NFL Puts Lips Together & Blows



That’s Buffalo Bob’s Bills, Howdy Doody Rexy.

The Bills have come due—and whether Belichick has cash on hand, or credit up his hoodie sleeve only the four quarters will tell. Magician T-Rex Ryan plans on pulling quarters out of Tom Brady’s nose.

T-Rex’s defensive attack tormented Tom Brady, but truly befuddled the officiating crew, one of the worst Roger Goodell could send to Foxboro.

The big game did not test the ability to stay up late. It was paranoid fun.  It does test the ability to rise on Tuesday morning to work as per usual, but it sent Patriot fans into a frenzy of paranoia beyond their usual fringe.

Inadvertent Whistlegate showed up on Goodell’s doorstep screaming like a newborn banshee. Yes, blame the NFL for Whistle-gate.

Every game is different—and blowing out the Bills, a la the earlier game, may be like blowing smoke rings. You can’t have a Super Bowl ring unless you can blow smoke rings around your most arrogant and semi-talented opponents. The NFL just blew their whistles like Lauren Bacall did to Bogie.

Between the referees’ attempts to throw the game back to the Bison, Belichick prevailed—and the sight of Rex Ryan throwing an F-laden tirade on the sidelines made the game a classic of ineptitude.

Former Pat Rodney Harrison has said he hoped the Patriots would lose this one in order to relieve the pressure on them for a perfect season. It’s like wondering if the Patriot O-rings resemble the old NASA problem. We know the inevitable is closer than ever after last night’s victorious fiasco.

The Bills have been sent to clean the outhouse for another season, and they ought to be joined by the so-called officiating crew.

Gronk’s Party Cruise Ship: Mal de Merry

 DATELINE: Sink or Swim



No one told us! We have discovered there are few spaces left on the party ship to set sail for the Bahamas in February. Gronk is hosting a party ship. Move over, drydock. Look out, Andrea Doria.

We presume too that this may be a Super Bowl party combination.

All guests with reservations on the ship actually will be able to pose with Gronk for a photo. At least we think it is the real Gronk, not a cardboard cutout. We already have one of those pix from Dunkin’ Donuts.

This continues Gronkonomics, a means for the Gronk to make money hand over fist without cashing a single paycheck from the Kraft family sports team.

Gronk’s parents appear to be on board this party ship as chaperones. His brothers will be there to prevent assaults for deranged women looking to make a husband out of the New England tight end.

The few balcony rooms left for our delectation will cost $1500 per person for the three days. We will need to find someone willing to spend three days and two nights with us in a small room. This is especially important for those with a tendency to be seasick after imbibing many drinks.

Whether this is another overblown publicity stunt by the master of gathering attention is unknown. We are leery of ships going out into the Atlantic in iceberg season.

We have not even considered the likelihood of coming down with a stomach virus, which we always see on the news when cruise ships are stalled out at sea.

If you are pickled with Gronk, we suppose neither iceberg nor viral infection will slow you down.

Rex Ryan’s Hope and Other Soap Operas



Rex Ryan has become even more insufferable this season, from his choice of captains for the coin toss to wearing his son’s football helmet to a press conference.

We love whimsy and situation comedy—but T-Rex never settles for farce when he can deliver burlesque. We hope he never drops his fig leaf and keeps spraying seltzer down his pants.

We expect some fan to try to break his jaw when the Bison go on a stampede off the field.

Lately he has started to praise Caesar Belichick like Brutus at the funeral pyre—and curse Brady for keeping that court artist painting in his attic.

Like Casca, he believes the mighty Belichick is too ambitious. And worse, he has his laurel wreaths on order. T-Rex is showing his green-eyed monster beneath the petticoat. And like Brutus, Ryan keeps waking up at night at the nightmare vision of Belichick at another Super Bowl.

The T-Rex team continues to play out the background of Niagara Falls, step by step. Shall Rex go out with a bang?  He said he will be fired if Brady scores 200 points against his team.  He will then join his twin brother in the unemployment line—or worse, on the CBS pregame show.

Ryan just wants to set Bill Belichick up for a nervous breakdown. Someone should tell T-Rex that a nervous breakdown implies you have frayed nerves. Belichick is frayed of nothing.

Gronk’s Latest Commercial Endorsement: $$ in Bank

DATELINE:  Money Saving Tips from Gronk

 thank you, ESPN

Gronkonomics may be the next phase of financial spiking.

Yes, Capital One—bank and credit card company—has hired Gronk as their spokesman. This may seem to undercut the economy—or it could mean a bull market. Cash cows are running for tax shelters.

