The Bowdoin Orient

   Even for the most rabid fan, it’s incredibly difficult to find time at Bowdoin to watch professional sports. In high school, I ate my bagel at the breakfast table to the background sounds of Scott Van Pelt and John Anderson on SportsCenter. At Bowdoin, breakfast often involves cramming for whatever lecture, test, or paper may fall on that day. I get my three-minute daily sports update from the Bleacher Report app on my way to class. Despite my irrational and unconditional love for the Boston Red Sox, I haven’t sat down and watched an entire Sox game all year. For many Bowdoin students, there is only one justification for putting off homework and other commitments to watch sports: a three-hour football window on Sundays in the fall. 

And yet, despite the fact that the heat is still on in the dorms and the temperature still fluctuates by thirty degrees outside, summer is just weeks away. Emerging from the eight-month grind of exams and papers, many students will use their newfound freedom to reacquaint themselves with their favorite professional sports. However, it’s depressing to me that so few will turn to the quintessential game of summer. Baseball, our “national pastime,” seems to be past its time for a large portion of our generation.

Some will prefer to watch the NHL and NBA playoffs, which absurdly extend until the end of June, but at least are exciting and worth watching. Even after these playoffs end, however, many will prefer to turn on the NFL Network and listen to endless Jameis Winston vs. Marcus Mariota comparisons and coverage of Johnny Manziel’s latest antics. Despite the NFL’s best efforts to consume the year-round attention of the American sports fan, summer still belongs to baseball—for our parents. The average age of the 2012 World Series audience was 53 years, eight years higher than that of the Super Bowl and 12 years higher than the NBA Finals.

Younger viewers don’t have the interest or the patience to sit down and watch a ball game. Yes, baseball is a slow game, and the MLB should continue to step up its efforts to reduce the time between pitches. But there are also thirty seconds between every play in football, and a whistle blown every thirty seconds in a basketball game. And what’s the rush? Baseball epitomizes those wonderfully lazy, laidback summer nights. Grab a cold drink, open a bag of cracker jacks, and smell the fresh cut grass.

But for many in the smartphone generation, baseball is like Blockbuster in a Netflix world. Where are the bone-crushing tackles and the slam dunks? Why spend three hours watching a game when the only exciting thing that could happen is the occasional home run?

In my final words as a columnist for the Orient, I want to implore my fellow sports fans out there to give baseball another chance. First, enjoy the nuance of the sport. Every at-bat is a battle, every pitch a strategic calculation. The ending is unpredictable: the battle could end in the catcher’s glove, the center field bleachers, or anywhere in between. And nothing in sports compares to the suspense of a tie game in bottom of the ninth, when the outcome hinges on every pitch. That’s the beauty of this clock-less sport: baseball ends on its own terms. 

Second, there’s no other sport that is so elegantly quantifiable. Every pitch becomes infinitely more interesting when you know the stats, because the numbers give every player a unique story. When Xander Bogaerts hit under .150 in two different months last year, I watched every pitch anxiously to see if he would break his slump. Whenever David Ortiz steps to the plate this year, he can inch closer to that hallowed 500 home run barrier (only 30 more to go). And if Clay Buchholz is on the hill, there are two equally likely outcomes: a brilliant shutout, or a nine run shellacking.  

Finally, numbers aside, baseball is a beautiful game: the precision of a well-placed slider, the grace of a diving catch, and the raw power of a 400-foot home run. There’s something amazing to see in every moment of a baseball game. All you have to do is slow down, turn off your phone, and lose yourself in the sights and sounds of the ballpark. That’s what summer is for. 

Seven weeks ago, I made the optimistic and whimsical prediction in my column that the Celtics were poised for a playoff run. At that point, the Celtics were fighting with five other teams for two playoff spots, and it seemed just as likely they would fall out of the pack as surge to the top.

In the real world, how often does a team that trades away its two best players mid-season (Rajon Rondo and Jeff Green) make the playoffs? How many coaches could manage 11 mid-season trades and 40 different players on the roster, and still have his team sniffing at a .500 record?

Welcome to the magical Land of Oz, where the wizard Brad Stevens has led the Celtics down the Yellow Brick Road to a seven seed in the Eastern Conference Playoffs. Coach Stevens doesn’t deserve all the credit, however. 

The newest sparkplug of the Celtics, Isaiah Thomas, has been a clutch force for the C’s during this playoff run, winning Eastern Conference Player of the Week honors last week. 

And the career revival of former No. 2 draft pick Evan Turner, who has three triple doubles this season, cannot be overlooked. And Avery Bradley, the only Celtic left who played with the great shooter Ray Allen, has carried the Celtics in a number of games with his own shooting touch. 

A casual NBA fan might at least know the names of Thomas, Turner and Bradley. But Jae Crowder, Jonas Jerebko and Gigi Datome? Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. These players, who had become accustomed to the bench on other teams, are now key contributors for Brad Stevens’ motley crew. 

