To the Editors of The Crimson:

Good sportswriters have the talent to take the insignificant and make it universal, to take the minute and make it allegorical. These reporters can describe a last second buzzer-beating basket in a cellar-dweller basketball game in such terms that we are convinced that this one, perhaps lucky, shot is evidence of the triumph of the human spirit. And they also have the talent to depict the sophomoric tendencies and playing style of a Bill Laimbeer in such a way that we're absolutely sure that these minor flaws are embodiments of the devil incarnate.

Good sportswriters can do this. Not so good ones try, but often end up exaggerating--they grope for significance when it's just not there.

Mike Grunwald is a pretty good sportswriter. If he weren't, The Boston Globe would never have hired him as a sports writer this summer. Mike Grunwald the sportswriter spent the whole summer making the truly unimportant seem important. But for some reason, he needed some more practice.

So Mike Grunwald the Editorial Chair decided to apply these sports reporting techniques to his recent editorial commentary, "I'm Washingerelemontic." But the application didn't work--as it generally doesn't for not-so-good sportswriters--and in this instance couldn't work, except by distorting facts and committing the same mistakes that overzealously committed sports fans make in their temporary loss of full reason.

The example of common reactions to Bill Laimbeer should illustrate what I mean. Each time Laimbeer enters Boston Garden (or other hostile arenas) he is invariable greeted with a spattering of signs and a din of obloquy all either literally saying or having the general gist of "Bill Laimbeer stinks." Of course, no fan means by this that Bill Laimbeer needs stronger deodorant. They all are insulting his basketball skills in an attempt to insult him personally.

But in so doing they confuse substance or skill with style. Let's face it, Laimbeer is a great basketball player--if he weren't, he wouldn't be a starting center for a two-time world champion basketball team. But because these fans don't like the way Bill Laimbeer plays the game (that is, his style), they derogate his obvious talent to play basketball (his substance).

Like the best of these die-hard sports fans, Grunwald confuses style and substance in his diatribe on me. Because he doesn't like the way I say things (my style) he tries to impugn my points of view (my substance) without ever considering them on their merits. Grunwald, really, really, doesn't like the fact that I feel confident enough in what I say to refrain from writing theses to back up each point I make.

In one pathetic paragraph, Grunwald enumerates a list of quotations from pieces I've written; these quotes made points that I failed to substantiate to his satisfaction. He pejoratively editorializes after several of the points that "he [I] didn't say why," giving the reader the impression that I had no idea what I was writing about. Grunwald assumes that because I didn't bore my readers and him with the philosophical or empirical underpinnings for each statement I made, I must therefore not have any such evidence. Gee, how convenient!

Grunwald is so resolute in his conviction that I'm truly dumb that he makes himself look so. He refers to a piece I wrote on behalf of AALARM about last month's glorious Coming Out Day in which I said, "for AALARM our actions represent our lives. For BGLSA it is just another extracurricular activity." Does that make any sense to you? If it does, pay a visit to a local psychiatrist. Hypersensitive and hyperserious people like Mike Grunwald, though, completely missed the satire and intentional stupidity of the statement, readily assuming that I'm so out-of-touch that I actually believe it.

The point was intentionally silly to satire the BGLSA's response to AALARM's postering campaign during last spring's BGLAD week. Tom Watson '91, writing for BGLSA, vilified our effort, claiming that his group's point of view should be believed because "for AALARM their actions represent just another extracurricular activity, but for us our actions represent our lives." Obviously, Watson's reason was a silly one to justify why not to believe us, and I was just satirizing this flawed reasoning in my letter. Grunwald must have been too Wasingerphobic to get it.

The most important point I'd like to make, however, concerns Grunwald's heroic pursuit to try to get me to contradict myself. Grunwald misconstrued my remark to him that I didn't know any gays at Harvard "personally" for meaning that I didn't know any gays at Harvard. He then proceeded to construct the rather lengthy argument that any and all claims that I have made that homosexuals appear unhappy to me must be entirely without foundation. After all, how could I make such statements without knowing any gays here?

But the fact is that I do know gays at Harvard, though admittedly not personally. And it is evident to me that these gays aren't happy, despite their contentions to the contrary. Moreover, it is precisely because of these contentions that I can make my conclusion.

Let me be more specific (Grunwald should like my indulging in substantiation). The Barnum and Bailey's inspired anti-Peninsula rally, the BGLSA's letters to The Crimson and Independent and common dining room talk (especially including the eat-ins) have featured gays and lesbians speaking about how happy they really are. In fact, the gay community here and elsewhere always makes such an effort to publicize that they really, really, are happy, despite what "homophobes" like me may contend.

Have you ever asked yourself why those who claim to be truly happy make such an effort to try to convince others that they're happy? And have you ever asked yourself why those who claim to be so happy become so uncontrollably angry when someone like me or like Peninsula questions their lifestyle?