Gronk apparently won the hearts of bankers everywhere when he announced he never cashes his paychecks, but merely banks them. He lives off his product endorsements—which are plenty. He is awash in Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, among other businesses.

Alas, most of us cannot afford not to cash our paychecks. Most fans of Gronk make their millions by betting on FannyDoodoo and BoyKinks, fantasy betting sites.

We may wonder what makes Gronk a nickel squeezer in a world of flagrant fouls and nouveau riche athletes. Being tight with the Buffalo nickel is nothing new for a boy who grew up where the bison roam in Buffalo.

Gronk is hardly spending money on his wardrobe—which remains gym teacher basic. His sneaks may be the biggest cost, but some products are given to him to try out! If he likes them, he signs a contract to endorse the product.

Gronk’s Spartan living quarters feature no art or decorations. He lives with a bed and training equipment. He always can find a bed with his parents, brothers, or sundry admirers everywhere as long as they have an unlimited supply of Polish sausage and Chicken Sue flay.

One of his best friends, who likes to travel in style wherever he goes, dunned Gronk last year for not spending money. When Gronk arranged a trip to Las Vegas for the twosome, it was tied into a promotion for hotels. Of course, we cannot praise profligate Julian Edelman who does not own a coat and lives with a roommate and teammate Ryan Allen.

We are going to try Gronkonomics by saving as much money as possible by not paying the mortgage and withholding tax on our royalties. We will keep you apprised of growth in our bank account.



Bills Plan on a Victory Lap, if not Parade

DATELINE: More Media, Less Taste

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Rex Ryan Torments the Patriot Cheerleaders

If you are puzzled by the hype for the Monday Night game between the Pats and Bills, so are we.

Every media razzle-dazzler is trying to up the ratings for his own benefit. There is no other explanation for making this game bigger than the first landing of man on the Moon.

This is apparently the Super Bowl for the Buffalo Bills—and they are spouting off that they intend to get to Brady and Gronk. They must be expecting the NFL to give them special rights to have 15 men on the field for every play.

Beyond that, we begin to wonder if we are losing more brain cells to the endlessly overblown ego of media shills. They keep telling us that the Patriots are in trouble until we begin to question it ourselves.

Yeah, the Pats will be without Jamie Collins, Dion Lewis, and Julian Edelman as well as Nate Solder. Is it the end of the world for playoff hopes? For possible victory? For human decency?

We suspect not.

The Patriots have brought in Vereen and Fauria for the game. It sounds like the Ghosts of Xmas Past.

Yes, those names of the past are baaaack like your favorite poltergeist.

Of course, it is Christian Fauria’s nephew and Shane Vareen’s little brother on the new roster.  It does not matter because it means Belichick is going to history to teach T-Rex Ryan that those who do not learn the hard lessons of historical inevitability are about to suffer detention and demerits.

Tom Brady Trumps Truman Capote in Photo Competition

erotic poses?

Leave it to GQ Magazine to set up Tom Brady in a way that Roger Goodell wishes he could. We are almost agog waiting for Tom’s next act in the swim suit competition.

The sexy man of the year has outdone a controversial pose that practically ruined the career of Truman Capote in 1949. Yup, taking that languid look on his book jacket made Truman a laughingstock and brought forth cries of “Dandy!” They may have actually said much worse.

Tom Brady is revisiting the look almost 70 years later, and he looks almost as ridiculous as Capote. If they are selling something, the price is beyond what most fans are willing to pay.

Gore Vidal loathed the Capote pose, and we are waiting to hear what Tom’s archrival, Peyton Manning, has to say about this sofa cushion pinup boy.

Now, we admit we expect this sort of model behavior from Gronk—and we fully expect it from Julian Edelman, though he might try it buck naked.

Fans will no doubt weigh in on Tom’s daring position out of the pocket.

If anything, we must say that time is kinder today to men who want to flaunt what they have.

Capote made new fans with his photo way back when—and we expect that a friendly new following will be adoring Tom Brady as the next gamecock.

To Flay or To Souffle: Gronk’s Big Question


Gronk has been doing online interviews again. So, you can expect the sublime and the ridiculous.

For the most part, there is nothing in between for Gronk. Whether it is tackling or receiving the ball, he plays the same way. You then should not be surprised by his everyday life.

Gronk is a magnificent beast when he runs for a TD and spikes the ball in the endzone. That is sublime and ridiculous entwined.

