And this is good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod, Where the Lowells talk to the Cabots
And the Cabots talk only to God.

That was then. Now, nearly a century later, Boston is a very different place. Its standing in the galaxy of great American cities, once beyond dispute, has changed dramatically. Not merely is it lost in the shadows of New York, Washington and Los Angeles, as Seth Mnookin points out in Feeding the Monster, but other cities to which it once condescended -- Atlanta, Houston, Dallas, Seattle, Miami, Tampa -- now wield far greater economic and political influence. Boston remains, as always, a place of great beauty and charm with which it is very easy to fall in love, but its importance is largely limited to New England.

Except, that is, in the world of sport. However improbable it may be, this comparatively small city, which for much of the year has absolutely appalling weather and which occupies a relatively remote location, is the sports capital of the United States, or so at least it can be argued. No doubt this is appalling to those superannuated Beacon Hill aristos who retreat behind the walls of their clubs so as to look down on the rest of the world, but that world now knows Boston not for the high-powered eggheads of Harvard and MIT but for Tom Brady of the New England Patriots and David Ortiz of the Boston Red Sox. Nowhere in the country -- not even in Texas -- does the passion for spectator sports run so irrationally high as in Boston and its environs. America's Athens is now its Rome, with coliseums to which the multitudes flock.

The most famous of those coliseums is Fenway Park. Four and a half decades ago a young writer named John Updike described it to perfection: "Fenway Park, in Boston, is a lyric little bandbox of a park. Everything is painted green and is in curiously sharp focus, like the inside of an old-fashioned peeping-type Easter egg." That too was then, and this is now: Fenway Park still retains its lyric essence, but it has become a big, booming business, every single game a sellout, every crowd raucous and explosive and hyperventilated. The tiny crowd that saw Ted Williams play his last game there in 1960 -- the occasion that inspired Updike's great essay "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu" -- and the tiny ones of which I was occasionally a member in the late 1960s, are distant memories now. Fenway Park is hotter than hot, and so too are the Red Sox, known universally in New England simply as "the Sawx."

How this came to pass is the subject of Feeding the Monster. Mnookin, previously the author of a book about the various difficulties experienced by the New York Times in the early years of this decade, wrote an article for Vanity Fair about the Red Sox' incredible postseason run to the 2004 World Championship and apparently impressed the powers that be at the team, for they granted him "access to all levels of the organization" during the 2005 season and neither demanded nor received any editorial control over this book. The result is a detailed, knowledgeable account of how a successful sports franchise operates, how it deals with failure and success, how hard it is to turn a profit in a business that seems, at least from the outside, to be swimming in money.

Feeding the Monster is scarcely as surprising or revelatory as its author and publisher believe it to be, and Mnookin's prose infrequently rises above cliché, but no doubt residents of Red Sox Nation will gobble it up, as may others who are interested in the inner workings of professional sports.

Hardly a man or woman is now alive who doesn't know that in October 2004 the Red Sox ended more than eight decades of highly publicized frustration and won their first World Series since 1918. They did so in astonishing fashion, losing the first three games of the American League championship to the New York Yankees, roaring back to win the next four, then polishing off the St. Louis Cardinals -- by most accounts the best team in baseball that year -- in four games that bordered on laughers. It was a triumph that made just about everybody happy, except possibly the Yankees and the Cardinals, and it produced enough feel-good prose to drown the reading public in adjectives.

The season of 2004 was the third in which the team had been owned by a group headed by John Henry, who had made a bundle managing futures funds, Tom Werner, a prominent media and entertainment executive, and Larry Lucchino, a lawyer-turned-sports-executive who had previous success running the Baltimore Orioles (he was a protégé of Edward Bennett Williams, who owned the Orioles from 1980 to 1988) and the San Diego Padres. They took over a team that had been mismanaged for decades -- the long reign of the ostensibly saintly Tom Yawkey was, Mnookin correctly writes, in almost every respect a disaster -- by an "organization that had been infected from top to bottom with . . . paranoia and divisiveness" in the Yawkey years and thereafter. With remarkable alacrity they formed "one of the youngest baseball operations offices in major league history," headed by the 28-year-old general manager, Theo Epstein, and, as the subsequent record makes plain, one of the best.

