It’s O.K., Papelbon and Brady, the Massholes Will Always Love You

by 10 years ago


Editor’s Note: This is the first installment of a new column by Ned’s Younger Brother, founder of the hilarious Bros Like This Site. Each week, Ned’s Younger Brother will offer up character breakdowns of all the different types of Bros out there. By the way, this first column on the Ma**hole was turned in last Friday, long before Sunday’s Red Sox and Patriots defeats.

It’s Saturday morning. You wake up hungover as shit. It’s time to get a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit at Dunkin’ Donuts. You think to yourself, “Today feels like a Papelbon day.” So you sift through your endless supply of blue and red jersey style T-shirts, tossing aside classics such as Mo Vaughn, Kevin Millar, Johnny Damon, and Jose Offerman before finally finding what you’re looking for — “I have a Papelboner” in Red Sox-style lettering. Fucking nice. Your hair is all f*cked up from last night, so if you want to impress the girl working the drive through, you better f*cking find a hat. You dig through red, blue, white, and green Red Sox lids representing every single bro style of the past 10 years (visor, trucker hat, authentic, and “Franchise”). You decide on the backwards blue fitted cap. At last, everyone will know — you’re a f*cking Ma**hole.

Throughout their upper-middle class suburban upbringing, Ma**holes learned three values they keep to this day: drinking beers, kicking ass, and loving Boston sports teams. Ma**holes love getting “fahking bombed” with their bros. Ma**holes can drink anyone under the table and let everyone f*cking know about it. You can always tell a Ma**hole bro by his name. Much like hockey players must have a shortened name ending in “-ie,” Ma**holes demand that every name end with a “y” (e.g. Mahky, Tommy, Sully, etc.). Ma**hole bros love to fist fight while drunk. These fights usually result from really important debates like Nomah’s batting average his rookie year or whether the girl they f*cked last night was fat. Also, don’t even think about saying “The Departed” was a shitty movie unless you want a “Big Dig across your fahking fahrhead.” While Ma**holes may disagree on many pressing issues, they agree on one thing — “Bahston sports are wicked as hell.”


Throughout his decade, New England has acc*mulated more banners than an ugly girl cut from the cheerleading squad and forced to join the flag team. Sure, nobody gave a shit about the Pats before they made their miracle run back in ’01. Sure, Ma**holes wanted to run since-anointed saints Danny Ainge and Doc Rivers out of town when the original “Boston Three Party” — aka Ryan Gomes, Gerald Green, and Sebastian Telfair — were more concerned with practicing for the dunk contest and bringing guns on airplanes than winning games in ’06-’07.

But if there is one thing you have to hand to Ma**holes is their allegiance to the “Sawks.” Ma**hole bros f*cking love the Sawks. Much like people can recall exactly where they were when Kennedy was shot or when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, Ma**hole bros everywhere can tell you exactly where they were when an equally important event in human history took place. Obviously I’m referring to Dave Roberts stealing second off Rivera in the ’04 ALCS, a moment that many claim to be the third most important moment in their lifetime — outside being born and the day they learned to masturbate, of course.

So, next time you are at a bar in the middle of February and a group of bros starts chanting “Fuck the Yankees,” while the only game on TV is a Bobcats-Sixers barnburner, don’t question your sanity. Just realize you’re in the presence of some of the greatest bros in the world — the Ma**holes.

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