BRYAN BRENNAN: THE HUMAN SELFIE

I've never met Bryan Brennan but we somehow became Facebook friends recently. He says
he's a videographer for NESN, the goliath of regional sports networks, but judging by the
amount of selfies he takes, it's hard to imagine him having any time to shoot anything in
the theatre of Boston sports.

Brennan is the king of the selfie, the master of the 'me' shot, and the ultimate specialist of
the singular photo. Compared to Brennan, Kim Kardashian is an amateur when it comes to
selfies. He has a true talent for taking them and one thing is certain, he has more fun
than anybody else when he does, which is around eight per hour every hour.

In August of last year, TIME magazine proclaimed Mortao Maotor to be the selfie queen
as the woman from Bangkok has posted 12,000 selfies on Instragram, or half as many as
Brennan has plastered all over Facebook.

Forget about King or Queen, Brennan is the human selfie.

Brennan can't leave home without his iPhone nor curb his obsession with selfies.

"It's a gift," Brennan told SportsRip in-between snapping selfies. "Mookie Betts was born
with a great name. I was blessed with a great eye and a thumb to snap a million selfies."

Brennan's selfies are not of the garden variety and it's obvious that the veteran videographer
doesn't take himself too seriously, if at all. That is, unless, he's scratching his nose to show
off his World Series ring to the stunning blonde across the bar whom Brennan has no shot
of landing even if he gift-wrapped the bling to her.

Brennan, who graduated magna cum laude from the Connecticut School of Broadcasting and
is expected to have a building named after him in one of the 18 states the school operates
in and rips people off, takes selfies to an award-winning level every single day.

"Yes, there was a lot of trial and error at first," admitted the talented videographer. "But
then something just clicked. It became natural and I got better and better as my addiction
to selfies went deeper and deeper."

I've often posted on his Facebook photos that NESN should give him his own show to
shoot, edit, and host. Brennan is far funnier than anyone that showed up on NESN's
"Comedy All-Stars" and more colorful than any of those hard-up chowder heads from
the North Shore who appeared in "Sox Appeal", the award-winning dating game that
was filmed during games at Fenway Park.

In his true humble fashion, Brennan responded, "You don't think I know that?"

NESN executives admit  keeping Brennan may be a challenge, considering his
extraordinary talent with the camera and the enormity of his personality and sense of humor.
Giving him his own show just may not be enough.

This just in: SportsRip has obtained an exclusive photo, believed to be the only one of
its kind showing that Brennan actually does work as a videographer. This is Brennan
after a Red Sox game and apparently upset he did not get to partake in the final rendition
for the night of "Sweet Caroline." Nice legs, by the way.

Brennan is to selfies what Mark Zuckerberg is to social media: a pure genius. He is to
selfies what Wade Boggs once was to sex: an addict. He is to singular photos what Tom
Brady is to deflated footballs: an expert.

Nobody does selfies better than Bryan Brennan and you know, that's not a bad thing.

HANSON BROTHERS: THE BEST ON SIBLINGS DAY

"He ain't heavy, he's my brother."

Fat, thin, freckled-faced, or forced to wear the worst-haircuts man has ever seen, pictures of
brothers and sisters adorned Facebook on National Siblings Day. Yes, it seems like every day
has become something national. There's National Puppy Day or National Do-Rag Day. I'm
sure the National hide-your-favorite-waitress-from-Tiger Woods-day is coming sometime
soon.

Admittedly, the siblings day thing is pretty cool. Pictures of brothers, sisters, and brothers
and sisters together is kind of, shall I say, heartwarming, which probably isn't all that cool
to admit, but I don't care.

I wondered to myself who were the greatest siblings in sports, but when I thought about the
names like the Manning's, Dean's, DiMaggio's, Hull's, Sutter's, well, all that came to mind
was vanilla, as in boring. Very boring.

Then, the Hanson brothers, popped in my head for some reason. Oh, they never played in
the NHL or won any awards, but if you love hockey and were coming into your own in
the late 70's, then you know all about them.

The Hanson brothers were the guys who put the goon into the movie, "Slapshot", which
was "Bull Durham", well before "Bull Durham." It was an insanely funny movie about
life in minor-league hockey.

