through Instagram feeds, they register with half yawns the sponsored posts and thirst traps, the Throwback Thursday selfies and banal memes of cats. All the while they are waiting to happen upon the latest clue from a particular account.

It is that of rg_bunny1, an enigmatic and anonymous, unabashedly niche figure who, since at least the beginning of lockdown, has released into the daily Instagram slipstream a daily torrent of quirky, particular images that, taken together, speak to an aesthetic that delights, confounds, fixates and infuriates in equal measures and that belongs to who-knows-who.

It’s a long, frothy piece that takes up all of page 6, rambling from a roll call of rg_bunny1’s A-list followers (“the painters Tracey Emin and Jack Pierson; the New Yorker cartoonist Roz Chast; Luke Syson, the director of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, England; a smattering of European nobilities with surnames like Windisch-Graetz and Schönbrunn” and etc.) to a game of WhoIsIt, complete with the extensive efforts of an art world sleuth.

The identity of rg_bunny1 remains elusive, though. Mostly because he reveals only the bare minimum about himself.

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Let Lord Stanley’s Wild Rumpus Begin! (Pigs Fly Edition)

I grew up loving the New York Rangers. For most of the 1960s, Jimmy Schnell, his cousin Andy, and I would regularly take the subway to the old Madison Square Garden, buy $2 seats in the second balcony, and settle in to watch what was usually a loss by the Broadway Blueshirts.

(The thing about the second balcony was, we could only see about three-quarters of the action because from the fourth row back, the ice directly below was blocked out. It was supposed to be open seating in the second balcony, but a bunch of regulars greased the ushers frequently enough to reserve the first three rows for them.)

At the time, of course, the National Hockey League consisted of the Original Six – Rangers, Boston Bruins, Chicago Black Hawks, Detroit Red Wings, Montreal Canadiens, and Toronto Maple Leafs. The top four teams from the regular season got into the playoffs each year.

Most years that did not include the Rangers.

From the 1957 to 1967, the Rangers made the playoffs three times, never getting past the semifinal round. (After 1967 the NHL doubled in size and I drifted off to do seven years in Ohio, where the local ABC affiliate aired Cincinnati Reds spring training games rather than the Stanley Cup playoffs.)

During that same ten-year stretch, the Canadiens won six Stanley Cup Championships and were very likely the most arrogant athletes on the face of the earth. Under the circumstances, hating Le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge was mandatory.

Now that Montreal is in the Stanley Cup Finals for the first time in 28 years, though, I am in a quandary. I’ve watched a lot of hockey over the past month or so and the Canadiens have been by far the most appealing team.

Consider the road Les Habitants have taken to the Finals:

• First, they came back from a three games to one deficit to beat the heavily favored Toronto Maple Leafs

 

 

•  Then they swept the also-favored Winnipeg Jets

 

 

• Then they dispatched the stupendously unlikable Vegas Golden Knights

 

 

And now they face the reigning champion Tampa Bay Lightning, a team I haven’t paid much attention to and have nothing against.

But in no small part because Montreal never should have reached the Finals, I’m #TeamCanadiens.

Fly, pigs, fly!

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My Automotive Triumph at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris

The Weekend Wall Street Journal featured this snippet about a new book by Jeffrey Milstein, Paris: From the Air, described by its publisher Rizzoli as “combining daring aerial photography with the restricted airspace over Paris [to provide] both breathtaking and unparalleled views.”

That image brought back the Paris Rotary Rally the Missus and I conducted years ago as we hustled to return a rental car to avoid an extra day’s financial charge.

On that particular day we started in the Loire Valley, stopped off in Chartres to check out the Cathedral, then booked it to Paris, got there right around rush hour, and soon hit the mother of all rotaries at Place de la Concorde.

Immédiatement I decided to go Full Boston by busting into the Darwinian maze of traffic (hey – that’s why you take the collision on a rental car, right?), thereby setting off a cacophony of car horns that was très formidable.

Tout suite I was barreling up the Champs-Élysées toward the Arc de Triomphe (the mother-in-law of all rotaries).

Flush with collision insurance, I adopted the same approach as before, muscling my way into the automotive scrum to the audible displeasure of les habitants.

Quel dommage.

And then – miraculeusement – we were at the car rental place with five minutes to spare.

I never drove in Paris again.

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Dear Naomi Osaka, Please See Rafael Nadal Re: Mental Health

Women’s tennis alpha gal Naomi Osaka made news this week by announcing that she would not be talking to the press during the French Open.

Tennis star Naomi Osaka says she is not going to speak to the media during the upcoming French Open.

The world’s highest-earning female athlete wrote in a Twitter post Wednesday that she hopes the “considerable amount that I get fined for this will go towards a mental health charity.” . . .

“I’ve often felt that people have no regard for athletes mental health and this very true whenever I see a press conference or partake in one,” wrote Osaka, who was selected as the AP Female Athlete of the Year in 2020. “We’re often sat there and asked questions that we’ve been asked multiple times before or asked questions that bring doubt into our minds and I’m just not going to subject myself to people that doubt me.”

Osaka added: “I’ve watched many clips of athletes breaking down after a loss in the press room and I know you have as well. I believe that whole situation is kicking a person while they’re down and I don’t understand the reasoning behind it.”

Here’s one rationale, via Rafael Nadal in the New York Times.

“As sports people, we need to be ready to accept the questions and try to produce an answer, no?” Nadal said. “I understand her, but in the other hand, for me, without the press, without the people who normally are traveling, who are writing the news and achievements that we are having around the world, probably we will not be the athletes that we are today. We aren’t going to have the recognition that we have around the world, and we will not be that popular, no?”

For most of his career, Nadal has been the most emotionally honest – and vulnerable – athlete in recent memory, remarkably willing to wrestle with his insecurities in public. Here, from a 2011 Wall Street Journal piece, is a typical example.

Nadal said he would need time to regain the confidence, and the indomitable status, he had in 2010, when he became the first man since Rod Laver in 1969 to win the French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open in the same season. He said that even if he wins the U.S. Open, he won’t feel in perfect mental condition until next year.

“I’m going to go and practice with the right attitude,” he said. “And hopefully next January I will be there competing at a little bit higher level than this year.”

At an especially low point in 2015, after losing in the third round of the Miami Open to fellow Spaniard Fernando Verdasco, Nadal said,  “The thing is the question of being enough relaxed to play well on court. A month and a half ago I didn’t have the game. My game has improved but … I am still playing with too much nerves for a lot of moments, important moments, still a little anxious on those moments.”

Several months later Nadal suffered a second-round loss to No. 102-ranked qualifier Dustin Brown at Wimbledon. A report in World Tennis noted how far Nadal had fallen and how open he had been about it.

With his ranking now set to drop well out of the top 10, the 29-year-old Nadal is mired by an extreme lack of confidence that has haunted him all season – losing at Roland Garros for only the second time in a decade and not winning a singles title on his beloved European clay. The 14-time major singles champion has been candid in press conferences about this lack of confidence, using surprisingly harsh negative language to describe the state of his game. Chris Evert remarked on ESPN prior to Nadal’s match with Brown that she had “never heard of a top player talk so much about a lack of confidence.”

Nadal has recovered enough confidence since then to win six more majors, an Olympic gold medal, and a Davis Cup title.

Naomi Osaka says she doesn’t want to subject herself to people who doubt her.

Rafael Nadal, by contrast, has shown that dealing with the press doesn’t always damage a player’s mental health. In some cases, it might even be therapeutic.

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