Goin' Underground

The MBTA is about to raise fares and cut some service for subway, bus and commuter rail passengers in the Greater Boston area, which is a shame. The move will result in some commuters leaving the "the T" in favor of driving to work or elsewhere, which will hurt the environment and add to Boston's infamous traffic woes.

It didn't have to be like this.

Up until 2000, the state legislature covered the difference between the T's income and expenses each year. Beginning that year, the state enacted what's called "forward funding," in which the T was allotted one cent for every five cents collected from state sales tax, but also saddled with $3.8 billion in debt the state had borrowed to complete public transportation work required by the feds in light of the massive Big Dig highway project.

Long story short: the sales tax hasn't dumped as much into the T's coffers as legislators had projected, the debt load is crushing the agency, making it difficult to keep up with regular maintenance on tracks, trains and buses, and the state doesn't appear to be willing to shift that debt burden. For the whole story, read this Boston Globe article.

I ride the T a lot with my son, Owen. He used to love riding the whole subway system, mapping out the trip ahead of time and making sure we followed it, well, to a T. More recently, he prefers the Green line. He likes to check out the different lines and types of subway cars, and I love to watch people, take pictures and wonder about all the abandoned tunnels of the system.

While I love the trips, I get bummed seeing the terrible shape of so many tunnels, trains and stations. The system needs money for upkeep, never mind for buying new equipment and expanding the Green line into Medford.

Because Owen and I don't ride that often any more, I'm not concerned about paying more on future trips. But for so many people, taking the T is the most affordable way to get to work, do shopping or visit friends and family. Paying more is going to hurt plenty of people, it's clear.

It's sad that the state and federal government spent $15 billion to bury Boston's Central Artery highway and improve the face of the city by removing raised highway structures, but the two entities can't commit themselves morally and financially to a cleaner mode of transportation.

The MBTA currently has a $160 million budget shortfall for the current fiscal year. So raising fees and cutting service now does nothing to address the agency's long-term fiscal woes. The federal and state governments need to commit to building and maintaining public transportation across the country. Increase gas taxes, tolls, whatever you need to do.

Whatever you do, don't blame the good folks who work at the T. Below, you'll find a 45-minute documentary, "Boston Under: After Hours," which shows how drivers, track maintenance workers and supervisors work behind the scenes to make things run as smoothly as possible.

What's In a Nickname?

During my childhood, I had two favorite Red Sox players: George "Boomer" Scott and Rick "Rooster" Burleson. They couldn't have been less alike, both physically and attitudinally. A first baseman, Scott stood 6'2", weighed 200 lbs., and was known for his good sense of humor. He's black. Burleson, a shortstop, was 5'10", weighed 165 lbs., and was a very intense player. He's white.

What they had in common other than my loyalty and their service to the Sox, was terrific nicknames.

Other Sox players of the '70s had cool tags, as well. Carlton "Pudge" Fisk, Bill "The Spaceman" Lee, Dwight "Dewey" Evans. Of course, every team at that time, and going back to the start of baseball in this country, had players with colorful handles.

A quick, completely random rundown of nicknames: Edward "Whitey" Ford, Robert "Lefty" Grove, George "Babe" Ruth, Jay "Dizzy" Dean, Paul "Daffy" Dean, Elijah "Pumpsie" Green, Phil "Scooter" Rizzuto, Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd, James "Cool Papa" Bell, "Hammerin'" Hank Aaron, Lawrence "Yogi" Berra, Orlando "Baby Bull" Cepeda, Richard "Goose" Gossage, Mark "The Bird" Fidrych, Frank "Tug" McGraw, Johnny "Blue Moon" Odom.

There are many more, of course.

Many, although not all, of those nicknames date back at least 20 years. The heyday of baseball nicknames pretty much ended by the '80s.

Who do we have today?

There are players with nicknames today, and in recent years, but for the most part they pale when compared to the more colorful handles of the past.

Some pretty good nicknames in recent years: David "Big Papi" Ortiz, Covelli "Coco" Crisp, Charles "Chili" Davis, Randy "Big Unit" Johnson, Rich "El Guapo" Garces.

Largely, though, the names are unimaginative: Alex "A-Rod" Rodriguez, Larry "Chipper" Jones, (Insert First Name Here) "Gonzo" Gonzalez, Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez, Carsten Charles "CC" Sabathia.

Take a look at this list of baseball nicknames. Plenty of guys playing today have nicknames, but for the most part they're not well known or part of the culture. While these names -- take, Dustin "Pedey" Pedroia, for example -- are used locally and by fellow players, they are unknown in the wider audience and the media. To national broadcasters, Pedroia is just "Pedroia."

