Black and gold

Black and gold.

Before I knew those uniform colors meant the Pittsburgh Steelers, they stood for one -- and only one -- team. The Big Bad Bruins. They still do as far as I'm concerned.

I'm going to take a moment away from the usual point-less point of this blog -- the Patriots -- and pay tribute to Boston's hockey team. A team that is in the conference finals for the first time in about 20 years. They are now just seven wins away from bringing the greatest trophy in sports back to the city. Here's hoping this very likable team (even Claude is growing on me) can pull it off. It would be a great way to start the summer.

BUCYK: Hail to the Chief.

Long before I was a dedicated tailgater, I was a devoted Bruins fan. Hell, in 1970 (when I was 8) who wasn't? It was always hockey first, football second for me. Baseball and basketball were a distant third and fourth. I've been to about 40 or 50 Red Sox games in my life and only about five Celtics games. But I've been to more than 250 Patriots games and well over 100 Bruins games. I prefer my sports cold and tortured.

My days in 1970, '71, '72, '73, etc. were simple. Get up, go to school, come home, do homework quickly, and play street hockey till Mom called me for supper. On weekends it was just play street hockey. One-on-one, three-on-three, five-on-five. It didn't matter. Me, Jimmy, Gator, Mike, Chipper, Paul, Butter, and Ricky would play game after game till our legs were sore. Then at night I'd sit next to Dad on the couch in front of the black and white television and turn on Channel 38 and watch the B's. (''Score! Bobby Orr!'') I can still hear the first notes of ''Nutty,'' the TV theme song for the games.

But it was going to Bruins games that I remember best of all. Of the great memories that I have from being a Boston sports fan, there are none stronger and richer than those from the old Boston Garden. I can still smell the place. I can still feel that long walk up flight after flight of stairs in my calves as the anticipation built. I can still hear the organ playing and the sound of my sneakers sticking to the beer-covered floor. I can still hear the arms banging on the bottom of the second balcony that hung just a few feet over those of us wedged into the very back of the first balcony. I can still feel the old barn shake after a goal.

CHEEVERS: Scar face.

It was there I saw Bobby Orr race down the ice, leaving opponents chasing his shadow as #4 changed the game right in front of our eyes. Terry O'Reilly (my all-time favorite) wipe blood from his face just in time to score a game-winner. The classy Jean Ratelle net an epic overtime goal against the hated Canadiens in the greatest series every played ('78-'79). Gerry Cheevers notch a few more stitches on the greatest goalie mask ever made. Ray Bourque burst onto the scene as rookie of the year and go on to become one of the greatest defensemen who ever played. Cam Neely invent a new position -- power forward. And it was there that I saw fights -- on and off the ice -- that were as much a part of the game as passing and stick-handling. So many great memories.

Like the very first game I saw in person.

It was the spring of 1973. I was 10 years old. The city was being torn apart by the court-ordered busing crisis. I saw my oldest brother come home after school bloodied from a fight sparked by the soaring tempers. The word lock-down became part of the school day. It was an interesting time to grow up. The B's were a big part of that time.

The Bruins were defending their second Cup in three seasons and were one of the greatest offensive machines the sport has ever seen. Orr, Espo, Bucyk, Westfall, Pie, Cash, Hodgie. They dominated opponents and the league's scoring leader board. And the hearts and minds of the city. It was a hockey town.

Another part of my daily routine was driving with Mom to the train station to pick Dad up after he got out of work in the art department of Prudential. One day he got in the car and told my mom that one of the printers that they worked with had given him two seats five rows from the ice for the Bruins game the next night. Against the hated Rangers. I edged myself closer to the front seat. Mom asked the question that the youngest of four children was thinking. "Who are you taking?"

"Ya, Dad. Who?" I asked, my face now leaning over the front seat.

"I think you are old enough for your first hockey game. Don't you?" he answered. I spent the rest of the ride home rolling around the very back of the station wagon (seat belts? what seat belts?) with a tennis ball, pretending to be Phil Esposito, my favorite Big Bad Bruin.

