Much has been made the past week of my March 26 column discussing Curt Schilling’s blog. A lot of the furor has been a loss of perspective, I think, of what my true journalistic purpose is and a general misunderstanding of what I wanted to say about the blogging community.
First of all, those who criticize me must realize that I am the leading light of the Boston sports community, widely known as the most knowledgeable consumers of sports in the world. I am a direct conduit to the spirit of Babe Ruth, and it was I who placated his spirit (the world must know the truth!) and therefore it is I who am responsible for the 2004 championship. So I speak with an authority which is not exceeded by any other person: not president, not pope, and not Theo Epstein.
I was the one who convinced Johnny Damon to grow his hair long and thus experience a Samson-like surge in strength and productivity. If there is one subject I know well, it is coiffure.
All good things in Boston derive from me. I convinced Boston to acquire Schilling, and it was I who nursed him back to health and allowed him to pitch on a ruptured Achilles tendon using a technique known only to myself and Mr. Miyagi. I helped bring Carl Everett to Boston, along with my good friend Gordon Edes. I was the only one who stood against the execrable movie ‘Fever Pitch’. It was I, and I alone, who intervened telepathically with Dice-K to convince him to come here; indeed, it was I who gave him his now-famous moniker, the one he will ride to hall of fame greatness unless bumping his elbow leaves him forever a cripple and ruins Boston’s 2007 season hopes and plunges us into anguish and dismay unknown since the winter of 2003.
So it is with some discontent that I suffer the slings and arrows of lesser men after I brought to light a fact which is clear to all: that every blogger is an overweight social misanthrope that lives with his parents and is full of homosexual lust for Curt Schilling. I need not argue this self-evident point with cretins, nor shall I condescend to their level to explain this to them.
I hereby decree this order, to be noted and followed throughout the sports world: henceforth all athletes shall not write, speak, or utter one word of independent thought directly to a fan, but will rather address themselves through responsible members of the media who best know how to interpret their utterances into the marketplace.
I further announce, in my special capacity as High Priest of Red Sox Nation, an inquisition to be held to discover, denounce, and destroy all those who stand against me, including but not limited to the Sons of Sam Horn, the blog site Dan Shaugnessy Watch, the wretched people at FireJoeMorgan.com, and even the lowly sophomores at ESPN Page 2 who dared to make light of my piece on Curt Schilling’s blog.
I, the great Shaughnessy, have spoken. Let my will be done throughout the earth.