Ball Cap Betrayal!

“Tom, Say it Ain’t So!” blared the front page of last Thursday’s Boston Herald. I noticed this sensationalist headline while strolling past Out of Town News and immediately feared the worst: Had Mayor Thomas M. Menino ingested hallucinogenic toxins while bathing in the Charles? Was he now drafting plans for Boston to secede from the union in a fit of “dirty water” driven lunacy? I took a closer look at the Herald’s front page and my mouth swung open in horror. I stood paralyzed in shock for fully thirty seconds—stiller than Mitt Romney when he’s ambushing varmints on the hunt. A paparazzi-snapped candid of a Bay State hero’s dastardly betrayal stared me in the face. Patriots quarterback Tom Brady had been photographed mid-stride, smugly bedecked in a Yankees cap. What treachery!

Beantown transplants may question why such a trivial issue would garner front-page coverage in a major newspaper, but true Bostonians would never doubt the relevance of the Herald’s lurid press account. The Tom Brady ball cap controversy only underscores the importance of the Red Sox in local culture—a team beloved by New Englanders for the egalitarian, working class values it embodies.

I can envision my Crimson editors griping about having to publish a column about a hat. Why, they must be wondering, am I not covering an issue more pressing to the commonwealth?

After all, I could be pontificating about the dirty cop bust in Boston the other day, or the protests of Boston’s biotechnology conference being staged by radical groups. I could have even scrutinized Peter J. Gomes’ deliciously supercilious photograph—replete with puffed chest, disdainful scowl, and gleaming white pocket square—in the recent New York Times article, “Matters of Faith Find a New Prominence on Campus.” Although in light of the proposed, anti-bullying legislation being debated in the Massachusetts State House, perhaps it is wise that I learn to temper my acid tongue.

But the truth is that during Red Sox season, all local stories not concerning our national pastime are considered trivial to the consummate New Englander. While the arrest of dirty cop Jose Ortiz is of direct interest to a handful of local drug dealers, the fate of the hometown team each night is obsessed over by the millions that comprise Red Sox nation.

And Sox faithful are no ordinary sports fans. Passion for the team is more than just a hobby; it is an invisible brand that instills a collective social identity into denizens of the Northeast. At first blush, Northampton hipsters share little in common with Nantucket preps, but they both kneel at the alter of Big Papi.

The roots of the native New Englander’s inexhaustible ardor for all things Red Sox lie in Boston’s lack of celebrity culture and its patriotic heritage. Money and power are less revered in Boston than in other cities. Perhaps this is because there is no Hollywood or Wall Street in our backyard, or maybe it stems from the working class, Irish and Italian immigrant roots of so many locals. Whatever the reason, it means that the New Englander craves heroes distinct from the highfalutin socialites and power-mongering business elites assayed endlessly in other cities’ tabloids.

Instead, we choose to deify those men that excel at the quintessential American pastime—men who were not born into privilege, who are not trying to lord over us with their power. Men who have channeled years of hard work and discipline into the ability to be dominant in a sport we loved to play as children. This also reflects our city’s patriotic origins. As we rebelled against the aristocratic British imperial system in favor of a more egalitarian government years ago, so too do we rally around a rag-tag band of brothers that play a democratic game accessible to all. While only the fortunate few can ever hope to live the Paris Hilton lifestyle, we can all pursue happiness on the baseball diamond—no trust fund is necessary to dream of Major League glory. Thus, while Californians posture and preen to party at the same nightclubs as Nicole Ritchie and Justin Timberlake, we lionize Manny Ramirez and Daisuke Matsuzaka.

And nothing unites Sox fans more than our hatred of the New York Yankees. We view Red Sox-Yankees matchups as battles between Boston’s working class, egalitarian values and New York’s brash, money- and power-crazed culture. We loathe Yankees owner George Steinbrenner’s endless spending to concoct an army of clean-cut automatons. We are also disturbed by his dictatorial management style and megalomaniacal personality. In fits of rage, Steinbrenner will publicly denounce underperforming players and regularly purges his team of these traitors.

Every game against the Yankees becomes a battle for cultural supremacy reminiscent of Cold War athletic contests against the Soviet Union. Drawing on Ronald Reagan’s anti-Soviet propaganda, Red Sox President Larry Lucchino has even labeled the Yankees an “Evil Empire.”

In this bipolar world of baseball superpowers, it should come as little surprise that Tom Brady was excoriated in the press for wearing the enemy’s baseball cap. As Joseph McCarthy exposed anti-American activity through tactics of humiliation over 50 years ago, so too is the Herald exposing Brady’s apparent anti-Bay State leanings. This is a matter of the utmost importance to members of Red Sox nation. If Brady is the victim of a witch-hunt, he can take solace in the tragic demonization of Alger Hiss before him.



Stephen C. Bartenstein ’08 is a government concentrator in Lowell House. His column appears on alternate Mondays.