I suspect the situation is the same in other sports. What happened to cool baseball nicknames?

I suspect the primary reason is that few players have loyalty to a team or city any more. Damn free agency! With a few notable exceptions -- recently retired Red Sox Tim "Wake" Wakefield and Jason "Tek" Varitek to name a few -- players don't spend more than a handful of years on the same team any more.

Instead, they travel from one team to the next, seeking out more money and "respect." Baseball is, of course, a business. So why shouldn't players get the most money they can during what for most of them is a brief career? I can't say I blame them. If some family dangled $15 million a year in front of me so I could be their stay-at-home dad...wait, that's not a good analogy.

I don't know who bestowed nicknames on players of yore. Probably sports writers were responsible for many of the colorful appellations. Lots of column inches to fill, no competition from radio, TV or the Internet. Go crazy and start naming guys!

It's definitely a guy thing to do even if you're not a sports writer. I had several nicknames from grade school on through college, all of them bestowed by male friends or acquaintances: Digem, Briggy, Wiggy, Blotto, Dietrich.

Even after college I had a few nicknames: some guys I worked with at a factory called me John Boy; the first year I played over-40 baseball a few guys called me Scoop.

I miss nicknames. Heck, there aren't even any good Mafia nicknames anymore. Where have all the good nicknames gone? The rap community (Wiz Khalifa), roller derby (Kiss 'n' Vinegar), drag queens (Isabel Ringin), reality TV (Snooki), electronic musicians (Skrillex), ranters on Internet message boards (a**hole1776). I bet Boomer Scott, who just turned 68 last week, could take on all of those guys and whip 'em all on the diamond, with one hand tied behind his back.

I'd like to watch him try.

Thanks to my buddy Ray for spurring me on with this idea. Check out his band, Powderhouse, here.

Ain't That Odd

Perhaps like many of you, I first encountered the Odd Fellows via this R.E.M. song. I don't recall how many listens it took for me to ask myself, "What the hell is Odd Fellows Local 151?" I figured the group was similar to the Kiwanis Club or the Rotary Club, and didn't think more about it for years.

But on a recent excursion to Dedham, MA, to drop off tax information for my accountant, I walked past this place:

I decided I needed to once and for all find out just who these folks are. Seems the Odd Fellows are similar to the Masons. They believe in a supreme being, value "Friendship, Love and Truth," and they strive to make a difference "in the lives of people in our World."

Apparently, they also love using capital letters unnecessarily in promoting their beliefs on their web site, as well as intricate symbols that owe their design to medieval England and perhaps the Olympics.

The Odd Fellows -- and its related group, the Rebekahs -- do good work in their communities -- offering scholarships, low-interest student loans and grants, low-cost nursing homes for the elderly, family and youth summer camps and annual donations to charities, according to their web site -- but I still find humor in their dress and symbols.

Like the Shriners and Masons, they love fez hats. And ceremonial swords and staffs and vests and the like.

Actually, the more I think about it, I get it. The Odd Fellows and like-minded groups enjoy dressing up and having a good time, but also helping people. So it's like a Halloween party, except instead of holding the bash at someone's house with jack-o-lanterns, talking skeleton heads and candy galore, the Odd Fellows get a little bit medieval, a little bit Turkish bazaar and little bit Skull & Bones and hand out money and services to those in need.

A little strange, but not so odd.

They're Dead to Me

Three days after publishing a post called "Fire On the Mountain?" on my other blog (see March 12, 2012 "Fire On the Mountain?") I can't get the Grateful Dead's "Fire On the Mountain" out of my head.

Unfortunate, I know. Unless you're a Deadhead, which I'm decidedly not.

Seems like every other person in my high school was a Deadhead. We're talking flipped-collar, wide wale cord, Docksider-wearing kids right out of "The Preppie Handbook." As well as assorted jocks, burnouts and, of course, hippies.

I didn't fit into any of those categories, but instead, like many other kids, wore Izod shirts, played a little baseball, smoked a little pot (oh wait, no I didn't) and wore the occasional tie-dye shirt (oh wait, no I didn't). And most of THOSE kids liked the Dead, too. Or so it seemed.

None of my friends were true Deadheads, but my buddy Andy was into them. Every once in a while we'd jam and he'd work a Dead song into the session.

But there's something about me, when so many people gush over something -- be it the Dead, or "Mad Men" or "Top Gun" -- I often turn the other way. I don't like getting caught up in hype; I'd rather discover my own thing, or at the very least, the thing that only a few people are whispering about.

