Opinion

Krause: The week that was

There used to be a satirical week-in-review show 50 or so years ago (who’s counting?) called “That Was The Week That Was,” which was a forerunner of sorts to the likes of John Oliver’s “Last Week Tonight.”

(Lot of “weeks” in that last paragraph, but, like the word “banana,” there aren’t many other words to describe specific seven-day periods except “specific seven-day periods.” I know that’s kind of weak, but so be it).

In the spirit (though certainly not the sarcastic and scatological humor) of the aforementioned Mr. Oliver, here is a recap of the last seven days, nationally and personally.

Things got pretty interesting in Boston last Tuesday when judge Richard Sinnott ignored Suffolk District Attorney Rachael Rollins’ decision not to prosecute a handful of protesters arrested during the Aug. 31 “Straight Pride Parade,” feeling the charges didn’t rise to the level of putting people with spotless records into the system.

Now, to back up a bit, if anyone can tell me what these “straights” had to complain about, I’m listening. Nobody’s calling them names, or harassing them unduly, or doing all those other swell things that the LGBTQ population endures daily.

But OK. It’s a free country. Go right ahead and demonstrate. And those who — like me — felt that the parade was a convenient ruse to stage a “March of the Trumpets” had a right to react in kind.

What made me laugh, though, was the protesters outdrew the “straights.” Too many straights saw through this ruse and stayed home, I guess. Meanwhile, those angered by the gall of people to claim victimhood when — at least on this issue — they have skated through life unscathed made sure they made their feelings known.

You can argue about Rollins’ decision to winnow out the needless prosecution of low-level cases. There are arguments for either side. But that’s her prerogative, and a state supreme court judge backed her up Monday.

But Sinnott outdid himself Wednesday when he locked up a defense attorney for four hours because, according to him, she talked condescendingly to him. Boo hoo. She was defending her client. 

These are adversarial situations, you know? Things are going to get testy. If there’s such a thing as an adult in the room, that person would be the judge.

But when hizzoner acts like a child, the system goes to h-e-double-hockey-sticks in a handbasket.

Now that Massachusetts jurisprudence has taken a step back, let’s move on.

Let’s talk about my life. A midweek doctor’s appointment brought the news that my blood pressure, while not off the charts, is a tad on the high side. Well, more than a tad, I guess I would say.

Anyway, I never did ask the nurse practitioner exactly what “elevated” meant. I figured the top number of my reading read like Vince Wilfork’s weight. I kept looking for the skinny guy with a scythe following me. 

I went through the rest of the day wondering if I could get an appointment with my lawyer to get my will updated. 

It occurred to me Thursday morning that perhaps I ought to find out what that number was. Turns out, Vince and his girth are safe from my blood pressure. It is high, but not that high. 

No more Snickers bars from Cheryl’s candy jar. Boo. Hiss.

Friday brought me to Boston College for the dedication of its new recreation center named for Margot Connell, one of the university’s true benefactors. 

The Connells were/are great people. I put it that way because Bill died in 2001, and his loss, both in human and business terms, was immense. He was truly a good person. And Margot is truly a good person.

While talking to me, Mrs. Connell, very puckishly, told of how she had to be talked into having this building named for her. The clincher came when someone told her it would be the first major building in the school’s history named for a female benefactor.

“But,” she said — and remember, the operative word is “puckishly” — “You’d better check that out.”

We did. It’s true. Those are the exact words the university used in announcing the building’s name.

Saturday, on the eve of the opening of the NFL season, the Patriots signed disgruntled receiver Antonio Brown about six seconds after the Oakland Raiders formally released him. 

(At this point, Oliver would look into the camera).

This stinks. 

(He’d have used a stronger word, but we’re a family newspaper.)

It’s complete hogwash (see above). The Patriots should be fined and sanctioned just for the sheer stupidity, not to mention hypocrisy, of this signing. We’re talking about the team whose tight end was arrested and convicted of murder. As the late Pete Seeger once asked, “When will they ever learn?” 

Besides, judging from Sunday’s 33-3 win over the Steelers, the Patriots didn’t absolutely need to get him. Boo yeah.

And the Red Sox, not willing to cede utter chaos and confusion to the Patriots, fired general manager David Dombrowski about seven seconds after they lost Sunday’s game to the Yankees. 

Sad to say under Dombrowski’s watch, the Sox went from a 108-win World Series champion to irrelevant within a year. Pretty impressive. Somebody had to be a scapegoat, and tag, he’s it.

And that was the week that was.

 

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