Crowder hit a game-winning shot for the Celtics Tuesday night, and serves as the Celtics’ unofficial, enthusiastic mouthpiece on Twitter. (Seriously, give @CJC9BOSS a follow.) Jerebko and Datome were acquired from the Detroit Pistons in February, and one Pistons fan that I know actually cracked up laughing when he saw them playing key minutes for the Celtics. And yet, they have the two highest three-point shooting percentages on the team.

Since February 2, the Celtics have the second-best record in the Eastern Conference at 23-12. This unfathomable success has earned them a date in the playoffs with the Wicked Witch of the Midwest, and the only team to amass a better record during the last two months—the Cleveland Cavaliers. 

The last time the Celtics played Cleveland in the playoffs, LeBron James hadn’t yet made his “decision” to go to Miami, Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce were still forces to be reckoned with and James Young, a Celtics rookie this season, was only 14 years old. The veteran Celtics knocked out the top-seeded Cavs, LeBron ran away to Miami, and Cleveland basketball fell into a dismal recession.

This season, James flew back in on his broomstick to save Cleveland from irrelevancy. After a bumpy start, he has clicked with fellow all-stars Kevin Love and Kyrie Irving, and many believe this new “big three” to be unstoppable. 

The Celtics may be able to steal a game or two in a best-of-seven series against the Cavs, but any rational person would scoff at the notion that Jonas Jerebko and company could topple King James. 

This is like the point in the Wizard of Oz where Toto notices the Great Oz behind the curtain. Despite his best intentions, Stevens’ illusionistic magic can only carry the Celtics so far, right?

But like the real Oz, Stevens has convinced the Celtics that they have the brains, courage and heart to challenge the greatest player on earth. As a point guard, Turner has run the offense with vision and knowledge that nobody knew he had, like the Scarecrow who just got his diploma. With his unwavering passion, Jae Crowder has been the heart and soul of the Celtics, just like the Tin Man. And while fearless Isaiah Thomas may never have been a Cowardly Lion, he has developed the courage to take big shots down the stretch, and he won’t hesitate to drive right at James or Love.

No, the Celtics won’t win this series. Their glaring lack of rim protection will be their downfall, and James and/or Love will take over when they need to. But this scrappy Celtics team may push the Cavs to six or seven games. Unlike the Wizard of Oz, Stevens isn’t taking off in a hot air balloon. The Celtics will be a force again next year. And with a little free agent luck, Kawhi Leonard or Marc Gasol could come walking down that Yellow Brick Road. 

If I were to list the people I’ve never met who have contributed the most joy to my life, David Ortiz would be at the top. His postseason heroics embody the magical unpredictability of sports, and he is largely the reason for my unconditional and irrational love for the Boston Red Sox. I read Dan Shaughnessy’s Curse of the Bambino before the 2004 season, and after the Yankees took a 3-0 series lead in the 2004 ALCS, my 11-year-old self seriously questioned his depressing loyalty to the Sox. Then Ortiz, Big Papi, lifted the Sox with walk-off hits in Game 4 and 5. He swatted the Curse of the Bambino out of Fenway, and set the Sox on the path to their first World Series in 86 years. 

Nine years later in the 2013 ALCS, Ortiz revived a sluggish Sox offense with an eighth inning grand-slam into the bullpen, famously depicted in a photo of bullpen cop Steve Horgan cheering and Torii Hunter doing a faceplant over the wall. Mr. Clutch once again brought happiness to Boston with one powerful, magical swing of his bat.

And yet, questions about the source of his power will always overshadow the magic in Big Papi’s career. As much as I want to believe that my childhood hero is innocent, David Ortiz cheated, failing a drug test in 2003. He adamantly maintains that he was misled regarding the legality of the over-the-counter drugs that he took. 

In a recent article for The Player’s Tribune, Derek Jeter’s website that features first-person stories by athletes, Ortiz asserts with gusto, “I’m no bullshitter. I never knowingly took any steroids.” Sorry Papi, but I’m calling BS on that one. 

Ortiz asserts that his success comes solely from his meticulous preparation, “the hours and hours and hours of work.” I’m not buying the argument that someone so dedicated to self-improvement could be blissfully unaware of the supplements that he put into his body. If Manny Ramirez, the goofiest space cadet ever to play in a Red Sox uniform, knew that he was taking steroids (as he has since admitted), it’s hard to believe Ortiz’ plea of ignorance.

Ortiz wrote the article to defend his case for the Hall of Fame. On this subject, he is on far more solid ground. On the basis of performance alone, Ortiz is a first- or second-ballot Hall of Famer. He will break the 500 home run barrier sometime in the next two seasons. He is the best designated hitter of all time and one of the best postseason hitters ever, with a clutch gene that helped turn the Red Sox franchise from a lovable loser to a postseason powerhouse. 

And after a brief slump in 2009, the 39-year-old has staved off the typical decline of aging power hitters, with his 35 homers ranking sixth in the majors last season. Given the extensive testing that players undergo in the post-steroid era, it is fair to presume that Ortiz has continued his success cleanly. He hasn’t failed a test since that one in 2003.