When doing his robotic, kung-fu style dance moves, he is no Cam Newton. Yet, Gronk’s ridiculous appearance rivals the ridiculous as when Fred Astaire dances with a broom.

As to why he is reluctant to have online accounts, like Snapchat, Gronk explains that women will send him off-color photos. This problem would likely cause him trouble. He prefers his off-color in the locker room. We were reminded he likes to eat Polish sausage.

Wisdom in this day and age indeed.

We were most struck with Gronk’s ridiculously sublime eating habits.

Gronk confessed that his mother makes a superior “Chicken Sue flay.”

We immediately went to our mother’s treasured cookbook to find out why we never were served such a delectable. We felt ridiculous, and hardly sublime.

We found recipes by Bobby Flay, some kind of chef and something called SoyVay Chicken, but not Sue Flay.

We once experienced a cheddar and chicken soufflé, but this dish seemed to be too exotic for Gronk. But wait, do you think the continental Gronk, known for his facility with all things fiesta, might have a Francophobic blind spot?

If asked, Gronk will tell us he loves franks, especially with beans. It’s ridiculous to expect more, or even less.

Time & Tide Without Edelman and Lord Tennyson

Julian Edelman has crossed the bar, all metaphors being unequal. We do not refer to your local drinking emporium.

Well, Alfred Lord Tennyson might better understand the NFL injury reports and could explain why we feel bereft. We hope Jules will continue to make waves, but after a broken bone in his foot, he may be hobbling into the media sunset, leaving us sea sick.

Players with season-stopping injuries tend to disappear into the Valhalla where putting out to sea in flames is the norm. In the NFL your worst injury tends to shanghai the victim—at least in the world of Bill Belichick. Gone, baby, gone.

We might take some solace that foretopman Wes Welker could have signed with the Patriots—if he had waited a week longer before jumping ship with the Rams.

We think only of poor Tom Brady—bereft without his lifejacket. We never considered Julian a “Mae West,” but he was keeping Tom afloat on third downs.

Now we face twilight and evening bell—and after that the dark!

Danny Amendola expects to step into the breach. We must trust again in the great Pilot of the ship to find another replacement from his kit and caboodle of replacement parts.

The tide keeps moving, despite the loss of Dion Lewis and now Julian Edelman. Makeshift sails now power the offensive line since Nate Solder crossed that bar weeks ago.

The season is only half over—and the boundless deep still ahead may be filled with icebergs, as well as Scylla and Charybdis, not to mention Rex Ryan.

When the call comes, Patriots go into the foamy brine, leaving the rest of us in sad farewell. Edelman was our life saver, not just some candy-ass cabin boy.

There is but a glimmer of hope that Edelman could return for playoffs and Super Bowl, yet solitary Tom Brady expects the flood will bear him far, far into the playoffs–but without his crew.

NEXT! The Patriots Speed Up the Line

In case you’re wondering what the NFL is doing this week to conspire against the New England Patriots, we can tell you they have given the opponents four extra days of rest.

It’s not enough.

T-Rex has been acting like Godzilla for weeks now, but there are no Potemkin villages for him to plunder outside of Foxboro.

T-Rex Ryan and his band of merry men have been off since a Thursday night game. And, they will have until the next Monday Night game to prepare their A-list game. Now that’s what the NFL calls a level playing field.

Ryan’s days as Friar Tuck, the fat prelate trying to knock Robin Hoodie off the log, ended with gastric surgery. After the Hoodie knocks him into the Charles River, T-Rex will wish he had a few extra pounds for buoyancy.

Bill Belichick is ringing the triangle now to muster his troops. The Bills are likely to find themselves lost in the Gillette Triangle once the game starts. There is nothing more foreboding than a team that is 9-0 and playing in their favorite haunt.

Gillette is the Sargasso Sea for all blowhards, footmen, and Moby coaches.

T-Rex likely has been collecting rabbits’ feet in an effort to rub his frog legs together. In the mean time in between time, ain’t we got fun? The Patriots are building a barrel for the Bills coach to use when he goes over Niagara Falls before his own fall from grace.

T-Rex will huff and puff this week, but we doubt he can blow down Tom Brady’s Brookline mansion. And, three little piggies (Gostkowski, Edelman and Amendola) want to bring home the bacon. Nine is never enough.

Patriots Skunk NFL Referees


DATELINE:  Giants Take Step Backward

 Featured imageZorro, the Black Tulip, or a Patriot?

As usual, the NFL tried to steal a game from the Patriots with its officiating crew of clowns. They know whose name appears on their paychecks. It is not Tom Brady.