Thus it is possible to read Feeding the Monster as yet another case study in successful business management, but it really is just one long soap opera. First there is the tale of the sale of the Red Sox to John Henry et al.; Mnookin is satisfied, rumors in Boston to the contrary, that the commissioner of baseball, Bud Selig, did not set up a "bag job" designed to keep the team away from local owners, as "alleged by so many of the city's media provocateurs," though it's hard to imagine that this will interest many except those immediately involved and members of the Boston press. There are the continuing soap operas centered on Manny Ramirez, the gifted hitter and chronic complainer; Curt Schilling, the "big-game pitcher" also known "as a blowhard and an attention hog"; Pedro Martinez, the nonpareil pitcher; and Nomar Garciaparra, the beloved shortstop, both of whom carried hypersensitivity to extremes of excess.

Then there is the "sizable rift" between Larry Lucchino and Theo Epstein. Only in Boston could relations between a baseball team's president and general manager become front-page news day after day, and only in a book about the Red Sox could page after page be devoted to such a stupendously inconsequential matter. That both Lucchino and Epstein are smart and accomplished is a given, but that doesn't make their little sandbox feud anything worth reading about.

Interestingly, the one inside-baseball aspect of Feeding the Monster that really is worth reading is the insidious way that victory can turn into defeat. Bob Kraft, the owner of the Patriots, told John Henry that success -- of which the Patriots have had a lot during the early 2000s -- can turn an organization inside out, creating rivalries and jealousies and bruised feelings. That's just what happened to the Red Sox, in the front offices and on the field. Both Lucchino and Epstein thought the other was trying to take credit while casting blame, and the happy-go-lucky team turned into a bunch of selfish malcontents. "They became the biggest bunch of prima donnas ever assembled," according to a person close to the team. "It's a problem with a veteran team, especially one that's had some success. And winning the World Series makes it worse."

So there are at least two monsters in this story. One is the Green Monster, the left-field wall in Fenway that shapes the course of play as does no feature of any other ballpark in the United States. The other is better known as the Bitch-Goddess, Success. She has been around these parts for a long time, and the Boston Red Sox are scarcely the first to discover the true meaning of her sexy smile.

Copyright 2006, The Washington Post. All Rights Reserved.

Professional, Sunset Country Club, St. Louis

Most articles on golf deal only in theory, but Ben is to be congratulated on probably the most practical series on golf instruction ever written.

Timothy E. Sick

Calgary

After reading the first two articles, I had a 73 for the first time in my life, and hadn't played for six months before that.

Frank Sadler

Professional, Bellingham Country Club, Bellingham, Washington

It's the first time words and illustrations have made golfing technique absolutely clear. I'm applying the lessons to my teaching program here and highly recommending them to my pupils. I'd say it's the greatest instruction series of all time. Women are particularly keen on it. It'll make a lot of new golfers -- good golfers.

Terrell Owens joined the Philadelphia Eagles for the 2004 season hoping to help the Eagles win the Super Bowl. The Eagles almost did it, losing a close game to the New England Patriots. TO expected to have a long and productive career in Philadelphia. But less than halfway through the 2005 season it all fell apart. TO was suspended, first for a game, then for the season, as the Eagles blamed him for a variety of infractions.

Now TO speaks out about what really happened in Philadelphia. He takes readers behind the scenes -- and into the huddle -- to show how he was unfairly blamed for conduct detrimental to his team. After setting an Eagles record for touchdown receptions, TO was badly injured late in the 2004 season. Most observers thought his season was over. But TO put himself through a grueling rehab, which he describes here, to recover in time to join his teammates in the Super Bowl, turning in a remarkable performance. Convinced that the Eagles could win it all in 2005, TO became only the sixth receiver in NFL history with 100 touchdown receptions. He explains in T.O. how and why his relationship with Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb deteriorated. The situation worsened when TO agreed with Michael Irvin that the Eagles would be better off with Brett Favre as their quarterback. A fight in the team locker room, where an injured TO had to defend himself, caused further friction. Before long he was suspended from the team for the entire season. TO contested his suspension and took his case before an arbitrator. In this book TO brings readers into the hearing room and shows how unfair the arbitrator's precedent-setting decision really was. The decision was so wrong that even the NFL agreed to pass a rule specifically reversing it.

But T.O. is a story of triumph and dedication. TO never lost his commitment to the game, and whenever he had the chance, he performed like the sensational athlete he is. He knew he would play again, and his faith was rewarded when he signed a three-year, $25 million contract with the Dallas Cowboys prior to the 2006 season. Throughout his ordeal, TO remained true to himself, the same outsized personality who has rocked the NFL and become a football superstar.