Steroid allegations have kept a number of Hall of Fame worthy players out of Cooperstown. Objectively speaking, even unlikeable cheaters like Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens deserve a spot in the Hall based on their pre-steroid exploits. And yet, they are remembered for artificially extending their careers with illegal drugs at the height of the steroid era. 

Guys like Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro, who would have made the Hall 20 years ago because they broke 500 home run barrier, may never make it because their careers became defined by steroid use.

Ortiz’s career narrative is different. While steroids may have helped revive his fledgling career in 2003, he continued his success deep into the post-steroid era. Objectively, he should be in, as should Clemens and Bonds. But unlike Clemens and Bonds, he has a chance to win over the subjective votes of the writers. By the time he reaches Hall of Fame eligibility six or seven years from now, baseball writers will be less jaded by the confusing and disheartening era of constant steroid allegations.

But to ensure that he wins the hearts and minds of the writers, Ortiz should keep his mouth shut and stop making an unconvincing case for his innocence. He should put the allegations behind him and let his game speak for itself. Antagonizing skeptical writers like the Boston Globe’s Dan Shaughnessy, whom Ortiz affectionately refers to in his article as “the reporter with the red jheri curl,” won’t help his case. 

Unfortunately, the same swagger that has made Ortiz great on the field carries over into his off-the-field comments. He may have won the fans over years ago, but he still needs to win over the Cooperstown moral police, the Baseball Writers Association of America. 

Don’t look now, but the Celtics are about to matter again. The fourth wheel of the Boston sports world made a splash at last week’s trade deadline, acquiring a dynamic scorer with a famous name: Isaiah Thomas. No, he’s not related to Isiah Thomas, the Pistons Hall of Fame point guard and Boston’s Public Enemy #1 in the late 80s. He shares the name (with different spelling) because his father lost a bet in the 1989 NBA Finals. And no, he may not project as a future Hall of Famer. But young Isaiah gives the Celtics something they haven’t had since Pierce and KG left town: fire. 

Thomas has a Rudy-esque underdog story. At 5’ 9”, he stands almost a foot shorter than the average NBA player. As a result, scouts doubted his NBA potential despite a stellar college career at the University of Washington. He was the final pick of the 2011 draft, earning him the title of “Mr. Irrelevant” for that draft. But he fought his way into relevancy in a hurry with the Sacramento Kings, making the NBA All-Rookie 2nd Team in 2012 and being one of 19 players in the league to eclipse 20 points per game in 2014 (20.3). The Phoenix Suns signed Thomas in the offseason to a four-year, $27 million contract, on the lower end for a 20-point scorer, and he played third fiddle behind two other point guards, Eric Bledsoe and Goran Dragic. The chip on his shoulder just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

Haters continue to point to his height or mediocre defense and say that he has the ceiling of a borderline all-star. But with the Celtics, Isaiah has a chance to break through into stardom. He becomes the best pure scorer in a three-guard rotation with Avery Bradley and Marcus Smart. He demonstrated that on Monday night, when he scored 21 points and hit two clutch shots down the stretch to help the Celtics beat his former team. The night before, Thomas also scored 21 in an overtime loss to the Lakers.

But his immediate impact on this team extends beyond the box score. He gives the Celtics somebody that can drive, as he fearlesslytakes the ball to the hoop against forwards that tower over him. And most importantly, the man visibly wants to win. On Monday, Isaiah stared down the Suns bench after hitting a big shot. His competitiveness even got him ejected on Sunday night, when he slammed the ball into the ground after a bad call and received his second technical foul. Foolish and a little immature? Sure. But he brings passion to a Celtics team that has looked like it has just been going through the motions for the last two years. Since the departure of Pierce and Garnett, the best players on the Celtics have been Rajon Rondo and Jeff Green. Rondo looked bored and out-to-lunch in his last few months with the Celtics, and Green was a shining model of Greek stoicism on the floor—no fun or emotion whatsoever. Thomas’ intensity should be infectious on this young team, and will help unleash the ultra-competitive spirit of rookie Marcus Smart.

For the fans, Isaiah gives us a reason to watch the Celtics again. With his diminutive size and underdog spirit, he will become a fan favoritejust like Nate Robinson was a few seasons ago. Will he ever be as loved in Boston as the previous Isiah was hated? That depends on whether he can deliver an eighteenth championship banner to the TD Garden rafters. For this season, he gives the Celtics a legitimate shot to grab the eighth and final playoff spot in the Eastern Conference, which would be a huge accomplishment for a team ranked 19th out of 30 in ESPN’s preseason power rankings. But, the Celtics are still one big piece away from title contention.

They need a center that can protect the rim and be a post presence on the offensive and defensive ends. We know the Celtics can score; they rank fifth in the East in points per game, and Thomas will only bolster that ranking. But they still rank dead last in points allowed per game in the East. Kelly Olynyk and Jared Sullinger lack the toughness and height, respectively, to be the defensive presence that they need in the post.

