It was 2001, Frank McCourt had just pitched a roomful of businesspeople on his bold dream to buy the Red Sox and turn 24 acres of pavement he owned on the South Boston Waterfront into a state-of-the-art ballpark. Sensing some resistance to the idea, the silver-haired landowner agreed to sweeten the deal, and was about to offer an enticement when his wife, a blond, slender-framed woman with sharp features, cut him off.
“Shut up, Frank,’’ said Jamie McCourt.
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