If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I have a slight addiction to sports talk radio. I’ve tried “radio fasts” and “mental dental floss,” but at the end of the day, I’ve only managed to cobble together a grand total of twenty-four hours without tuning in to Boston’s sports horn, WEEI.
It’s kind of sad.
Given all this, it seems unbelievable to me that I wasn’t listening to WEEI at approximately 1:00 p.m. on Thursday, October 4, 2012 when the news broke that the Red Sox had fired Bobby Valentine.
This is the best picture I have of Bobby.
On the day Bobby Valentine was fired, I was sitting at the hair salon. Cherie Ripperton texted me at 1:07 p.m.
My response was,
“Hope they dump Dice K too.”
I don’t have a conclusion about Bobby Valentine’s demise yet. I’ve been thinking about it all season. In the big scheme of the world and its problems, my opinions of this man don’t matter one bit. I don’t think one hungry person will be fed because I have an opinion about Bobby’s good fortune or misfortune.
Like everything else in the “Valentine Era” it’s just been good theatre, full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing.
Where were you when the Red Sox fired Bobby Valentine?