Maybe Danny Ainge will work some magic in free agency and acquire a big man like Marc Gasol or LaMarcus Aldridge. But for now, let’enjoy the Celtics’ return to relevancy in the NBA and in the Boston sports world. Isaiah is bringing the fire back to the Garden, and this scrappy, high-scoring team may shock some folks come playoff time.

It’s a depressing time of year for anyone living in New England, especially during this cold and absurdly snowy winter. For sports fans, that depression is compounded by the post-Super Bowl, pre-March Madness malaise. 

The NBA and NHL are in the middle of their seasons, but at the moment they lack an intensity that won’t re-emerge until the April playoffs. Fortunately, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, symbolized by the magic truck departing Snowpocalyptic Boston for that famous Fort in Florida. 

On Thursday, the Red Sox equipment truck departed from Fenway Park for Fort Myers, Florida, where the first Sox players are scheduled to report on February 20 for spring training. On March 3, for the first time since late September, the men in red and white (and occasionally blue) will take the field. Yes, these will only be exhibition games, but with Papi-sized piles of snow still on the ground, there is something cathartic about watching the Red Sox play in short sleeves on fresh-cut grass. 

Punxsutawney Phil may have seen his shadow and predicted six more weeks of winter, but with spring training comes a whiff of summer in February.

Apart from the respite from the winter doldrums, why is it worth getting excited about the Red Sox? They were a painful lot to watch last season, impressively plummeting from the World Series Champion pedestal to the cellar of the AL East. They traded their ace pitcher Jon Lester to Oakland in July, then allowed the Chicago Cubs to outbid them in free agency for Lester’s future services. 

David Ortiz, the cornerstone of the lineup for over a decade, is 39 and can only defy nature for so long. And Xander Bogaerts, the exciting young shortstop who was heralded as the second coming of Nomar Garciaparra, struggled with inconsistency all last season. Should we just start counting down the days until Patriots training camp? 

Nope. Put away the Gronk jersey for a few months, and get pumped for the extraordinary uncertainty and hope surrounding the 2015 Red Sox. There are so many unknowns, so many unproven entities, that the Red Sox could win anywhere between 60 and 100 games this season. Their revamped pitching rotation is full of young arms with something to prove. 

The Sox picked up two former all-stars coming off of mediocre 2014 seasons (Wade Miley and Justin Masterson) and a mid-rotation starter from Detroit (Rick Porcello) who can finally crawl out from under the shadows of Justin Verlander and Max Scherzer. The elder statesman on the staff and master of inconsistency, Clay Buchholz, could pitch his way into Cy Young contention or out of the rotation. The Sox management chose not to shell out big money for another ace pitcher, gambling that one of these average starters will emerge as a star. 

If the Red Sox disabled list stays relatively short this summer, this team will score a ton of runs. Newly reacquired Hanley Ramirez is a force to be reckoned with when healthy, as he hit .342 with 20 home runs in half a season in 2013. Former MVP Dustin Pedroia claims to be injury-free for the first time in years, but given how much tenacity he plays with, it is unlikely that he will stay completely out of the training room. David Ortiz is only 34 homers short of 500 and will do everything he can to stay on the field, but again, he’s 39.

Then there are the kids who were still in diapers when Ortiz signed his first professional contract. Twenty-two-year-old Mookie Betts showed flashes last season of being the leadoff man of the future, and after an abysmal summer, Bogaerts ended 2014 on a high note with a .313 average in September. 

Rusney Castillo is the biggest question mark. Signed at the end of last season, the Cuban outfielder has a mountain of hype on his shoulders, but it remains to be seen how he will carry that burden. He epitomizes the 2015 box-of-chocolates Red Sox—as Forrest Gump would say, “you never know what you’re gonna get.”

In the middle of February, National Chocolate Lovers Month, I’m embracing the unpredictability of the 2015 Red Sox. If the 2013 Sox unexpectedly went from worst to first in the AL East, why can’t the 2015 squad? Spring training is all about hope. It’s about the promise of Big Papi homers flying through the warm summer air, and Dustin Pedroia diving across the spongy grass to make an insane catch. And it’s about the promise of October baseball returning to Boston in 2015.   

In his writings about the importance of morality in American society, Tocqueville never once mentioned football air pressure. And yet, over the past week, I have endured a barrage of moral questions about my allegiance to the New England Patriots. Casual and apathetic football observers ask how I can justify my support for a team of cheaters. While I reflexively defend the team that I’ve supported since I could hold a football, I can’t help but reflect upon my loyalties.

For those that have avoided the excessive coverage of this football scandal and followed the real news over the past week, here’s what happened: The Patriots thrashed the Indianapolis Colts in the AFC Championship Game, 45-7, to advance to the Super Bowl. 

Immediately after the game, rumors started to swirl that the footballs the Patriots used were illegally deflated, making the balls easier to throw in the cold and rain. The NFL promptly launched an investigation into the matter, which has yet to yield any formal accusations of wrongdoing. 

The Patriots have unequivocally denied intentionally deflating the balls. Coach Bill Belichick went so far as to give a physics lesson about the way in which the cold weather may have caused the balls to deflate naturally in a press conference.