ESPO: Center of my attention.

I can still remember the train ride into Boston as if it was yesterday. Dad pointing out all the places as they passed by the window. The elevated Orange Line may have cast a shadow over the city streets below for decades, but for a 10-year-old the view was awesome. We switched over to the Green Line and as the train pulled into North Station I got my first view ever of the Boston Garden, a place I would spend much of my teenage years in. What was a dump to some was a palace to me. We walked with the crowd into the stadium, my dad keeping his hand on my shoulder the whole time. It was my first experience of that feeling of the pre-game buzz of the fans as the anticipation of the game built. It was one of my first "grown-up" moments.

We made our way down to our seats near one of the face-off circles. Me with my popcorn and souvenir Bruins puck already in hand. I got chills from the roar of the crowd as the national anthem ended. (I still do.)  I got chills when I got my first close-up look at Mr. Robert Gordon Orr. I got chills when Espo scored to put the Bruins ahead for good. Pie McKenzie smashed a Ranger into the boards right in front of me and the two started brawling. Pie whupped him. The crowd went nuts. So did I. My dad gave me a slightly concerned look when he saw just how much I enjoyed the fight.

Late in the third period Espo lined up for a face-off against Walt Tkaczuk right in front of me. The two had been battling all game. Each time the linesman went to drop the puck Tkaczuk would whack Espo's stick with his, something centers do to cheat to try and win the draw. Four times in a row Tkaczuk hit Espo's stick. Four times in a row Espo whacked his stick back. Four times in a row the linesman yelled at them to knock it off. Finally, after the fifth time, Espo had had enough.

"If you hit my stick one more time," Espo, my idol, yelled. "I'm going to take your bleeping stick and shove it up your bleeping ass."

A lifelong hockey fan was born.

One of the good guys

Saturday, September 17th at Patriot Place. I will be there. And so will Bergs. Pete. Steve. And many of my tailgating group. (Ya. You guys are going).

DREW: Always putting the team first.

No. There's not an early season Saturday game at Gillette. (If there is a season at all). That's the day the team will induct quarterback Drew Bledsoe into its Hall of Fame. I may have voted for Bill Parcells. The Big Tuna should get in next year. But I was very glad to see Bledsoe win the vote his first time on the ballot. And I plan on being there when he is officially honored as one of the all-time great Patriots. I expect a lot of people to be there. And that's because he's also one of the team's all-time good guys.

Bledsoe is often the forgotten man in the success that started in the mid '90s and continues today. But for nine seasons (till Mo Lewis delivered that chest-crushing hit in the fall of 2001), Bledsoe was the heart and soul of the Pats. The face of the team. He was the No. 1 pick in the 1993 draft out of Washington State University. He was known as a big guy with a rifle arm. There was much debate about whether Parcells should take Bledsoe with the first pick or Notre Dame's Rick Mirer. Good choice.

He took the starting job right out of the gate. A decision Parcells -- a veteran's coach -- made out of necessity. The Pats were lousy and devoid of much talent. Bledsoe had talent. And then some. He had to play. Late in his (and the Tuna's) first season the Pats were a dismal 1-11. The team was showing improvement week-after-week but with four weeks left in the season the results were the same. Losing.

Then, in those last four weeks, something began to change. Bledsoe led the Pats to four straight wins to close out the year. In both the final two games the team broke 30 points, crushing the Colts 38-0 and knocking off the Dolphins in overtime 33-27. For the first time in a long time, the outlook was bright for the Pats.

But the '94 season started out with more mediocrity. The team stood at 3-6 and looked lost. The Parcells magic just wasn't happening. Then came the shootout. The Vikings came into the old Foxboro Stadium and jumped out to a 20-3 lead at the half. Parcells was staring at 3-7. Then Bledsoe put on one of the greatest passing performances in NFL history (no exaggeration) and the Pats rallied for a 26-20 overtime win that sparked a season-ending seven game winning streak and put the Pats in the playoffs.