I wrote this book for a lot of reasons, but the most important reason was that I wanted to communicate directly with you -- the fan. So much of what I said and did was portrayed to you by the media. When I did a TV interview, you saw the edited version of what I had to say, rather than the whole interview. When I talked to reporters, they took the catchy, controversial lines and presented them as if that were all I had to say. When I did something on the field or on the sidelines, my actions were described to you by commentators who put their own spin on it. When the Eagles released a statement about my conduct, it was done only from their perspective. Yet, since the start of the 2005 season, I have not publicly responded to what was said about me.

Without knowing all the facts, the media have speculated about what happened behind closed doors, based on half-truths that were leaked to accomplish the agenda of anonymous sources. I wanted to respond to set the record straight, but I knew, as was the case with the apology I made on my front lawn, that the media would criticize one aspect or another of it.

Then, when the arbitrator upheld my season-long suspension -- a decision that violated the NFL Collective Bargaining Agreement -- I knew I wasn't going to get a fair shake. The arbitrator's decision was such an injustice that it led the NFL to agree to change the Collective Bargaining Agreement so that no other player can ever again be punished the way I was. Even after that, I didn't complain. I kept quiet -- until now.

How could I accept such injustice? By knowing that the day would come when I would be free of everyone else's control. It was a long road between the time of my suspension and ultimate free agency, but I made the journey.

This book -- the process of writing it, of telling my story -- helped get me there. These are my words, straight from me to you. My critics will be negative and try to tell you that I just lent my name to someone else's work, but don't be fooled. When they criticize me for telling you about the wild roller-coaster ride, the ups and downs, it won't mean a thing because this is my story and no one can tell you different. This was the only way I could communicate with you, one on one, without anyone else's interference. That was why, instead of a well-known writer, I wanted one of my agents, Jason Rosenhaus, to coauthor this book, so that I wouldn't have to deal with someone who wanted to put their own take on things.

I took on a world of criticism and hardship during my suspension. There was a great deal of uncertainty, and speculation that my career was in jeopardy. There were times when things looked extremely bleak. It would have been easy to give in to the negativity, but I refused. I had faith in God and myself that everything would work out. I disregarded the naysayers and pressed on. And it is my sincere hope that, if you happen to be down on your luck and the times are tough, maybe this book will help you keep the faith so that you can come out on top as well.

What I went through, all the craziness that happened, has been misportrayed to the public. Everyone else's point of view was out there, but not mine. Now, I'm telling my story like it really went down, regardless of the consequences. That is how I was raised to be.

So get ready to read about what it's like to be inside an NFL huddle, to be in the Philadelphia Eagles' locker room, to step onto the football field, to suffer and overcome a brutal injury, to rehabilitate against all odds, and to play in a Super Bowl. And that was the good year!

Get out your popcorn and be right there with me as I take you back to what happened with the wildest, most documented story of all from the NFL's last two years.

Make no mistake; this is not an apology or a defense. This is an explanation. I don't claim to be perfect and I admit I made my share of mistakes, but there is another side to the story that you haven't seen until now. I'm not asking you to love me, and I certainly don't want you to hate me. I'm just asking you to take into account what I have to say with an open mind. I want you to judge me for yourself, not based on what the media says, but based on what I have written in my story. Enjoy

Copyright © 2006 by Terrell Owens and Jason Rosenhaus

Chapter 1: Yesterday's Loser

Scrawny and quiet -- that's what I was like growing up in Alexander ("Alex") City, Alabama. Alex City is a small country town where there's nothing to do but get into trouble. As a teenager, I was the perfect target for the big bully on the block: I was skinny, awkward-looking, and kept to myself. The one thing I could do well was run, and believe me, I needed to do a lot of that. In my neighborhood, there was always a group of bad teens hanging out, waiting to pounce on a kid like me. They would stand on a corner and look for a loner walking down the street. After getting chased down and beaten up a couple of times, I became a good runner. Joining the track team in junior high school wasn't for fun, it was for survival.

I find it funny that so many people assume I was a star jock coming out of high school. They assume I was the most popular kid in class who got all the girls. I wish! That couldn't be farther from the truth.

