David Ortiz' Saturday F-bomb: not safe for work, perfect for Boston
Trapped. Or, to use the police euphemism, "sheltered in place."
No one knows what it was like in Boston last week unless, of course, you were there yourself, living in fear as homemade explosives went off at the city's annual marathon, starting five unspeakable days of death, fear and mayhem.
The drama ended Friday night with the arrest of the youngest of the two suspects and the city blew off collective steam Saturday afternoon as the Red Sox battled the Royals at Fenway Park.
There were moving pre-game video tributes, ovations for authorities, and a brief talk by Boston's David Ortiz. Live TV (I watched on the MLB Network) captured the day, including Ortiz' loud-and-clear F-bomb for the ages.
Some will fret and complain that Ortiz shouldn't have done that in front of a stadium full of people (including lots of kids) or a nation of viewers. They'll say he could've made his point without choosing to use that word. They may be right. Many have expounded quite eloquently on last week's horrors without having to resort to profanity.
They aren't David Ortiz, and most of them didn't live in Boston last week.
I cut that city's residents all the slack in the world after what they've been through, be they the folks working at it's docks or at the Prudential Center or schlepping bags at Copley Place hotel or anywhere else in the Hub. The insult they absorbed can't be measured, and the torment can't be weighed.
In five simple words, one of them quite profane, David Ortiz released a lot of Boston's anger, and reaffirmed its spirit.
Boston Herald columnist Michael Silverman put it best: "So what if there are parents throughout Boston who had to do a little explaining to some of their young children about Ortiz/ word choice? That's a lot easier than trying to explain away the evil that reared its head on Boylston Street last week after the Tarnaev brothers allegedly dropped off their bags of destruction."
Silverman, Ortiz and all of Boston know first hand what it was like. They lived it. They felt it. It was a part of them for five terrible days, a feeling summed up the afternoon after by a ballplayer's five simple words:
"This is our f-----g city."