I kept a close circle of friends in high school, and we spent a LOT of time ragging on other cliques, because, hey, that's what you do. Did I secretly wish I was on the baseball team? Or was rich and drove a Beemer? Or maybe, you know, talked to a girl? Sure.

So even though I didn't hate kids who were more popular, I pretended to, and by proxy, I had to hate the things they liked. Which included the Dead.

Of course, it's not just Deadheads that turned me off. I'm not a fan of the band's music, obviously. I can't get into their jammy vibe and hokey harmonies. Plenty of people I respect are into the Dead, so I know there is value in their music.

In high school, I also didn't like burnouts, which meant that I didn't, or couldn't, if you will, like Black Sabbath.

Eventually I came around on Sabbath. I discovered punk rock before graduating from high school, and there were a few bands that I liked who covered Sabbath songs. The Dickies, for instance, covered "Paranoid."

And the Butthole Surfers made lyrical changes to "Sweet Leaf" and called it "Sweat Loaf."

And after college I lived with some friends who were into Sabbath. I came to realize the awesomeness of the band's sludgy riffs and mystical lyrics.

But to this day, I can't understand the appeal of the Dead. And no, I'm not willing to listen to reason on this. Some things can be forever.

Tribute to a Friend

My childhood friend Bene -- short for Benedito and pronounced "Benny" -- died seven years ago this week, six weeks shy of his 40th birthday. I'm gonna do something I haven't done on this blog before, which is to repurpose something I wrote for the previous iteration of my blog, at DaveBrigham.com, with some editing.

Last year, this is what I wrote about him:

One of the most honest and upbeat people I've ever known, Bene fought cancer for many years, and even went into remission. But the disease came back strong and shriveled his once athletic frame (he was a hockey player and top-notch golfer) and took him away from his friends and family.

I met Bene in elementary school, and we hung out all the time in high school, along with my buddies Andy, John and the three Steves. After college we saw each other less and less, as I moved to the Boston area and he stayed close to home in Simsbury, CT. But getting together was always easy, as it always has been with my childhood friends.

Bene's wake and funeral were some of the most moving events I've ever experienced. The turnout for the wake was incredible; hundreds upon hundreds of people who'd known him through all phases of his life were there to pay their respects to his parents, brother, wife, two kids and other family members. His wife, with whom I'd also grown up, gave a wrenching eulogy. Where she found the strength, I can't imagine.

Bene will always live on through fond memories: driving around with him and my friends in his forest-green Ford Galaxy 500; playing hockey on the rink at Simsbury Farms; watching him have a blast at The Ramones, a band who he knew nothing about but enjoyed nonetheless; having a great time playing golf, a game from which he derived so much joy, even when he played with a hacker like me; and driving around with him and our friend Andy listening to Elvis Costello, and going to see him a few times at the old Bridgeport Jai-Alai fronton.

I should add that he was a great husband and father, son and brother. He was handy around the house, loved to laugh and had a great sense of humor. The times I think about him most relate to music. Because music is so important to me, it triggers a lot of memories.

Here are some videos and comments about why I picked them to commemorate my buddy. R.I.P. Bene.

As I mentioned, Bene was a big Elvis Costello fan. There are so many songs to pick from, but this is one of my favorites.:

In high school, my friends and I did a lot of aimless driving around the Farmington Valley. Well, not completely aimleess; sometimes we were heading to parties, or the movies, or to mini golf or to Abdow's. At some point, Crosby, Stills & Nash's "Love the One You're With" came on Bene's radio. He had the funniest way of singing along to the "do do do do / do do do do do do" part. I always think of him when I hear this song:

I saw The Ramones four or five times, one time with Bene and a few other friends. Bene was not at all into punk rock, but he was willing to give the band a shot. He had fun at the show, although I'm sure he was making fun of the band and the people in the crowd.

Like so many people in the early '90s, I owned Nirvana's Nevermind. I had never heard of the band before they hit it big, but they certainly fit in well with much of the music I'd been listening to since the early '80s: Husker Du, The Ramones, Naked Raygun, Black Flag, etc.

Despite how widespread Nirvana's popularity was, I was initially surprised on a visit to Bene's apartment that he, too, owned Nevermind. He was into more mainstream music, although I can't remember exactly which bands. But then I thought back to his willingness to go see The Ramones, and I realized it made perfect sense that since he'd obviously heard to much about Nirvana, he figured he might as well check them out.

Finally, for obvious reasons, Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets" has always make me think of my friend, even before he died. On the drive back to Massachusetts after his wake and funeral in 2005, I had popped a mix CD in. About halfway home, the song, as covered by the Beastie Boys and Biz Markie, came on.

I'm not at all spiritual, but the coincidence had me a bit freaked out.

Here's Elton John: