PAX Centurion - Spring 2019

www.bppa.org PAX CENTURION • Spring 2019 • Page 17 out to officers ), and every motorist wants to engage you in a game of “twenty questions” – “My mother has an appointment at Mass General with Dr. Blumenthal at 10:45 – will the parade be over then? And where can I park and how can I get back in to pick her up and… ad nauseum…”). Meanwhile, the motorists backed up behind them begin leaning on the car horn because they want to tell you their tale of woe, and so on and so on… Soon, the residents of towns in backwoods Maine, New Hampshire and Rhode Island begin to arrive. They descend upon North Station and South Station, along with legions of high school kids from Concord-Carlisle, Leominster, Petersham and Haverhill. Naïve babes-in-the-woods, they wander around looking at tall buildings, like meat-on-the-hoof ready to be consumed by the army of scam artists, con- men and local thieves smelling cheap and easy prey. Almost all of them have imbibed the nectars of Bacchus before their arrival, or smell strongly of Cannabis Sativa, a known stupefier of idiots. They are joined by college kids from our local centers of higher learning and indoctrination, who have reverted to their Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon roots (“Gronk, yeah, man, f#@$%ing right!) and prove, by habeas corpus and non-compos mentis, that college is indeed a waste of a parent’s time and money. Soon, the pre-drunkenized youths will be joined by mothers-of- the-year pushing baby carriages with toddlers into the rowdy crowd, unsuspecting and trapped tourists who “just wanted to see Paul Revere’s grave,” and assorted others who recently discovered they didn’t have a life and so why not go to downtown Boston for the day and bother the cops with an unending litany of stupid questions. Number-One on the stupid-question hit parade is, as always: “where can I go to the bathroom?” Now, many years ago, then-Mayor Tom Menino decided to stop having the city provide “paht-a-pahties” ( his terminology, not mine – English translation believed to be “Port-a- Potties” AKA : Portable Toilets ) for the relief of man’s most basic need (elimination of bodily fluids) due to his concern that the large, 7-foot tall, plastic stalls designed for the collection of effluvium might be “used as weapons.” (NOTE to young officers: NOT making this up…). To this day, nobody has recorded any battles, wars or civil disturbances, across the fruited plains or the entire planet, which have been fought using this form of artillery, but that’s why there aren’t any such devices present on City Hall, despite the political establishment’s open encouragement for the general public to “Come to City Hall Plaza to celebrate the Patriots’ victory! Therefore, it is with a great sense of irony and revenge that the only place to direct drunken high-school kids with bursting bladders is to… City Hall! Yes, any restaurant or business along the parade route knows full-well in advance about locking the front doors and posting signs saying “NO PUBLIC BATHROOMS.” So the line to use the few available toilets on the ground floor at City Hall snaked for blocks and that facility must have reeked to high heaven with a stench that a thousand gallons of Clorox couldn’t kill. Those poor janitors at City Hall should have put in for combat pay! Of course, after the requisite bathroom question came the “What duck boat is Gronk on” question followed by the “what time will they be here” question and the “where’s the best place to watch ” and “where’s the best place can I cross the street” questions. Now, common sense (… if it exists, and I am convinced that it does NOT …) would of course inform the inquisitor armed with basic eyesight that the police officer has NO ability to answer any of the above listed questions, since it should be obvious to even a casual observer that the police officer does not and cannot possibly know exactly when the duck boats will be getting there, does not know what duck boat Gronk is on, there is no “best” place to watch the parade in a crowd that is obviously 40-people deep, and there is simply no place to cross the street because the crowd is too big and there are barricades in place. But John Q. Public demands answers, and so shall he receive them! – “Gronk is on Duck Boat #16 named Back Bay Bertha, he will be here in front of you at exactly 12:16 PM, the best place to watch is over there ( point left ) and the best place to cross is over there” ( point right ). The inquisitor will then wander away into the 40-deep crowd to be consumed and never seen again… but you answered his questions! Of course, it is right about now that the mothers-of-the-year who pushed their tiny toddlers into the crowd that is 40-people deep begin calling 911 to complain that they’re surrounded by pot-smoking drunks and that their kid can’t see because the people in front of her won’t get out of the way. She informs 911 that she is easily identifiable because she is wearing a “#12” Patriots’ jersey. Yeah… right…. So are about 400,000 other nitwits. Another model citizen complains about the overwhelming and powerful odor of marijuana, (she is CORRECT! ) and demands to know “Officer, what are you going to do about it?” She, of course, is a resident of Brookline who voted for the legalization of pot but wants to make damn sure that no pot-shops open in her hometown. You, of course, pretend that you’re greatly concerned and begin to search the crowd for the nefarious pot-smoker, (like Moe, Larry and Curly searching for the water shutoff in the “plumber” skit.) The duck boats pass by in about 15 minutes time, and everyone demands to know “ when will the speeches begin? ” In years past, the athletes would give stirring speeches from City Hall’s sixth-floor balcony, with inspirational platitudes to the proletariat masses gathered below, such as “WEWON,” (explaining the crowd’s raucous roars of approval and demand for more speeches, naturally…) words that will undoubtedly live forever and rival the Gettysburg address for their staying power through the generations. But wisely, this year, the speech-making segment of the program was canceled. Still, despite you informing them that the parade is over and there would not be any speeches, many do not believe you, because they heard it from a friend who heard it on his cellphone. And so they remain, disbelieving the stupid cop who is telling them to go home. And then, the fighting begins. The early-arriving yodelers who have been pressed up against the barricades for the past three hours need to find a bathroom quickly, and push the people in front of them, which starts a chain-reaction of out-of-town ninnies and pikers beating each other up in downtown Boston in broad daylight. Hamilton is fighting Hanover, Attleboro is duking it out withAthol, and Salem is beating on Seekonk. They are surrounded by screaming girlfriends yelling invectives at each other, lipstick and eyeshadow smeared over their faces, ten sheets to the wind, and threatening to sue the cops because “My fadda’s a lawya.” Fight after fight is breaking out, even though the Patriots have long since departed and the day’s festivities are clearly over. So, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Kraft., Mr. Henry and should the Bruins or Celtics win, PLEASE take pity on the poor Boston police officer. Have an event for the most die-hard fans at the Garden, or Fenway, or Foxboro. Sell tickets, sell souvenirs and food! You’ll make a ton of money! And the City of Boston won’t be on the hook for overtime costs, setup and trash/confetti cleanup costs. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll cut down on police officer high-blood pressure and high- cynicism cases. Pleading for an end to “victory parades”… From End Victory Parades on page 8