Horatio Caine ain't here

In the show CSI - Miami, when the bad guy was captured, Horatio Caine did a line, then put on his sunglasses, and delivered a punchline.  You knew the show was over then and the bad guy had been brought to justice.

Today's bombings at the Boston Marathon are already leading to speculation of who did it and why.  We will sooner or later learn the identities and motives.  In the meantime, we must wait. 

Horatio Caine ain't here.  To paraphrase Rick Pitino, he's not coming through that door.

We must be thankful our loved ones were safe, or in a safe place.  The first responders did an amazing job in triage, hunting for explosives, cleaning up the debris, and finally taking the injured to the hospital.  For those in the hospital, pray for their recovery, or pray that they've arrived to their Maker safely.

Then there will be grousings that everyone will be inconvenienced.  That the police with dogs will be nothing more than "security theater."  That traffic will be backed up, train stations closed, etc.  Then the complaints about civil rights being eroded away, people being jailed for suspicion rather than fact, spirited away to phantom internment camps.  That is the voice of the insecure trying to rationalize an attack like this to soothe themselves.

But in no way did we deserve this.  We'll rise above and survive better than most.

I groused to myself this weekend that tourists will be taking over Boston for the marathon, hobnobbing here and there, looking in awe at all the tourist spots, eating overpriced tourist food, and going back to their hotels wondering how other neighborhoods have all sorts of crime and seediness.  After the explosions, I thought to myself, "These tourists will now see the real side of Boston," and not that Boston that eyerolls each time a tourist from Cornpone USA asks where Harvard Yard is, or if Norm is still at Cheers.  That "real" Boston isn't Southie, with dropped 'r's, or Roxbury, with enough blood and guts to make Gettysburg look like Six Flags, or other places. 

That real side of Boston is when we get hit, we hit back.  Hard.  We don't give up, curl up into the fetal position, and plead for mercy.  We get our crooks any way we can.  We're ambitious, we love the thrill of the chase, and we bask in glory when the problem is solved.  We don't have our Horatio Caines, but we have our own crusty detectives, our eager patrolmen, and people behind the scenes who don't need rounds or guns put people away - computers, forensics and witnesses do it for them. 

And so it will be - when the perps are escorted from a Boston Police cruiser in handcuffs, tourists will understand that sure, we're cranky, but we're cranky with a purpose.