This is the front page of today's Boston Herald. Not the sports cover. The front page. All because Harvard got the spot in the tourney it knew it would get as of Tuesday. All Boston learned yesterday was that the Crimson would be playing Vanderbilt in Albuquerque in the first round, which is actually sort of depressing on a couple of levels. First, Albuquerque? Second, wouldn't Harvard rather avoid playing a private school, one-percent team spirit, and all that?
But let us not scorn Harvard—we've done that already and I'm sure we'll do it again—but rather the Herald, a tab tasked with representing Boston's volksgeist, the unique spirit that we've come to know so well through film adaptations of Dennis Lehane novels. The Herald is the working-man's paper, the newspaper that gets purchased from a Store 24 before being splashed with Dunkin Donuts French roast. The Herald is the paper of the lady who makes you wait at the RMV in Danvers. The Herald speaks for every cop in Woburn. Well, it used to. Now it belongs to the Rockefellers and Kennedys and Dershowitzes just like everything else. Oh well. Damn it, Harvard.