Meanwhile, Patriot-haters have had a field day. Quarterback Tom Brady received more scrutiny at his press conference than President Obama. Players and coaches around the league have condemned the Patriots organization. Former Panthers General Manager Marty Hurney even claimed that the Patriots have “a culture of cheating.” 

Unfortunately, such accusations are not completely unfounded. Before Deflategate, there was the Spygate scandal in 2007 in which the Patriots were caught illegally videotaping the signals used by opposing coaches. In the second of three Super Bowl victories, the Patriots defeated Hurney’s Panthers in 2004. It’s reasonable for Hurney to believe that this victory was tainted by foul play, although there is no evidence to prove it.

Some Patriots fans argue that these violations are not that big of a deal. They’ll say that everyone bends the rules, and the Patriots have just been caught because success breeds greater scrutiny from jealous opponents. Maybe so, but that still doesn’t diminish my disappointment. When is “it’s OK because everybody’s doing it” ever an acceptable explanation for anything?Sports are supposed to be especially immune from the corruption and moral ambiguity that exists in other aspects of life. Off-the-field issues aside, football ought to exist in a neat world of absolutes on the field: in bounds or out of bounds, win or lose. This simplification, combined with the unpredictability of the game, creates a wonderful escape for millions of fans. 

If your team wins, you shouldn’t have to question how they did it or whether you picked the good guys. But that’s exactly what I will do if the Patriots beat the Seahawks in the Super Bowl on Sunday.

And yet, I don’t have a choice but to hope and believe that they’re innocent. I was born and raised a New England Patriots fan, and I will never relinquish that part of my identity. Some may question how I could possibly support a team that frequently flirts with the line of legality. How could I defend Bill Belichick who, in the eyes of many Americans, bears a striking resemblance to the evil Emperor Palpatine from Star Wars?

Here’s the thing: my dedication to this franchise is deeper than a coach, or a Hall-of-Fame quarterback, or the air pressure of a few footballs in one playoff blowout. 

It’s inextricably tied to my pride for my hometown and this wonderful region that the Pilgrims stumbled into. It’s connected to the bond that I share with my dad and brother and grandfather, as we share in the joys and agonies that come with surrendering a piece of ourselves to this team that we have no control over. 

It’s because of this emotional investment that I feel so much disappointment in my team when they (allegedly) cross the line. But, I can criticize the guilty personnel without giving up on the team and all that they represent in my life. Just as healthy patriotism requires a scrutiny of elected officials, so does football fanhood. 

If you cheated, shame on you Mr. Belichick. But I will continue to root for the players that work to bring the Super Bowl back to New England, and I will continue to support this symbol of home and family. That seems like the moral thing to do. 

As the Patriots continue to tally off impressive wins, the Bruins maintain their spot in the playoff picture. The Red Sox aggressively pursue free agent Jon Lester and the Celtics have been playing—is anybody even watching anymore? Boston’s least relevant team has stumbled out of the gate thus far and looks poised for another lackluster campaign.     

With a 4-6 record at this early stage of the season, the Celtics are a half game out of the playoffs in the pathetically weak eastern conference. Celtics fans are facing a befuddling predicament with their mediocre rebuilding team: root for the Celtics to sneak into the playoffs with a low seed, or hope that they deliberately underperform  and get a high draft pick?

It should be painful for any dedicated fan to wish ill for his or her team—ask a fan of the blatantly tanking 0-11 Philadelphia 76ers, if there are any fans left. But in the drastically unequal NBA, in which acquiring one or two of the league’s few superstars can alter the fate of a franchise, tanking can be an effective strategy. 

The teams that finish with the worst record have the highest chance of getting a top draft pick through the NBA draft lottery. Some players have emerged from the draft and immediately turned teams around, such as Kevin Durant on the Sonics/Thunder and Lebron James on the Cavaliers (his first time).

However, because the lottery system only gives the worst team a 25% percent chance at the top pick, even the most talented tankers could miss out on their coveted draft prospects. Again, ask the 76ers, who ended up with the 3rd pick last year despite their best efforts to be horrible. Furthermore, there are very few “sure thing” prospects like Durant and Lebron and many players selected later in the draft turn out to have better careers. ESPN’s Bill Simmons re-ranked the players of the 2011 draft based on their first three years in the NBA, and these are the original draft positions of his top five: 15, 1, 11, 38, 22.

The moral of the story: the draft is an utter toss-up. Thus, the Celtics should pursue other rebuilding options with gusto. Besides, there’s no chance they out-tank the 76ers, who lost by 53 points last Thursday. 

Some argue that the Celtics would have a better chance in the draft lottery if they traded Rajon Rondo, the mercurial-star point guard who may leave this summer in free agency anyway. But with a solid young core of Avery Bradley, Jared Sullinger and Marcus Smart, I’m not convinced the Celtics would finish any worse than they did last year when they got the No. 6 pick in the draft. Trading Rondo, who is almost averaging a triple double this season, will only delay the rebuilding process.