I'm quite certain it would be on the level as "Bull Durham" in terms of popularity if
producers found a way to edit it so that it made sense for a general viewing audience.
However, because of the number of four-letter words and nudity, there was no way
any network would show it repeatedly as they do with  "Bull Durham."

And that's too bad because "Slapshot" is, was, and always be a classic and the Hanson
brothers are a big reason why.

These "brothers" didn't look the part when it came to professional hockey players. They
had long-hair and horned rimmed glasses. Yes, hockey players do wear long hair, but
I can't recall too many of them wearing funny-looking glasses. None actually.

The Hanson brothers, glasses and all, loved to fight and play "old-time hockey", which
meant bar knuckle brawls and vicious body checks. They were the guys who stood up
to authority telling referees to "Shut the F%#k up", because they were trying to listen
to the national anthem with blood oozing down their necks. They were the ones who
were "putting on the foil" as they prepared for nightly donnybrooks against guys like
Ogie Oglethorpe.

The Hanson brothers became cult heroes to those fans in the movie and it flowed right
into mainstream America or at least those who loved hockey. Their shelf life doesn't
seem to have an expiration date.

The Hanson brothers still travel around the country to do their gigs at minor-league
rinks and people still very much identify with them. Those "brothers" were actually
Dave Hanson and Jeff and Steve Carlson, all of whom could skate and skate well.

They are the best of the best when it comes to National Siblings Day, even if they
were just a figment of some whacked producer's imagination. They will always seem real
to many of us, though, because they were just crazy  brothers who just loved to have fun
and hit people real hard.

PATRICK GAMERE: THE 'G-FORCE' IN THE BOSTON MARATHON

If you racked up all the miles Patrick Gamere has covered while chasing the big story or
trying to get the perfect shot with his camera, it'd probably cover the distance from Boston
to Los Angeles and back. He's worked as a videographer for NESN for more than a decade,
capturing emotions and the excellence that seems to occur nightly in the greatest sports town
in the country.

On Monday, April 20, Gamere is set to add 26.2 miles to his wonderful career in sports. But
he won't be lugging a 40-pound camera or chasing the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.
Gamere is going to run alongside about 30,000 other runners in the Boston Marathon. He got
his bib by raising the required $4,000, but Gamere is going above and beyond in trying to
help others.

Gamere set a goal of raising $13,000 for the Dana-Farber Institute which is a world-renown
center in Boston for cancer treatment and research. He began his training in earnest in mid-
December and endured the worst winter in the city of Boston, battling sub-zero temperatures
and snow drifts as high as the Green Monster.

In nearly 5 months of training, Gamere has logged between 285-300 miles, rising well
before down and running in temperatures that cuts right through you. Not exactly ideal
conditions for  prepping for the mother of all marathons, but Gamere got through it. He did
have a nice three-week break when he escaped the frozen tundra to cover the Red Sox at
their winter home in Fort Myers, and that certainly rejuvenated him.

Focused and committed to his training, Gamere ran in the Marco Island half-marathon in
between covering Red Sox workouts, logging the 13.1 mile course in 2:25.

A former defensive wizard in basketball at Framingham State, Gamere always dreamed
of running the Boston Marathon. His father, a former longtime sportscaster, ran it several
times, and Pat cheered him along the way. Patrick will follow in his footsteps for all 26.2
miles on April 20.

But this race is more than just about completing 26.2 miles for Gamere. NESN, the regional
network Gamere works for, televises the Jimmy Fund telethon every year and he's seen
first hand the heartbreak and tragedy that countless parents suffer when they see a child go
through cancer treatment, and sadly, succumb to it.

Gamere not only wanted to run forward from Hopkinton to Boston, but he wanted to pay
it forward as well. He needs just about $1,000 more to reach his goal of $13,000, which
is a tremendous amount of money for a great, great cause. If you'd like to help Gamere
reach his goal, click on this link and donate.

http://www.rundfmc.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=1115928&supid=300367906

GO, G, GO!

MIKE CARISTA SET FOR COMEBACK

Mike Carista, a former highly-regarded prospect in the Boston Red Sox organization,
announced he's attempting to make a comeback after a 25-year break from the game.
According to sources close to Buster Olney, the stout right-handed pitcher from Saugus, Massachusetts reportedly signed a free-agent deal with the Somerset Patriots of the
Can-Am independently league, which Carista confirmed in an exclusive interview
with SportsRip.

