Boyle-ing Pointsby Kevin Boyle
By Kevin Boyle
Like a favorite TV show that runs a season too long this column didn’t know when to quit. At least the stars on those shows make a lot of money, I have no such excuse. Let’s face it, Boyle-ing Points has become as stale as the week old bread my mother served with those infamous meatless pork chops---the burnt bones dressed in apple sauce. For all the times I just mailed this column in the Postal Police should arrest me.
Sad, but true. This column may not have had roots in greatness but it was born to be fun and sometimes informative; it tried to be occasionally insightful and periodically controversial. If it failed it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Somewhere along the line the desire fizzled. I lost 10 miles off the fastball and didn’t care. I was always looking over my shoulder for a sub.
And even when I gave an honest effort the result was just as lame. So yeah, I finally grew up to be like Willie Mays. Too bad I looked more like the Say Hey kid who stumbled around centerfield for the Mets in those excruciating moments at the end of his career.
Apparently my readers were too loyal, too nice, or too embarrassed to boo---for surely, they noticed me stumbling. But I couldn’t see it. Not at first.
On an upcoming "Unsolved Mysteries" Robert Stack will have a segment about how a wave of self-awareness suddenly washed over yours truly. It was your typical out-of-body experience. I kinda hung in the air over my keyboard and watched as this smoky wave of personal wisdom, and honesty settled over me.
Quit, a tiny voice told me. If you have an ounce of self-respect, an iota of dignity, you’ll stop perpetrating this fraud. You’ll stop writing the column and you’ll do the right thing and say good-bye to The Wave.
At first I ignored the advice from the tiny voice. After all, plenty of kind people I’d never met before continued to tell me they that enjoyed my column. But that only made me feel worse.
Somehow, after a couple of months, I was able to locate that ounce of self-respect. The simple truth: it was time to go.
Maybe I’ll have regrets, maybe I’ll be first guy on his death bed to say I wish I spent more time at the office. Who knows? I’ll leave the regrets to the future. But now is the time to leave, to put the cap on the poison pen. (No that’s not Hurricane Floyd, that’s a gust of relief from Al Stabile).
It’s not just Boyle-ing Points retiring. I’ll be leaving The Wave as well---destination unknown.
It’s been a great run. I got regular mentions in Dorothy Dunne, Howie Schwach, and Scrum Down News---but I’ll always be pained by not making Harry McGuirk’s "Meet the Irish" column. Apparently, to Harry, I was an Irish embarrassment better left ignored. He was too ashamed to have anyone meet me.
It’s easier to remember the people who complained about me---one guy said I was jealous of Marv Albert because I made fun of the mink stole Marv’s wears on his head; a couple of guys said my column was a waste of space and that if I wanted to write about Al Stabile and Lew Simon I should do it somewhere else other than the sports section. Another guy called me a bleep-bleep and bleep, bleep, bleep. (So I showed him how witty I could be and called him a bleep, bleep, bleep with a bleep bleep).
Sometimes I wrote stuff that was 100 percent---100 percent!---positive---and it got misconstrued. People I tried to praise wound up being miffed. So I figured I was better off ripping people---my mother couldn’t get enough bad ink.
So many, so many, readers were overly generous. I’ve got a million people to thank but I can’t ‘cause I’m slobbering like Mike Schmidt, tears spilling all over the keyboard.
But one person I gotta mention is Leon Locke, Wave publisher. He let me have free reign in this space and never killed a single item---even if he knew he’d be getting the phone calls and letters of complaint.
In closing I ask one thing: please don’t ask me if I can keep your name out of the Police Blotter (I Can’t).
And by the way, I’m leaving on good terms. So those of you want to trash me---be forewarned---I’m open to making occasional revivals.
But for now, that’s all folks!
Heard on the boardwalk:Who cares if Boyle’s gone, as long as they keep the Betty Crocker column.