Instead, the Celtics should make every effort to resign Rondo, as the assist-machine can entice talented 2015 free agents like LaMarcus Aldridge and Marc Gasol. A playoff appearance this season, even a 7 or 8 seed, would also make Boston a more appealing free agent destination. Free agency in the NBA is an unfair system. The warm weather beaches of Miami and LA and the big-city lights of Chicago and New York are inherently more alluring for players than snow-covered mid-size cities like Minneapolis or Milwaukee. But unlike other relatively small, cold weather cities, Boston has tradition on its side. 

The Celtics are the most celebrated team in NBA history, with 17 championships and a legion of hall of famers that includes Bill Russell and Larry Bird. Who wouldn’t want the opportunity to add their name to this list and their number to the crowded TD Garden rafters?

Thus, Celtics fans do not have to choose between rooting for an 8-seed this year and hoping for a championship in three years. There’s no point in tanking for the draft, as they could just as easily get a star with the No. 15 pick as the No. 1 pick–reigning NBA Finals MVP Kawhi Leonard was the No. 15 pick in 2011. With a playoff run this year, Rondo would be more likely to resign, other free agents would be more tempted to join him and the young Celtics players would gain some crucial playoff experience. 

Let the 76ers try their luck in the draft—I’d rather see the Celtics take on Lebron and the heavily favored Cavaliers in the playoffs.

Open up a Boston sports page, turn a dial to sports talk radio, or flip on ESPN and you will likely hear the same triumphant message: “The Patriots are the best team in the NFL, destined for the Super Bowl.” 

The Boston Globe’s Dan Shaughnessy wrote on Monday that “the road to Super Bowl XLIX” would go through Foxboro. ESPN, NFL.com and Bleacher Report all moved the Patriots to the top of their hallowed Power Rankings.

Yes, the Patriots beat the Broncos handily on Sunday by a score of 43-21. But take it easy, fellow Pats fans—it’s only November. Last year, the Patriots completed an amazing 24-point comeback against the Broncos in November, only to lose in the AFC Championship Game two months later. Fans are pointing to Tom Brady’s 11-5 overall head-to-head record against Peyton Manning. But in the playoffs, it’s an even 2-2 split. Don’t book tickets to Arizona for the Super Bowl just yet.

One undeniably positive takeaway from Sunday’s game: Rob Gronkowski is back to full strength. A 6-6, 265-pound tight end with the ability to run a 4.6 40-yard dash, Gronk is nearly impossible to stop when healthy. However, the Pats cannot take Gronk’s health for granted, as he has been unable to play at full strength in the past three postseasons. In order to beat the Broncos again in January, the Patriots will need the big fella healthy.

Gronk is not the only injury concern for the Pats. Linebacker Jerod Mayo, a captain and key piece of the run defense, is out for the year. Chandler Jones, the Pats’ best pass rusher, is battling a hip injury and has missed the past two games.

Starting running back Stevan Ridley is also gone for the year, limiting the Patriots’ ability to run the ball, making the pats emphasise, and allowing opponents to focus on, the passing game. 

Luckily, the Patriots have Brady at the helm of the offense, but astute defensive coordinators have found ways to shut down Brady and the one-dimensional Pats offense in recent years (see Super Bowls XLII and XLVI).

Furthermore, one cannot forget that a mere five weeks ago, pundits around the world were proclaiming the end of Tom Brady and the Patriots, after the Chiefs thrashed them 41-14. Tom Brady has made those experts look foolish in the past five games, leading the team to five straight wins while tossing 18 touchdowns and just one interception. Nevertheless, those shaky early season performances demonstrated the flaws in the Pats roster.

The Patriots’ defense ranks 23rd in the NFL in rushing yards allowed per game with 120, and they have conceded over 150 yards in two of three games since losing Jerod Mayo. The offensive line has improved, allowing only five sacks in the last five games after conceding nine in the first four games. 

However, this is still a relatively unproven unit, finding its identity after the preseason trade of captain Logan Mankins and retirement of long-time coach Dante Scarnecchia. The Patriots will be tested in their final seven games by five of the top ten pass-rushing defenses in the NFL: Buffalo, Miami, Detroit, Indianapolis and the Jets. Furthermore, they will face legitimate playoff contenders in six of those seven games, making for a bumpy road to January.  

Sports fans, especially Boston fans, are notoriously fickle. Five weeks after Doomsday declarations about the demise of the Brady Era, they are ready to polish the Duck Boats for a Post-Super Bowl parade. 

I’m cautiously optimistic that a Super Bowl could be in this team’s future, especially if Gronk and Brady stay healthy and the offensive line continues to improve. However, good or great Patriots teams have fallen short in their last eight playoff appearances. The 2007 season, in which the Pats took an 18-0 record into the Super Bowl and lost, illustrated that regular season greatness is irrelevant in January and February. It takes a rare combination of talent, luck, and character to win a Super Bowl in the wildly unpredictable NFL. Power Rankings are fun, but Pats fans should stay focused on the real prize. 