"I am ready," Carista said. "I finally figured out my arm slot again.  Rich Gale, who was
my pitching coach in New Britain, screwed  it up royally. I'm going to kill that S.O.B.
next time I see him. I went from throwing 92 to 85 and that was the beginning of my
downfall."

Carista said that he not only regained his arm slot, but added 12 miles an hour to his fastball,
which he inadvertently discovered while trying to win a stuffed bear for his beautiful wife,
Kate, at the State Fair of North Carolina in December.

"My ball had some serious hair on it," he said. "I just had some pulled pork with picante
sauce along with a corn dog and I was throwing some serious heat. My wife was pissed
because I didn't come close to hitting the target and she didn't get her stuffed animal, but
I felt like Jim Baker at one of those evangelical things: I was re-born! I hit 97 on the
gun. Jeff Plympton, Ken Ryan, or Dave Owen never did that!

Carista said he got serious about a comeback in late December and started to hit the
weight room in addition to working the pits at tractor pulls throughout the state.

"You talk about a workout! Between hauling 150 pound tires and pulling those trucks
through the mud, I got real big, real fast," he said.

When asked if he used any PED's during his comeback, Carista admitted he worked
at a local GNC and may have unknowlingly taken them.

"Hey, I feel for David Ortiz," Carista said. "I can see how he could've taken supplements
that were laced with steroids. Did you ever read the ingredients on the back of those
bottles? Good, lord. It's ridiculous.

Carista went from 240 to 310 pounds in three months, increasing his bench press to a
North Carolina record 660 pounds and deadlifting 700.

"I was in Beast Mode long before Marshall Lynch came along," he added.

The former 3-time all-state pitcher and academic All-American said he also unknowingly
became a BFF with Whitey Bulger, the notorious mob leader from Boston who was on
the run for many years before being captured by the FBI in California.

Carista with Whitey Bulger at Applebee's

"He came to North Carolina before heading west. I met him in the gym at the local
YMCA and I asked him to spot me when I was repping 575 pounds on the bench. We
became fast friends. He'd come over to read my scrap book and watch my videos from
spring training with the Red Sox. He was amazed when I told him that I struck out
Albert Belle, Jim Thome, and Sandy Alomar Jr. in a row when I pitched against them
when they played in Canton-Akron. Whitey said, 'Holy Shit, you made them swim
with the fishes.' "He was a funny guy."

Carista didn't realize he had been paling around with the FBI's 'Most Wanted Man
in America' until he went home to be inducted into the New Britain Red Sox Hall
of Fame several years ago.

"We don't have cable, the Internet, or satellite radio in North Carolina and the last paper
I read was the Boston Globe after I made the all-area team my senior year in high school.
I go to New Britain and I'm watching CNN and I see Whitey gets busted by the FBI.
I couldn't believe it. He was such a nice guy."

Carista has been working with his former manager in Greensboro, Dick Beradino, hoping
to recapture the magic that put him on the cusp of greatness in the Red Sox Organization.

'Fletch' Carista with Dick Beradino before a work out.

"Did you know I was actually better than Curt Schilling in the minor-leagues? Carista
asked. "I had a better record and ERA and you can look it up. We are still great friends
and he's been helping me prepare for my comeback. He even let me see what notes he
took in-between innings during all his starts. Curt also sent me his bloody sock  that
he used against the Yankees for my comeback. How cool is that?", Carista stated.

Carista will be playing on a Somerset team loaded with ex-MLB players like pitcher
Andrew Cardigan and former Red Sox great Rich "El Guapo" Garces. He's hoping
to impress scouts enough to get a major league contract by July 1st.

The signing of Carista has already paid dividends for Somerset. Tickets to "Mike
Carista Beard Night" sold out within minutes of going on sale. Any fan who has
a beard like Mike can bring a friend with a beard and get them in for free.

"This will be the mother of all comebacks and they might just make a reality show.
out of it. Stay tuned."

FIGHT, TIM MURPHY, FIGHT!

Genuine. Nice. Humble. Loyal. Brave. Unselfish. Thoughtful. Respected. If someone has a
few of those characteristics many of us would probably consider them to be a great person.