The other big name beloved by the NFL is “Eli,” which is the code name for Super Bowl defeat in New England. We heard this week that the Secret Service has given the nickname “Eli” to Dr. Ben Carson, Republican running for president, who contends he tried to stab his best friend and clobber his mother with Maxwell’s silver hammer.

You have to watch those guys named Eli. This week there is no Super Bowl for the Patriots, but the Giants are looking at the closest thing to a bowl game, or even a playoff game for this year. They have the worst defense in football. That’s 32nd if you are counting, but with Goodell’s refs and zebras running amok, the Giants actually had a shot at beating the Patriots.

Now the Giants put the one-handed Zen master with his baking glove and catcher’s mitt, Jason Pierre-Paul, into the mix. He hoped to set off some fireworks during the game with his good hand.

Pierre-Paul sounds like the guy who makes Mounds Candy. It also could be the singing group that brought you “Puff the Magic Dragon,” an ode to performance enhancing experiences by Peter, Paul, and Mary Jane. But, the candy guy: that was Peter Paul, but you will find no Almond Joy at MetLife Stadium this Sunday. Stephen Gostkowski slayed the Giants.

What’s the worst that could happen? Besides listening to the Jimmy Webb tune, it is injury. When you play a team with murder in their hearts, they want to hurt your players. To wit, sayonara, Jules. How many shark’s teeth are coming up next in the assembly line? Even sharks have only so many spares.

When the referees call pass interference where there is none, you know the NFL tried to fix the game. Deflategate, indeed.

We learned that Gostkowsky is Polish for “Screw you, Goodell.”

Belichick Seeks A Cure for What Ails Jamie Collins


DATELINE: Plague on Your Gillette House

 Featured image Pre-Plague Days of Collins

Bill Belichick’s notorious doghouse may be the same as an island known as Elba, not Revis.

Jamie Collins, the hotshot young star on defense that rivals the hotshot young star on offense (Dion Lewis), has been ordered to stay away from the team.

It appears for nearly two weeks the healthy and hardy Jamie Collins has suffered some viral malady. We begin to wonder how a bad cold can outlast the Bubonic Plague.

In Belichick’s mind, with his decimated defensive units, he worries that Collins is the Typhoid Mary of Football. Who can blame him? As much as Belichick is a wizard, he is not an alchemist. He cannot continue to weave gold out of dross. And, right now, his offensive line is gold-plated dross. He doesn’t need the same problem on defense.

Collins might come into the situation and become a worse nightmare than Dr. Michael Crichton imagined in his fascinating novella and movie about a space plague, The Andromeda Strain.

Belichick must be a literary devotee, because he has isolated Jamie Collins like he is a direct emissary of Gort, the robot from The Day the Earth Stood Still. Bill Belichick does not want his mechanical defensive plans to be stopped dead in their tracks on the eve of a Giants game. Collins may be cog in the strain.

At this point Belichick must find a doctor who owns the Magic Bullet. Not, the one that shot Kennedy, but the one that cures disease. Is Madame Curie still doing research?

Is there a Jonas Salk out there with an injection of good health? Does anyone have healthy stem cells? For heaven’s sake, does anyone have two aspirin?



Grayscale Between Jets and Bills: Only the Color Blind Can Tell

DATELINE: no colors

Featured imagein glorious black and white

Color blind fans were blindsided by the Jets and Bills on Thursday night. It didn’t matter if you watched on a big screen, a smartphone screen, or your iPad. If you watched on grandmama’s old black and white TV, you had an idea of the problem.

Someone at the NFL decided it would be great fun to have each team coordinate their look from top to bottom in one color. The Bills took red, and the Jets took green.

The players looked strangely odd at first—and there was no becoming used to the monochromatic look.

The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the teams looked like they were playing in pajamas with footsies. We kept looking for an open trap door. This would have been more colorful than a bunch of men doing the famous “black bottom” dance.

Of course, since somewhere between 5% and 10% of men are color blind when it comes to red/green, they were looking for stripes and and logos to help them determine who was interfering with whom.

In the old days of black and white television, this would never have happened because all gray uniforms required one to have light pants and one to have dark pants. It was the same philosophy that went into the Friday Night Fights.

The witless ninnies at the NFL no longer think of such matters. They stick to surface appearances, whether it’s a deflated football, or little green men from head to toe.

Anyone having trouble telling the teams apart should have simply watched T-Rex Ryan on the sidelines. You’d know instantly what team was unhappy with the referees.

