Mike Napoli Oversleeps During 2014


Jack & the Sleep Apnea Knife

With the miserable Red Sox season over, the other Sox shoe drops daily. Now we know why Mike Napoli looked like a somnambulist during the past season. He needs more beauty sleep. To be successful at beauty, he needs about the same amount as you can fit into a century.

We decided to pick up one of the Sox slippers of the team’s evening men’s wear and learned it was the wrong size. To our surprise, the other shoe-sock belongs to Mike Napoli.

We have discovered why he was unable to lead the Sox to a repeat of the World Series this 2014 season. He has just had surgery to try to rectify his nightmarish problem.

Yes, Mike Napoli needs more naps. Naps for Napoli will be our clarion call for Mike next year.

It appears that our stalwart first-baseman has problems with Mr. Sandman. No, not some pitcher for the KC Royals, but Napoli suffers from sleep apnea, which is nothing to sneeze at, nor snore at either.

We aren’t sure what surgery corrects sleep apnea. It probably has something to do with a deviated septum. Being cowardly as a nature, we would opt for one of those mouthpieces that fit snugly over the teeth to depress the lower jaw.

Perhaps all those nose hairs are clogging up his air passages. Aren’t those strips you place over the nose cartilage enough to open the snort hole and allow sufficient oxygen into the lungs?

Surgery seems so drastic, but if it means fewer naps and more REM moments in the sack for the first sacker, we support undergoing the knife.

As we recall, Jack Nicholson had a nose condition in Chinatown and underwent the knife. We wish Mike Napoli well and hope he dreams a little dream of comeback.

Scrooge Belichick Meets Ghost of Future Super Bowls



Something is rotten in the state of Foxboro.

We haven’t quite seen Hamlet’s Ghost, but it is starting to look like the Ghost of Past, Present, and Future Super Bowls may be making a call and throwing a yellow flag.

Patriots experts said there would be a massacre against Rex Ryan’s deplorable Jets on a Thursday night, but the truth was stranger. The Jets almost pulled a victory out of the humble pie like it was a plum.

The Walking Dead aren’t just a cable TV show. They are the army of former Patriots and injured Patriots that have been sent to Zombieland by Bill Belichick.

The latest hobbling zombies are Stevan Ridley and Jerod Mayo. It’s a dill pickle indeed. Throw in Logan Mankins and Wes Welker and you have the cold slawing of the Patriots.

We hasten to point out that the next few weeks will mean a curtain call for the season. The strongest opponents outside of playoff time will be knock-knock-knocking on heaven’s door and Belichick’s defense.

The Patriots have played well against the worst, and they may lose every game against the best.

With the Celtics, Red Sox, and Bruins, now flirting with closing the lid on the toilet, the Patriots seemed to be the only ones on automatic flush. Now we suspect they may not make it to the potty in a knick of time.

After several seasons of gloating about good times, the floodgates of losing are wide open. And, our little Boston boat is about to be swamped. Somewhere Aaron Hernandez is laughing.



What’s the Source for Source Code?


source code

Director Duncan Jones makes familiar movies. His intriguing Moon a few years ago was a rip-off of style and substance from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Now he has re-done Groundhog Day without the laughs.

Source Code is a fascinating little movie from 2011. It once again proves that Jake Gyllenhaal is more than a pretty face.

The premise is not a day, but eight minutes repeated ad nauseam. Of course, the culprit now is a secret government program, misusing soldiers and sending them into a mind control experimentation. There is even a Dr. Strangelove type behind the diabolic plan (Jeffrey Wright).

Science has learned that real death of the brain does not occur for eight minutes—and now they can manipulate and place a mind in another body destined to die in eight minutes.

Enter Afghan war hero Jake Gyllenhaal who seems to have discovered the posthumous honor of re-living life he did not choose, nor has any control over. When did Jake become such an interesting actor?

Repeating the same moments and altering them slightly may not change the eventual outcome, but Gyllenhaal’s character finally becomes fed up with being a government-issue automaton.

There are some effective moments of suspense, and a delightful cast dragged along the same scene until the soldier gets it right. You may also begin to wonder how the mad bomber put his cumbersome and heavy bomb in a certain place without being noticed. However, as Hitchcock always laughed, while the film is on, such matters are overshadowed by the tension of the plot.