If a person contains all of those characteristics that someone would be considered to be just
like Tim Murphy.

Murphy served in the Norwalk Police Department for 33 years and helped protect a
community that bordered his hometown of New Canaan, CT. However, when it came to crime,
Norwalk was about as far away from New Canaan as the Golden Gate Bridge. The toughest
part of it, South Norwalk is like a mini-Bronx, riddled with stabbings, shootings, domestic
violence, and drug deals gone bad.

When Murphy, 54, turned in his badge and gun on February 26, he had a pristine and sterling
record and was one of the most respected and well-liked cops on the force. He had risen through
the ranks to be a lieutenant and left without ever being harmed on the job. Murphy and his
lovely wife, Kimberly, had already built a house in Florida and had big plans for retirement.

But just two days after closing the book on his law enforcement career, Murphy got terrible
news. He had stage 4 cancer.

We all know life is not fair, but this is beyond cruel. Tim Murphy is as kind a human
being as there is on this earth. He lived a life of protecting and serving a community, putting
the welfare of others ahead of himself, yet, there was nothing to protect him from cancer,
no one to shield him from a disease that rarely loses.

I heard about Murphy's diagnosis while working at my news station. While casually perusing
the  rundown I saw a story slugged, "Norwalk cop cancer". I clicked open the link to see if I
knew who it was. I had covered the police blotter five days a week for nearly seven months
and I had become acquainted with many of the officers who worked there.

When I read the name, "Tim Murphy", my jaw dropped and my heart sank. I said to myself,
"This can't be true."

Unfortunately, it was.

I've known Murphy for several years and we have many mutual friends in New Canaan.
We often ran into one another at a local health club, trading funny stories about the news
and law enforcement business, or I'd run into him on the "mean streets of New Canaan",
as I often joked.

The police and Norwalk community held a  hockey game to benefit Murphy on Saturday
night with well-over 600 people coming out to show their love and support for Murphy. I
needed to say hello and show mine as well. He is everything good about the human
race and society in general. He has a heart of gold and is as genuine as they come.

Murphy, who loves hockey and is passionate about it, had his uniform from the men's
team he built, presented to him. Trinity Pawling, where Murphy matriculated after
spending his first two years at New Canaan High School, gave him his old hockey
jersey as well.

Like all hockey players, Murphy is tough. He won't give up or give in to cancer and
made it clear of his intention when he spoke to the people who were there to support him:

"With you standing by my side, I will beat this thing."

Knowing Murphy as I do, I have little doubt  he will come out victorious in
his battle with cancer.

Fight, Murphy, Fight. We love you.

DEAN SMITH'S ACT OF KINDNESS

Once as neat and clean as their pristine white home basketball uniforms, UNC's reputation
recently got soiled by an academic scandal that turned the Carolina blue sky over Chapel
Hill into a big, black cloud.

Leave it to Dean Smith to make it a sunny day for Tar Heel Nation once again, even in
death. Yes, the former coaching legend may be a God after all.

Just hours before the school's game against Wisconsin in the NCAA tournament, it
was discovered that Smith willed $200 to every letter winner that played for him
during his 36 years of coaching at UNC. Yes, every single one of them from Tommy
Kearns, a self- made millionaire to self-made billionaire, Michael Jordan received
a $200 check. And every player from every tax-bracket below them got one, too.

This random act of kindness by Smith embodied everything he was all about: thoughtful,
caring, loyal, generous, but most of all, class. His class and style was a big reason why
the University of North Carolina had the reputation it did. No, he didn't build UNC, but
he helped make it a place nearly every high school senior in the country wanted to
attend.

For more than three decades, Smith was the face of the university and the most
powerful man on campus. He was the beacon of the school, the guiding light all Tar
Heels followed and looked up to.

That light dimmed after Smith retired and the scent of big money intoxicated the
athletic program, causing it to make a slew of bad choices and decisions. The
stain caused by an ensuing scandal may take some time to rinse away, but Smith
may have truly started the cleansing process with his act of generosity and kindness.

In a world polluted with greed and people often asking, "what about me?", Smith's
selfless and thoughtful act provides another one of life's lessons he often gave to
his players: It truly is better to give than receive.