That would be the first of many great Bledsoe performances. The team went 11-5 and made the Super Bowl in '96 and Bledsoe and the Pats seemed on the verge of something great. But then Parcells bailed and Kraft made one of his few missteps as owner. Hiring Pete Carroll. The Pats -- and Bledsoe's career -- proceeded to go on a steady downward path, bottoming out at 8-8 three years later.

Carroll was the worst possible coach for Bledsoe. He came in and treated Bledsoe as if he was a 10-year veteran. Bledsoe was entering his fifth year when Mr. Pumped and Jacked arrived. The prime of his career. He needed a firm hand (Parcells) to keep pushing him to get better. Instead Bledsoe's skills began deteriorating. Especially his decision making. Bledsoe's final few years were most memorable for him throwing game-killing picks. He still was one of the best in the game, but as a fan you were always worried he was going to make a big mistake at the worst possible time. A good coach could have helped him with that.

Bledsoe signed a monster 10-year, $103 million contract extension in March of 2001. A few months later he was walking off the field spitting up blood and he would never start a game for the Pats again. And yet, it was during this time that he made two of his biggest contributions ever to the team.

First, he helped mentor a young quarterback named Tom Brady even as he watched Brady take away his job for good. It was clear Bledsoe was very unhappy, but he never let it stand in the way of the team. He supported Brady during the improbably run to a Super Bowl title, a title that he had to believe he should be leading the team to. Bledsoe put his ego aside and stood by Brady all the way to New Orleans.

But not before he got one last shot at glory. In the AFC Championship tucked between the Snow Bowl and the Super Bowl, Brady and Bledsoe staged a role-reversal that saw the kid limp off the field and the veteran take over. Bledsoe led the Pats in their victory over the Steelers -- a team that had handed him some of his toughest defeats. He stood on Heinz Field holding the Hunt Trophy high over his head. Although Brady would return as starter the next week in the big game, Bledsoe was the face of the Pats for one last time.

Belichick wisely traded Bledsoe to the Bills the next year to avoid the inevitable QB controversy and he had some good games with Buffalo and later with the Cowboys. But it was the Patriots that he left the biggest impact. Putting a sad-sack franchise on his shoulders and leading it to big win after big win. And, most importantly, doing it with class.

We'll all get a chance to officially thank him come September. I'm practicing my Dreeeeeeewww! shouts already.

Hot Tuna

The Patriots have named their three finalists for induction into the team's Hall of Fame. You can go to their website to vote. I already cast mine.

The choices are:
1. Houston Antwine, defensive tackle, 1961-71.
2. Drew Bledsoe. quarterback, 1993-2001.
3. Bill Parcells, coach, 1993-96.

All very deserving candidates. All great Patriots. And each one will eventually be honored at the Hall. But one of the three clearly deserves to go in right now. The one who got my vote.

The Tuna.

PARCELLS: I will follow.

Bill Parcells was the franchise changer. If it wasn't for him the New England Patriots would probably be the St. Louis Brews right now. Sure, James Busch Orthwein -- he of the Budweiser empire -- is the one who hired Parcells and the one who didn't move the team to St. Louis as everyone feared he would. Robert Kraft is the one who brought stability to the franchise and built a mega-mall. Tom Brady is the one who lead the team to three titles and married Gisele. Bill Belichick is ... well, Bill Belichick. But none of them would have been able to make their contributions to our current football nirvana if it weren't for Parcells.

I know. His tenure here ended about as badly as possible. His was the ultimate betrayal, making a backroom deal to leave and coach the hated Jets while he was supposed to be getting his team ready to play in Super Bowl XXXI against Brett Favre (him again) and the Packers. The Pats battled hard but came up short, losing 35-21. A few weeks later Parcells was "shopping for the groceries" on the Jersey Turnpike. It was ugly. If you watch the video above he talks about his time with the Pats and says the way it all ended here is the biggest regret of his career.

