The few. The racist. The punch-drunk

If you want to be able to get away with anything in Massachusetts up to and including murder, become a cop.

Not just any cop, mind you. A connected cop. The kind whose personnel file has more redactions than a CIA cable.

This week's exhibit: the trooper who failed three fitness tests, two drug screens and one polygraph, and got promoted anyway. His sergeant's exam was graded on a curve — the kind of curve you drive off into a marsh.

The disciplinary board met for eleven minutes. Four of those were spent finding the light switch.

You could staff an entire barracks with the guys who have been \"suspended with pay\" since the first Menino administration.

"You could staff an entire barracks with the guys who have been \"suspended with pay\" since the first Menino administration."

And the beat goes on — or rather, the beatings go on, and the paychecks with them.

The commissioner promises reform. The union promises a grievance. The taxpayers promise to keep paying for both.

Somewhere, Whitey is laughing. He always said the smartest guys in the racket wore the uniform.