True colors

If you’re a reporter for any length of time, you’ll make mistakes. An utterance misheard in a courtroom. A misspelled name. Foolishly believing the tow truck driver when he tells you his name is Moe Lester. Mistakes happen. You write a correction, let an editor scream at you and do your best to explain to the reading public. You will learn and you will live to see another day.

Unless you happen to report the colors of the Boston Bruins jersey as “black and orange” instead of “black and gold.” If that happens, brother, my advice to you is to duck, cover and call in sick for about a week.

I made this mistake Wednesday night while reporting on the Bruins’ win in Vancouver. I offer no excuses, except that I was pushing deadline, I hadn’t eaten, I had not been sleeping well and I think I might have been struck by lightning just before I got to Gridiron that night.

Reader reaction? Boy howdy. Nearly a dozen emails from people who questioned my eyesight, my manhood and my allegiance to this, the great nation in which we live. The fact is, I have no idea how I plucked the color orange from the spectrum and thrust it in where gold belongs. I once lost a bet (I’m a Canadiens fan) and had to wear a Bruins jersey out in the clubs of Waterville. Terry O’Reilly and I used to go out drinking together. I know what colors the Bruins wear, man. I just can’t spell it, apparently.

But, whatever. I’m past it. The Stanley Cup is on its way to Boston. Hockey season is over and summer is just getting under way. It’s time to turn our attention to baseball. It’s time to see how the Red Socks are doing.

Hefner jilted

Hang in there, big guy. At 85, you still have more cool in one liver spot than most of us will develop over a lifetime.

Short and sweet

Somebody sent me an email last week stating “You are a real piece of work.” And I honestly don’t know whether to be flattered, outraged or on my way to the courthouse for a restraining order. I know brevity is wit, my friend, but come on.

Shorter still

Then I got an email that said “Dude, you rock!” Somehow, I’m OK with that one.

Night of all nights of the year

And I’m not talking about the solstice this time. I’m talking about June 23, the TV premiere of “Wilfred.” It’s going to rock! Or possibly be terrible. I’m calling in sick that night.

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