Monday, April 15, 2013


Annually, my buddy Kenny comes to Boston to visit and watch the Boston Marathon.  Patriots Day, the day of the marathon is a festive time, one that is difficult to describe.  The Red Sox play a game that starts at 11 in the morning.  The marathon begins at 930 a.m and runners stream across the finish line from one o'clock until 5.  Kids are there with balloons cheering on their mothers and fathers.  Runners have cheering sections.  Some wear signs that read Joan, so that spectators can shout "Go Joan Go" for 26 miles.   Racers draped in aluminum covers are exhausted but are smiling as they have completed the race and are embraced by their loved ones.  Fans who have exited the Red Sox game parade around in their Red Sox caps, jackets, and sweatshirts.  It is a big party.

This year we got a late start out of the house and were en route to the finish line when we got the news that there had been an explosion.  We continued downtown, parked at my university which is about a mile from the bomb scene. We walked towards the finish line.  We saw people sobbing; runners draped in their aluminum shawls were subdued; spectators stunned.  We got into the Sheraton where at least 100 maybe 200 runners and their families congregated in the lobby.  A fellow from Toronto told us that his wife had just crossed the finish line when the bombs went off.

Not sure coward is a strong enough word to describe the gutless individuals who decided to plant a bomb in a crowd.  An 8 year old is dead.  Body parts and blood littered Boylston street.  For what?  Some political statement?  Very likely to persuade me that a cause is just by spinelessly killing innocent people and maiming others.

I look forward to next year.  I will try to get an early start.  I want to be sure to get a spot on Boylston street and cheer for the runners and spit in the face of the gutless chumps who think their cowardly act is justified.  And I know I will not be alone.

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