My alma mater UMass only makes headlines in Boston by virtue of its collegian buffoonery. Most recently, 5 students were expelled for riot-related offenses committed during a massive December 15 melee that lamented the vanquishment of the football team. The UMass Police website posted pictures of rioting students to be identified and disciplined. I love the file names: “firestarters.jpg”, “girl white tee not dispersing.jpg”, “burning shirt 2.jpg”, “lighting bushes3.jpg.” It seems like just yesterday, I was setting fires and taunting cops for the glory of UMass Athletics.
Nostalgia for my salad days (“when I was green in judgment”) manifests from time to time. I considered asking for a UMass sweatshirt for Christmas, but I’d be mortified to wear it around Boston. Whenever I see the UMass-emblazoned gear, it’s apportioned by a flagrant dumbass.
Like the two young men drinking brown-bagged bottles outside of the Federal Reserve building at 12 noon, apparently with delusions of Boston being this gotham city of cheap thrills. The UMass sweatshirt is donned by the indignant loud-mouth who resists his friend’s efforts to tug him away when four security guards confiscate their booze: “What! It’s a free country! We’re not bothering anyone!”
Or at the busy intersection outside of South Station. Pedestrians make orderly use of the four-way walk signal, and a scuzzy Cadillac takes advantage of a slow walker to attempt a right turn. But glaring pedestrians crossing in other directions block the Cadillac from completing the turn, mooring it in a cross-walk clogged with haranguing commuters: “What are you doing? Move! Get out of the way!” So the Cadillac inches awkwardly into the intersection, turning slightly to expose its license plate frame to a disdainful world: University of Massachusetts, so proud, so stupid.