We always recommend movies that use the style and philosophy of the old masters with such aplomb.

Identify Thief and Muppets Go Into Our Ash Film Canister


Miss PiggyMelissa McCarthy

We tried. Forgive us, but we tried. Our general rule of thumb in doing movie reviews is that we avoid taking an axe to a bad movie. If a film causes us to crave a banana daiquiri after 15 minutes, we shut off the television and chose not to do a review.

Our initial sense of what will give us the heebie jeebies is well honed after many years. We knew there was trouble lurking in movies like Identity Thief and Muppets Most Wanted. We never made it to the end.

Light-hearted frivolity is something we enjoy, but the wit of Noel Coward and Blithe Spirit is not much found nowadays at the cinema. It’s better to go to the archives and call up on demand some chestnut made when granny’s granny was a girl. These were pleasant films on some level, we suppose. Our crotchety demeanor stopped us dead in our video tracking.

Identity Thief stars a charming actress, but her Rubenesque figure has forced her into doing movies that require mugging and slapstick. Melissa McCarthy still manages to be likeable even when playing amoral slugs like the woman who steals Jason Bateman’s unisexual name (“Sandy”) and parades around as Miss Sandy.

This turns Bateman into a stalker, even more unattractive than the thief. One supposes in a politically correct era, we should applaud a movie wherein male and female clobber each other with lack of restraint. No one called this movie sexist, glorifying physical abuse. We just felt we wanted better.

And, as for our beloved Muppets, with their satiric take on movies, we may have exceeded the expiration date. Have we grown too old to appreciate their semi-self-deprecating humor? There were just too many uninspiring songs, though the lyrics were cute. Muppets Most Wanted will be left on our neighbor’s doorstep. We didn’t want them.

So, we don’t have a movie worth reviewing this week. We promise to do better next time—but only if the producers give us something to appreciate.

Monsieur Nappy


M. Nappy

Here’s another gem that slipped through the cracks about ten years ago. Monsieur N is the story of Napoleon’s final incarceration at St. Helena and his mysterious death.

This film gives itself a disadvantage by actually having Napoleon speaking in French—and his British guards speaking in English. So, there are lots of subtitles for the disadvantage of people who hate to read.

Richard E. Grant is marvelous as the new governor of the island who is furious about having a living legend as his prisoner—a man who thinks about escaping and turning the world on its ear. It’s like Wile E. Coyote dealing with that pesky Road Runner.

Jay Rodan is cute as a button, even when he pastes on a mustache and tries to pass as Basil Heathcote, young officer assigned to Napoleon, as a man 20 years older in flash forward scenes.

The film belongs darkly to French actor Phillippe Torreton who plays the emperor turned general prisoner into some kind of a scheming evil genius. His Napoleon belongs up there simply because playing Monsieur N. is joy for any actor.

Condescending, venal, temperamental, Napoleon Buonaparte is delicious movie script catnip. How can you go wrong with a murder mystery wrapped in an enigma?

It all may be true, which is even juicier. It’s Nappy time, but you won’t take a nap while the movie is playing on your screen. The issue of who poisoned Napoleon requires Hercule Poirot to join the screenplay. Instead we have lame Jay Rodan, but he is easy on the eyes as the callow officer on the governor’s tricky staff.

The film is now on DVD, and you have no excuse to avoid a history lesson with panache.

Step by Step, Inch by Inch, Tom Brady Slowly Turns an Ankle



Tom Brady has been on injury report. Again.

Like he has for every game of his career under Bill Belichick, he was “seriously” on the list, turning up like a proverbial bad penny. He has been questionable for playing  weakly weekly. Last year every week he was listed as having a shoulder problem. The year before he was listed as having a thumb problem.

Unlike Dustin Pedroia whose injuries are generally real, Tom Brady’s injuries belong in the realm of Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass. The White Rabbit of Injury Reports has initials that read BB.


Tom rolled his ankle this week, and you will see him hobbling once per week and on the list this season.

His injury caused him to throw four touchdowns on Sunday. A lesser man might have thrown five.

So, when Tom is not on injury report, we worry. During the reported skein with the way the team is coached, Brady looked more injured than ever. He had hurt feelings, caused by a loss of friends cut by Belichick.