Dean Smith has made everyone who attended and graduated from the University of
North Carolina truly proud to be a Tar Heel once again. The skies over Chapel Hill
are Carolina blue today, a ray of sunshine beams through the ivory-clouds from above.

Thank you, Dean Smith. Thank you.

THE GREATEST 25 YARDS OF MY LIFE

I am much closer to starting my next Ironman than the finish of my last one. There are
less than five months until I begin another grueling 140.6 mile journey through the
Adirondacks in upstate New York and I am using the last 25 yards of the 2014 Ironman
in Lake Placid to motivate me and get me through my training.

The last 25 yards of my first Ironman last July were quite simply, the greatest 25 yards
of my life.

In my 50 years of earth, never has such a short distance contained so much joy, happiness,
exhilaration, satisfaction, and yes, even gratitude. I didn't set a record, win anything, or
qualify for the Ironman in Kona, but those 25 yards down the finishing chute turned out
to be one of the greatest experiences of my life.

The journey to that moment started about 7 months earlier when I began training for my
first Ironman in earnest. I didn't follow any programs, hire a coach, or have a set work out
schedule. With work and the everyday experiences of life, I worked out when I could.
If I felt the need to bike a 100 miles, I'd do it. If I felt I needed to swim three miles every
day for a week, I did that. I ran a lot until I got plantar fasciitis, which was the worst thing
I've ever experienced during my career in sports.

My training wasn't scientific, but I can assure you, I worked my ass off, investing a great
amount of sweat equity into the 2014 Ironman in Lake Placid. My goal wasn't just to finish,
I was a decent athlete and too much of a competitor to be satisfied with just picking up
a medal for getting in under the 17 hours required to get it.

I wanted to finish strong and do it with a big smile on my face. I considered
the Ironman to be part of life's journey with challenges, obstacles, and a test to see what
you are truly made of. I envisioned when I crossed the finish line it would be
one helluva celebration in the greatest venue on the Ironman circuit.

Lake Placid is a magical place and one of my favorite places to be in the summer. It
has great charm, character, and of course, history. The finish to the event is on the
same Olympic oval where Eric Heiden wowed the world by winning five gold medals in
speedskating in the 1980 Winter Games. Just off to the right is the hockey arena where
the United  States put their signature on the "Miracle on Ice." All of it, along with the
clean air of the Adirondacks, was intoxicating.

When I entered the oval after more than 140 miles of swimming, biking, and running,
I did what I also do when I'm about to finish a race. I had thoughts of my late father
and said to myself, "Dad, let's bring it on home." We finish every race together. When I
saw the flames of the mini-Olympic cauldron burning brightly about fifty yards ahead
of me, I remembered what an Ironman veteran said to me just three days before:

"Make sure you enjoy the last 25 yards of the race. Don't sprint to the finish to
improve your time. If you do it right, you'll remember it for the rest of your life."

I did.

When I passed the Olympic cauldron and headed down the straightaway to the finish,
I got a mile-wide grin on my face and raised my arms in triumph. After all the hours
of pain and buckets of sweat, this was the time to celebrate and enjoy it. When I hit
the Ironman "mats" which signified the start of the 25-yard finishing chute I got the
chills.

I had seen thousands of people finish the Ironman on television over the years and
it felt like an out of body experience. It was downright cool.

I kept my hands raised until I hit the finish line and  then threw them down in
celebration. I immediately looked for my sister, Kara, and her family. I knew they'd
be right there at the finish. I wish you knew how much Kara means to me. She pushed
me, inspired me, and has helped me in so many ways. I love her and to have her
and her little kids at the finish line made it all the more memorable.

Plus, she is a great photographer who captured all these moments that I will never forget.

When I finished, the event volunteers tin foil thing on me, which I'm
not sure what it helps for, then I went and had a joyous celebration with Kara, her
great husband, Chad, and her kids. Tired? I wasn't. Exhausted? Are you kidding me?

I was on this adrenaline-fueled, natural high. It was spine-tingling and amazing. After
140 miles, those last 25 yards were the greatest I've ever experienced in my life.

I'm doing the Ironman again on July 27. It will be another challenge and I'm not
sure I'll be able to duplicate the feelings of last year. But that's OK, the finish of
my first Ironman was perfect and perfection only happens every so often.