But that was the ending. Everything up to that point built the foundation for a championship franchise. Brick by brick. Player by player. When Parcells exited Foxborough he may have left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth, but he also left an organization that had finally figured out how to succeed. His time in charge of the Patriots energized fans and players alike. And led to the Pats becoming the next Super Bowl dynasty.

When he arrived in 1993, the thought of that happening was laughable. As was the team. The Pats had won a total of 13 games in the four season prior to Parcells coming out of retirement ("This will be my last coaching job." Ha! Good one Tuna). They were a bumbling, stumbling mess. Parcells, one day at a time, one player at a time, changed the culture and the attitude. Oh, what attitude. Parcells is a big-mouth Jersey guy. Born to say whatever is on his mind. Born to coach football. The type of leader that players (and fans) want to follow into battle. That was the reason me, Mark, Shep, and gang were thrilled when the Big Tuna Show came to town. We didn't know if he could fix the franchise, but we knew it would sure be fun watching while he tried.

And fun it was. Before there was the Snow Bowl and the three Super Bowl titles and all the great Belichick-Brady wins, there were great games like the Fog Bowl, followed by the first AFC championship game on home turf. Games quarterbacked and won by Drew Bledsoe, but games that never would happened without Parcells leading the way.

For that he should take his place in the Hall at Patriot Place this fall.  His induction speech should be as entertaining as his four years as coach.

Here's a great NFL video on one of the greatest coaches of all-time.

Feeling the draft

After feeling a little chilly from the Pats' selections in the NFL Draft in rounds two and three, things warmed up a little bit with the team's final four picks.

Finally, a potential pass rusher.

I was scanning the list of players still left for the picking and one guy stood out: defensive end Markell Carter of Central Arkansas. I had never heard of him. I'm not a draft geek. He stood out because of these numbers -- 6-5, 252 pounds, with a 35-inch vertical leap. That caught my attention. Apparently it got the attention of those in the Pats war room because he was taken with the team's sixth round pick. He will most likely switch to outside linebacker. Scouting reports have him as very athletic and with lots of football smarts. I like the sound of that.

The Pats also added another defensive back, TCU's Malcolm Williams, and yet another tight end, Marshall’s Lee Smith. I have made my position on drafting tight ends (Tighten up) clear in the past. The team is already loaded at tight end with Gronkowski, Hernandez, and old man Crumpler. Maybe some day I'll understand the Hooded One's obsession with tight ends. Maybe some day. Word is Williams could be a good special teams player and Smith is a solid long-snapper, good attributes for late round draft picks.

CANNON: Feel-good story.

The other player the Pats took on the final day is a great story. And hopefully it will stay a great story. TCU's offensive lineman Marcus Cannon was the Pats fifth round pick. A lineman taken in the fifth round is usually not very noteworthy. But this one is.

Cannon was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma leading up to the draft, causing his stock to fall. The 6-5, 350 pound wall was seen as a potential second-round pick. But his illness scared teams away. So far his prognosis is good and he said after being selected “I feel awesome. I haven’t had any symptoms of my treatment that I’m supposed to have. Everything’s been feeling good.''

A scouting report on the National Football Report says he could dominate at right guard in the NFL. What a steal he could be. What a great story he already is.

The 2011 draft has come and gone. It was an interesting one for the Patriots. They passed on some high-profile pass rushers and, as usual, traded away several of their picks. And they made what turned out to be the most talked about pick of the draft in QB Ryan Mallett.

It was also an interesting one for the league since it was conducted in the shadow of the lockout. All the drafted players are now proud new members of NFL teams, but they aren't allowed to talk to their coaches or learn the playbook or even be fitted for a helmet. Maybe it's for the best the Pats didn't draft too many guys who they will need to make an immediate impact after all.