Bostonians have a unique sense of humor. We vigorously embrace sarcasm and irony. Our saving grace is that we don’t take ourselves too seriously. We can dish it out and take it in return. Verbal sparring matches are good sport, and no one is safe. Even our local heroes can fall victim to our collective, acerbic wit.
Door number 15 reveals a legendary observation.
December 15, 2025
During the winter months, which coincides with baseball’s offseason, my husband reminds me that apples are less than ideal and to leave them off the grocery list. He’s not a fan of “Disney-fied” fruit. That is, fruit kept in cold storage. His comparing the storage of out of season apples to cryogenics is the kind of humor we embrace in Boston. He’s not from these parts, but as a naturalized citizen of Massachusetts, his humor regularly goes yard. He’s a keepah.
Today, while crunching a fresh, Honeycrisp apple, I suddenly remembered cryogenic apples which, in turn, brought to mind the funniest thing I’ve ever heard on Boston sports radio.
Boston is a huge sports town. We have two talk radio stations devoted to our professional sports teams. It’s an excellent way to eavesdrop on the way we talk to each other. The dry, New England sense of humor flies like snowflakes in a nor’easter on these stations as folks call in from all corners of the region to discuss what they would do if they were the manager/coach/owner/player in question of Team X. It’s auditory gold.
Last February I was in my car listening to my favorite sports radio show when the hosts announced it was time to go to the phones. The first caller introduced was Bob in the Truck. Bob wanted to talk about the Red Sox; a hot-button topic every offseason that was sure to keep the call board lit up. They break our hearts one year and then take us to the pinnacle of baseball greatness the next. There’s been a lot less of the latter lately, but there are enough sparks of encouragement to keep us showing up at Fenway Park.
Bob in the Truck also lamented the heartbreak. He added that the ownership group are cheapskates and are only interested in their investment portfolios. He then moved on to the manager, coaches, and players. In classic Bostonian form, he put the situation into a context that every one of us could understand:
“Ted Williams’ frozen head could do better than these bums.”
One of the hosts laughed like a hyena. Without missing a beat, his co-host agreed and speculated about who they could call to check The Splendid Splinter’s head out of cryogenic storage. The studio crew and subsequent callers agreed that Williams still had more talent in his frozen cranium than the current room temperature roster. I was wheezing.
A visitor to this strange land might find this conversation disrespectful. For locals, it was a reverent acknowledgement of a rare talent. Help us, frozen head of Ted Williams, you’re our only hope.
Welcome to Boston. To know us is to laugh with us.
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