The Knives are Out Again in Bahston

Whelp, don’t say I didn’t told ya so. A couple of days ago I predicted that departing Beanbags manager Farrell would, in keeping with regional traditions that date back to throwing women who couldn’t swim in the lake to see if they were witches, would have a few knives in his back before too long. Today Beanbag president Dave Dombrowski proved that whatever it is infesting the team’s front orifice and turning even mild mannered executives into BMW-owner-style slimebags is highly contagious. Dombrowski couldn’t help snarking that whatever it was that led to Farrell’s canning wouldn’t have been outweighed by winning.

The Beanbag tradition in employee relations is too noxious for conventional reportage so here’s the story according to that leaky slop bucket of jaundiced rhetoric itself, the :  New York Pestilence

Whatever happened to “we want to thank (___________) for his service to the franchise and wish him much success in his future endeavors”??? Boy, what a classless organization – and long time observers of the Feesh, if they know anything, know a classless organization when they smell one.

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3 thoughts on “The Knives are Out Again in Bahston

  1. It’s pretty gross. I kinda wonder what they gain from shittalking about their former employees, when we all know it’s 97.5% garbage. Remember how they talked so badly about Tito? A man that is so well liked by pretty much everyone? Yeah, they lost me there. Makes you wonder…

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  2. It’s Boston. I’m sorry to say, but it pretty much goes with the populace. I have been in almost every major city in the US, and each has its own attractions. In Boston, if you want a real feel of our history, great restaurants, and fine universities, you are in good shape.
    You want friendly people? You don’t care for extraordinarily provincial attitudes? You have a problem with being cursed at on the street by complete strangers? You’re in the wrong town.

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    • Yeah, I know. I don’t spend much time there and don’t care for it much. The drivers are awful, inconsiderate to a fault. An occasional American Literature Association conference (they meet there every other year for some reason) brings me there but I go to Quincy to score my seafood at the Clam Box and my cannoli at some little bakery a few minutes south of there, and otherwise I’m in and out with the gavel. It’s no accident that Boston is the only major metropolitan area in the northeast whose biggest park is infested with rattlesnakes:

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