The last time that World Series baseball graced the field of Kansas City’s Kauffman Stadium, Arnold Schwarzenegger was dominating the box office and a 22-year-old named Whitney Houston had just landed her first No. 1 single. Ronald Reagan was finishing the first year of his second term, and Mikhail Gorbachev was just begginning his time at the helm of the Soviet Union.

After 29 years of saying, “wait ‘til next year,” the Royals are back in the World Series. As a Red Sox fan, I’m part of a fan base that historically has known that phrase all too well. After three World Series titles in the past decade, it’s easy to forget that Red Sox fans spent 86 years waiting for the next year. 

This October marks the tenth anniversary of ending that 86-year drought. Behind Big Papi’s clutch hitting, Dave Roberts’ steal and Curt Schilling’s bloody sock, the Red Sox pulled off that magic comeback against the Yankees in the ALCS and swept the Cardinals in the World Series to break the Curse of the Bambino. Sox fans could forget about Aaron Boone, Bill Buckner, Bucky Dent and the Great Bambino himself. “Next year” finally became this year.

Granted, I was too young to remember any of those names besides Boone, but I was still part of a nation of fans who collectively exhaled for the first time since 1918. 

And despite the recent success of the Red Sox, we have an obligation as Sox fans to remember our tortured past and appreciate every moment of triumph, because the next 86-year drought may have already started. Furthermore, we should identify with those that are still burdened by the weight of anticipation.

Twentynine years is far fewer than 86, but it has been a brutal 29 years for the Royals faithful. The Royals hadn’t made the playoffs since that 1985 season, and they finished third or lower in their division in every season after 1995. Although the Red Sox went 86 years between World Series titles, they only once came close to matching the Royals playoff drought, and that was a 28 year stretch from 1918 to 1946.

The Royals do not have the financial clout of big market teams like the Red Sox or their World Series opponents, the San Francisco Giants. The Royals are 19th in the MLB in payroll at $92 million, while the Red Sox are fourth with $162 million and the Giants are seventh with $154 million. 

Barring a tremendous surge in the world BBQ market that runs the Kansas City economy, the Royals will likely remain a middle-to-small-market team. Ace pitcher James Shields is destined to leave after the season as a free agent. Young stars like Salvador Perez, Lorenzo Cain and Alex Gordon will likely follow suit when they are eligible for free agency. 

If this isn’t the year for the Royals, there could be a long stretch of “waiting ’til next year” in the future.

I’m rooting for the Royals not only as a Red Sox fan, but also as a sports fan who loves the unscripted magic of the game. After 17 losing seasons in 20 years, who would have predicted that the Royals would be in the World Series this year? Who would have thought that a perennial, big-market powerhouse like the Yankees would miss the playoffs, with the small-market Royals still standing? 

As much as we love fictional underdogs like Shane Falco, Rocky Balboa and Average Joe’s Gym, the best stories in sports are those real-life surprises, like the comeback from the Sox in 2004. 

On this 10th anniversary of the post-Bambino curse era, I’m jumping wholeheartedly on the Royals bandwagon and hoping that Royals fans will have their faith and patience rewarded. It may or may not be another 29 years until the next Series in Kansas City, but I hope that people will look back on this week in 2014 and see that Meghan Trainor dominated the billboard charts, Brad Pitt ruled the box office, and the Royals finally found “next year.”  

As a blizzard raged on a Sunday afternoon in December 2003, the roaring cheers of the Patriots faithful rocked Gillette Stadium. A dedicated cohort of fans dug their seats out from a foot of snow to watch the hardy Patriots grind out a win against the Miami Dolphins. 

When Tedy Bruschi sealed the game with a pick-six, the freezing crowd ecstatically filled the Foxboro air with snowballs. Such is the passion of a true football fan— a true Patriots fan.Over the course of the past 11 years though, the passion has dwindled in New England. Sure, the Patriots still sell out every home game, and in 2014 Pats fans still placed fourth on a Forbes list ranking the best NFL fanbases. 

But in the opinion of this lifelong Pats fan—who was fortunate enough to attend that Dolphins game and a few others since—the atmosphere at Gillette has noticeably changed.On Sunday, the Pats played their first home game of the season, and with all the pent-up anticipation and excitement, the fans should have been louder than the muskets fired by the minuteman impersonators at the game. 

Holding just a one-touchdown lead with only two minutes remaining, the Patriots defense needed to fend off a Raiders drive to seal the win. This is the time for real fans to get loud and pump up the defense. With teams penalized for lapses in communication, football, more so than any other sport, feeds off crowd noise, making home-field advantage a true phenomenon. And yet, if it weren’t for the foghorn sound from the stadium PA system, the noise level at Gillette would have been minimal. Even more inexcusable: the stadium was already 1/3 empty during the final drive of a close game.

Since when did Patriots fans become so complacent? Granted, a September game against the lowly Raiders doesn’t have quite the excitement of a December matchup against the rival Dolphins. But every win counts in the 16 game NFL season, and fans only get a chance to see their team play at home eight times. Why wouldn’t Pats fans relish every moment?