Mr. Holmes: Treatment of Elderly Holmes Astounds

DATELINE: New Movies, Old Heroes

With all the new Featured imageand revised Sherlock Holmes films and television series overwhelming those devoted to the Doyle canon, what a breath of fresh air to find ourselves facing a brilliant new movie last night: Mr. Holmes with Ian McKellan playing Sherlock at 70 in flashbacks, and 93 in 1947.

In no mean feat, McKellan manages to play the active Holmes, unable to solve his final case, driving him into retirement, having eschewed Watson. His new housekeeper’s young son seems to urge him to come out of retirement at 93—but Holmes is dubious.

Interesting and subtle difference between a spry Holmes failing in his last case at 70 and quitting–and doddering and with senility and memory loss at 93–emerge in McKellan’s sharp performance. Even Holmes with Alzheimer’s is better than most detectives with all their faculties.

With all his favorites dead and gone, he lives as a beekeeper in Sussex (true to stories) and now regrets he did not solve his last case–and decides to do so before he dies.

Holmes must come face to face with the horrors of 20th century progress—from Hiroshima to bad movie depictions of him. He attends a showing, unnoticed, and disdains the movie.

Fascinating and ultimately moving portrait of Holmes, the film directed by Bill Condon is absolutely true to original stories (unlike one highly touted American series).

Amusing trivia abounds, but this film is more than clever. It is deeply moving and transfixing as we watch the ravages of old age upon an icon.

The teenage star of YOUNG SHERLOCK, Nicholas Rowe, returns to the screen to play the movie version of adult Holmes! Clever movie with many Hitchcock references and Holmes touches.

Whether this turns into a franchise of old Sherlock stories depends entirely on the decision of Ian McKellan.

Belichick Says Diddly-Squat in Esperanto

DATELINE: Paper Chase and Media Beater

 Featured imageProfessor Belichick at Trump University

Bill Belichick disdained his midterm report card.

You’d think the head coach of the New England Patriots would gladly accept accolades and A’s for his efforts this season.

This is not your twin brother’s Rex Ryan. Belichick sneered with more alacrity than usual when some dopey media person asked what grade he deserved as a coach at mid-season.

Bill does not suffer fools gladly—and press conferences seem to test his pedal to the mettle. These cub reporters never learn their lessons enough to receive more than a failing grade. Professor Belichick never gives multiple guess tests.

Responding with all the ever-acerbic zeal of Bill Parcells, Mr. Belichick thought the idea of a mid-season grade went out with summa cum laude.  He eschewed any grading system as worse than pass/fail.

Under the circumstances, he noted that he deserved an F.

Football is not the first semester of college—despite what FanDuel or DraftKings may tell you. And Bill Belichick is the Professor Kingsfield of the media chase and Super Bowl graduate school. If he has a seating plan for reporters and media geeks at his weekly presser, he knows what maroon to call on for the worst question.

One of these days he will hand a reporter a dime and tell him to call his mother and say he failed out of Football 101.

Unlike bombastic Rex Ryan who only circles the games with the Patriots on his schedule, Bill Belichick never circles anything. He is more of a rhomboid guy. And, there is no neutral corner.




Beware the Ides of November!

DATELINE: Patriots on Road Not Taken

                                                                                                 Featured image

Danger, Danger, Will Robinson—and you too Bill Belichick! All too often when the Patriots visit MetLife Stadium, they find themselves lost in space, knocked off by some Bloop.  Giants killer Jason Pierre-Paul is making the sound of one hand clapping for all you Zen masters.

With winning teams gathering losses like rosebuds while they may, the Patriots have come to the fork in the road. Will they take it?

If they do, you can stick a fork in the Patriots.

Heretofore this season, only Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning have taken the road not taken. When you have a perfect record, you have to be suspicious of your GPS. You may be driving toward a bridge too far.

Robert Frost surely could tell you that playing the Giants has made all the difference on the journey of life. The road not taken is never the primrose path.

Many undefeated teams are guilty of driving off that far bridge before their chickens have hatched.

The Ides of the month often screw up the best laid plans of mice and caesars. You expect to pick up your victory laurels—and find yourself at the wrong end of a hilt or two.

We don’t want to hear Bill Belichick crying, “Great Caesar’s Ghost!” when the Giants do it again. However, Tom Coughlin looks like he is ready to haunt the house of the Patriots. The last thing we need is a bunch of Gronk-busters.

Will someone please put a stake in the heart of Tom Coughlin before he rises again?