Keep it classy, Boston.

Francona at his last news conference with the Sox: classy to the end.

Like any true Yankee fan, I quietly snickered when the Red Sox essentially pissed away the month of September, playing crummy ball and falling out of playoff contention. It’s nice to have a little ammo for the next time someone makes a snide comment about the Yankees “buying championships”. Yes, because Carl Crawford came so cheap.

Then I read this feature today by Bob Hohler and…honestly, Sox fans, I don’t know why you haven’t taken the pitchforks and torches down Yawkey Way. Lackey, Beckett, Ortiz…I could go down the list of selfish bums but why bother. It will only make you angrier. And far be it for me to comment on selfish ball players (*cough*Rafael Soriano*cough*)

Selfish athletes can be found throughout the league, and baseball history is full of douchebag moves by douchebag owners and managers. This situation is, for the most part, no different. But…this crap about Terry Francona popping pills? REPREHENSIBLE. The man brought your organization two World Championships, slayed a supposed 86-year-old demon, dealt with effing Manny and this is how you thank him for his time in Boston? Dragging Francona’s personal issues out in public when the real problem is that you have $15 million pitchers who don’t have the decency and maturity to put down that bucket of KFC in the locker room and go support their teammates and stand by their manager when he obviously needed them most? Real classy, Henry, Werner and Co. Here’s a tip: when a staff member is dealing with personal issues – say, a crumbling marriage – try support and empathy you a-holes.

Here’s how awful this is to Sox fans: one good friend of mine is shunning the team he has supported his entire life on account of this.

And now that Theo heading to Chicago, this is likely Ben Cherington’s mess to clean up. Thankfully, he has a bright spot in Dustin Pedroia, who still cares…until he has an opportunity to leave town. Could you blame him?

Red Sox fans, you have given me hell over the years, but you don’t deserve this. Watching a team choke in September is bad enough, but that’s baseball. Watching the smearing of a beloved manager’s name is simply disgusting. And for that, I feel terrible for you guys.

Hit and Run: First of 2011 Edition

Girls, we should really consider an "I Was There" post from the Coney Island Polar Bear Swim next year. I'm just sayin'. (Reuters)

Happy New Year, readers! We hope you had a fabulous holiday that wasn’t marred by travel hiccups, barfing flu or Christmas morning plumbing problems (that last one happened to me. True story.) We’re back at it after a much-needed break. If you laid low this past weekend after a raucous New Year’s Eve, let’s fill you in on what you may have missed.

Hit and Run: Crazy Endings Edition

I mean, what else would you expect on Hallowe'en? (AP Photo)

There just something about Hallowe’en that brings out the crazy. Dressing like a zombie. Dressing like Gaga. Drinking booze that is clearly coloured by artificial susbtances and possibly has floating eyeballs. Eating far too many mini Coffee Crisps. These jackets. Whatever bizarre behaviour you engage in is perfectly acceptable on October 31st, or at least the Friday or Saturday closest to it.

The sports world was also full of crazy on the weekend. For instance…

Five Words.

Dick. Move. Hall. Of. Fame.

Okay, look. I’ve devoted a lot of time and energy into hating the ever-loving hell out of Brett Favre for the monumental screw-job he handed Green Bay fans by first doing the ‘I MAY RETIRE OR I MAY NOT WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO KNOW’ dance and then the ‘LOLOLOLOL I AM SIGNING WITH YOUR RIVAL’ swan song. I really, really thought there couldn’t possibly be a bigger dick in organized sports than Brett Favre. I mean, the man singlehandedly held up football in Green Bay for a solid three years, and I’m pretty sure Aaron Rodgers still has Favre voodoo dolls in every room of his house.

That said? I’ve never seen an athlete so tone-deaf as to think that a nationally televised hour-long special to announce his free-agency decision smacked of anything beyond rampant egotism. That was horrifying in and of itself.

But a nationally televised hour-long special to break up with his hometown team in the most public manner possible? That’s an unprecedented level of douchebag.

Congratulations, LeBron James. You’re 2010’s entry into the Dick Move Hall of Fame. Good thing I don’t care about basketball.

Hit and Run: Full of Poop

Yes, the Ladies… have been a bit busy this week. I’m home early for the long weekend so that I can be present while my septic tank gets cleaned out. I can barely watch without stifling a gag, but such is the life of a homeowner in the quasi-sticks. Better than paying property taxes in town, I keep reminding myself.

Yeah, I'm still not speaking to him.

Let’s kick off H&R in fitting style with this latest crap about Brett Favre. It seems that during a pep talk for the Southern Miss Golden Eagles, he stated that if they could make it back to the College World Series, he’d return for one more season in the NFL.

Charlie Manuel is a grumpy, grumpy old man

Now I’m a Mets fan (shocker!).  Therefore, it is programmed in to me to not like the Phillies or anyone managing, coaching, running, or associated with the organization. But come on, Charlie – you make it too easy to dislike you! The interwebs are abuzz with accusations of the Phillies stealing signs on Monday night’s game against the Colorado Rockies. They caught bullpen coach Mick Billmeyer with binoculars, on camera. Not a smart move. And yes, I’m sure it’s annoying to be under the heat lamp and have these accusations firing at you from all directions. But do you know what the lowest thing Charlie Manuel could have possibly done? Turn the blame and attention to someone else. And who might he have singled out?

Brett, we are so through.

My Favre jersey enjoys a new place of honour...in the Bee family garbage can.

This is hard to believe. I never thought it would come to this.

Brett, I am breaking up with you.

Another entry in the ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame.

So. That happened.

I’ll be up front about this. I’ve been a vocal Favre hater for more than a decade now. I rolled my eyes when Madden waxed rhapsodic about Favre’s status as a gunslinger. I groaned inwardly every time someone told me that he was a ‘man’s man.’ I hated the entire city of Green Bay for unleashing him on the world.

I hated him because he (and the Green Bay Packers) stomped all my beloved New England Patriots in Super Bowl XXXI, leaving college freshman Maggie slumped on her bed wearing an expression that looked…kind of like the expression in that picture, actually. I’m bitter, I have a long memory and I learned how to hold an old-fashioned Irish grudge at my Grandma’s knee.

I tell you this only so I can explain to you, Green Bay fans, that I understand how you’re feeling right now, or how you’re going to feel if he goes through with this and suits up for the Vikings. That white hot, fiery hatred? That urge to punch that picture at the top of this post repeatedly because you can’t get the real thing in your hot little hands? The indignant, righteous and strangely helpless fury? I’m with you. I’ve been there. Hell, I’m upset on your behalf.

See, I’ve long suspected that Favre was going to end up with a plaque in the ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame. (The man took a dive for Michael Strahan, for God’s sake. He did the ‘I’m going to maaaaaaaybe retire, maybe not, let’s talk about me some more’ dance so many times I think Peter King performs the steps in his sleep. The writing was on the wall, people.)

The question, though, is just who he’ll be joining in the semi-hallowed, but mostly tarnished ‘Dick Move’ Hall of Fame. Come for the self-indulgence, stay for the money-grubbing.