The answer lies in these incredible statistics: 11 division titles, five conference titles, and three Super Bowl championships in 13 seasons. Pats fans have become so spoiled with success, so accustomed to playoff games in January, that they are no longer interested in an ordinary regular season game. 

A couple of years ago, I attended a late December game after the Pats had already clinched a playoff berth. At halftime, a sea of season ticket holders bolted for their tailgates. I wasn’t there in 2001, the year of the Pats’ first championship, but I can’t imagine that those fans would have left the old Foxboro Stadium early. Success is fleeting in the hypercompetitive NFL, and every moment of greatness is worth embracing.

Pats fans have lost sight of this in the Tom Brady/Bill Belichick era, as we have been privileged with an unprecedented streak of greatness. And yet, time is running out on the Patriot reign. Brady is 37, Belichick is 62, and neither will likely be around five years from now. Furthermore, the Patriots have benefited from an unusual level of quarterback mediocrity in the rest of their division, allowing them an easy annual ride to the playoffs. Sooner or later, the next Jim Kelly or Dan Marino will arrive to dethrone the Pats. 

So I say to you, fair weather Patriots fans that left early on Sunday: wake up and smell the entitlement before it’s too late. Rookie quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo may be a solid player one day, but we have limited time left with Brady, one of the greatest of all time. Let’s bring the fire of that snowy Dolphins game back to Gillette, and appreciate how fortunate we are to be watching brilliance in action.

Despite controversy off the court, the past few months have been narratively flawless for the National Basketball Association.

The San Antonio Spurs, a team of unselfish veterans, defeated the Miami Heat, a ssquad of superstars that arrogantly declared a dynasty before winning a single game together (“not five, not six, not seven…”).    

In July, Heat centerpiece LeBron James decided to gallantly return home and sign with Cleveland, just four years after announcing on live TV that he would be spurning his hometown and “taking [his] talents to South Beach.” 

Basketball fans should be celebrating the poetic justice of both the Heat’s defeat and James’ return. Instead, these events have been overshadowed by another all-too-familiar incident of racism within the league. 

In early August, Donald Sterling was still clinging to ownership control of the Los Angeles Clippers. A recording of a conversation of Sterling with his girlfriend leaked in which he expressed his reluctance to “bring [African Americans] to [his] games.” He has since been banned and forced to sell the team.

As revolting as Sterling’s comments are, they would be less troubling if they were not part of a pattern. However, Atlanta Hawks owner Bruce Levenson recently added to the NBA’s summer of racial issues. On Saturday he announced that he had reported himself to the NBA for a 2012 email containing racially charged comments. In the email, Levenson suggested that the “black crowd scared away the whites” who were not attending Hawks games and asserted that there are “not enough affluent black fans to build a significant season ticket base.” 

Levenson, unlike Sterling, may not harbor a personal animosity toward African Americans, but his comments illustrate the subconscious influence of harmful racial stereotypes. 

The NBA has come a long way since its early days of racial quotas. In David Halberstam’s 1981 work “Breaks of the Game,” he discusses the way in which African Americans, especially with early superstars like Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain, transgressed the racial barriers of the NBA. Nevertheless, as late as the 1970s, many suspected the existence of tacitly accepted quotas. 

As African-American players became a majority in the league, white owners kept token white players on the end of the bench to appease bigoted, albeit deep-pocketed, white fans. Halberstam argues that more qualified African-American NBA players frequently lost their spots to less qualified white players.

Boston and the Boston Celtics experienced some of the most vicious racial tensions of any city or team. Russell, one of the greatest players in the history of basketball and the anchor of 11 championship teams in Boston from 1956-1969, suffered bigoted attacks throughout his career. 

Russell angered intolerant fans through his activist work in support of racial justice. People broke into his home and vandalized the walls with racist slurs. 

In his book “Second Wind,” Russell called Boston, a city whose baseball team was the last to racially integrate, “a flea market of racism.” Russell has since reconciled with the city, and Boston is now seen as a much more liberal and tolerant place.

Similarly, the NBA has made great strides to eliminate intolerance and encourage diversity, although the recent incidents involving Sterling and Levenson demonstrate the persistence of bigotry within the league. 

African Americans comprise 75 percent of the league’s players and 43 percent of NBA head coaches, according to Richard Lapchick from The Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport. Yet only one African American—basketball ambassador Michael Jordan of the Charlotte Bobcats—is a majority owner. Although I’ve never taken a math class at Bowdoin, I can still recognize the lack of symmetry in these numbers.  

Sports fans often view the court or the field as an escape from frustrating social realities. Instances of racial prejudice demonstrate that the sports world is not immune from the social issues that have plagued the rest of society. 

Leagues must must address these issues forcefully and effectively, as NBA Commissioner Adam Silver did by banning Sterling for life, and they must continue to foster cultures of tolerance and inclusivity. 

Such progressive efforts will improve the equality of opportunity for all individuals interested in sport. That includes potential owners seeking to shape the next San Antonio Spurs, players striving to be the next LeBron, or fans longing to enjoy the beauty of the fast break in a league untainted by prejudice.