They think I have a loud, self-promoting, fast-talking personality. They could not be more wrong. I'm actually a pretty quiet, straight-up country boy -- until you cross the line. Once you cross that line, you're gonna hear from me and there ain't no going back. What that line is, well, that depends.

One afternoon while I was in high school, I was riding home on a school bus after a track event. I made the mistake of falling asleep on the bus. It was just my luck that the biggest and meanest kid in school was on that bus, too. I was physically exhausted and passed out in a deep sleep. I was breathing through my mouth and it was open as I slept. The jerk came over and hocked up a big wad from his throat and nasal passages. He dropped that huge, disgusting gob of spit right into my mouth.

I slept right through the whole thing while everybody laughed at me. I didn't find out about it until later. Can you imagine the shame, the humiliation I felt when I went home and told my family? For what seemed like an eternity, I was teased and tormented unmercifully by the kids at school. I had been a loner before that happened, and became even more isolated after.

Everyone laughed at me. I tried to block out the image of his spit entering my mouth, but I felt nauseated every time I thought about it. Knowing that he disgraced me and got the best of me was more than I could handle. From that day on, I was done being a pushover. Yesterday's loser was determined to become tomorrow's winner.

A couple of days later, a bigger, older kid caught me walking by myself. He was looking for trouble, and I had a big target on my back. I was supposed to be his entertainment for the day. As soon as I turned the corner, I saw him running after me. I reacted by doing what was natural for me -- I ran. Then I remembered something my grandma told me.

She said, "If one of those big bullies tries to get you, pick something up, hit him with it, and run."

And that's just what I did. I stopped, grabbed a brick, and turned to face him. I was tired of being the loser in these fights. I'd had enough of getting bested. I was ready to stand up for myself. I felt overcome by a wave of emotion, a rush of adrenaline, and I felt the strength of God in me. He saw my face, the brick in my hand, looked at me again, and ran away.

Then a funny thing happened: I started chasing him. I ran after him with that brick and tried to beat him down with it. The whole thing looked like one of those Tom and Jerry cartoons where they take turns chasing each other. I laugh about it now, but it was terrifying at the time.

Eventually, we got near my house and I stopped chasing him. As I walked through the front door, still holding that brick, I felt something new -- satisfaction. When I got home and told my grandma and mom what I had done, they laughed. I laughed, too, and then I saw that they were proud of me for standing my ground. All of a sudden I found a sense of pride.

After that day, I could never again go back to being the wimpy coward who was the butt of everyone's jokes. The problem was that I couldn't walk around with a brick in my hand everywhere I went. The other thing on my mind was that I was tired of being too skinny to do this and too weak to do that. My football coach never put me in to play because I was just a stick with oversized pads on that didn't fit. I couldn't fill out my uniform, so whenever I ran, everything wobbled. I was a joke and I wanted to be more than that.

I was raised in an extremely strict household where I didn't watch much TV and I just kept to myself. I remember one afternoon, when I was a young teen, and the Big Red chewing gum commercial came on TV. It was the one where the chorus is singing, "So kiss a little longermake it last a little longer" while they show couples kissing. It is certainly not R-rated, but my grandma acted like it was a XXX movie clip. Feeling that the commercial was inappropriate for kids, she got angry and turned that TV off for the entire night.

I spent my days staring out the window, alone with my thoughts. After sitting in my room long enough, the answer to all my problems came to me. I realized it was time to get acquainted with my high-school gym.

I started lifting weights. I had all the motivation in the world to get bigger, stronger, tougher, and faster. I worked out in the high-school gym every day, whenever the school and my mother would let me. All I wanted to do was pump iron. It was hard work, but I didn't care. The physical pain replaced the mental pain and I liked that. Pretty soon I started to see a change. Muscles started developing and strengtheni

“A comprehensive look at a gargantuan life.” —People
 
“Montville is refreshingly nonjudgmental about his superstar subject.  First-rate biography.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review
 
“Crisp analogies and astute observations, combined with a fluid writing style, are Leigh Montville’s strengths in this definitive biography of the Splendid Splinter.  Montville’s writing is rich and full, like a Ted Williams swing.  He connects solidly. A raw, no-holds-barred view of [Williams’s] life.” —Tampa Tribune
 
“An engaging, fascinating read.” —San Diego Tribune

“Ted Williams is not only a first-rate sports biography, but also a first-rate biography, period.” —Baltimore Sun