Brady still may be looking for the only cure for such an injury: a trade. And, experts from out of town have ridden in on their old gray mares to say Tom is going round the bend.

Yes, we can understand a player demanding to be traded for being put on the injury report. Just ask Brandon Spikes. He was injured so badly that he had to shuffle off to Buffalo. It didn’t help. He still looked like one of the walking wounded. Alas, like most of the Belichick injuries, it’s 5% mental and 95% temper.

If the Patriots are beginning to look like a classic episode of the Three Stooges, they slowly turned at Niagara Falls into their usual juggernaut.

Laser-gate, or Beam Us Up



We fully expect some dim bulb will accuse Bill Belichick of cheating this season in his previous Super Bowl victories.

Yet, the falling morality score among sociopathic fans now has reached the level of cheating in the stands. Someone last week in Detroit resorted to laser beams as a method of impacting the score—and it wasn’t videotaped or the result of a team bounty.

No, the fans are now sinking to the level of coaches. Detroit’s diehard best started pointing laser beams at the eyes of Buffalo Bills players, temporarily blinding them and interfering with fair play.

We are not surprised that the NFL that has encouraged rape, child abuse, and domestic battery with a light tap on the knuckles, would now have set the standard that anything goes in the moonbeam syndrome.

Fans are among the dim-wits to jump on the bandwagon.

If you think it’s only a game, you haven’t seen the rabid betting that goes on with the so-called spread. You haven’t seen the blood money that is the backbone of fantasy football. It’s not only a game. It is life or death to a generation of bettors who make a living by supporting their gambling habit with the NFL. Pick a score and live like a king with your collection of bucks.

The NFL response is slow and steady, like a tortoise league speed racer. The culprits, if caught, will have twenty lashes by Adrian Peterson’s favorite noodle. And, they may be banned from attending NFL events, sort of like being put on the Exempt List with Adrian and his cohorts.

Oh, Events! Is that what these games are called? Events are happenings where you can call attention to the game  with a red laser beam.affluenza sufferer

Beam us up now rivals bottoms up with NFL events.

New England Patriots Not Falling like Ancient Rome




Tom Brady Thanks the Easter Bunny

After being crucified on pregame shows, Tom Brady resurrected.

The rabble had come to bury the Patriots and the evil left undone by Bill Belichick. To the utter dismay of undefeated Bengals everywhere, the worm turned.

Yes, the deader than a doornail Patriots stood up in the coffin and demanded blood from their shocked fans.

With predictions to be cremated by the Boston sports media and radio blabmasters, the Patriots made the media look like a 1929 Stock Market Crash dummy. Tonight the Pats resembled Bigfoot with his tootsie on the accelerator pedal.

Instead of calling Ghost Hunters to Foxboro to find the lost Patriot spirit, Tom’s team might be the team to play in Tombstone—the Town too Tough to Die, but they did not need a tombstone or epitaph on this night.

Fans had been looking for their best black duds and a map to the funeral pyre. After all, Tom Brady wanted to take is act elsewhere, hating to play for the dreaded emasculator, Bill Belichick.

Yes, you guessed it. The Patriots uncovered the spread and then some. Prognosticators put their Tarot cards up for sale on eBay.

It was like Mr. Peabody brought the Wayback Machine to Foxboro and out stepped the youthful Tom Brady.

The road to the Super Bowl looked like a shortcut through Foxboro—at least on this night.

You can shut out the New York Jets this week, but you can no longer think the Patriots are their twin. Rex Ryan will not have a QB with more panache than Brady this year.

The Jimmy Replacement Fan Club skulked back to the place known as oblivion. There’s be no quarterback controversy this season.

Once again Bill Belichick looked like Stephen Hawking, and the Big Bang Theory meant fans jumped back on the bandwagon faster than you can say ‘Last Hurrah’.

Two for the Seesaw of Fate


Move Over, Ripley

Three for the Seesaw?

When a movie is based on a Patricia Highsmith novel of murder and double-crossing, and when such a movie is set in Greece in 1962, with gorgeous photography and attractive actors, you expect a hit.

The Two Faces of January doubles our Janus syndrome.

This extraordinary film has had tepid reaction. Apparently the times have changed for the worst. Hossein Amini’s brilliant work might have wowed them in 1962, but today’s dullard audiences need more car chases and special effects.

Three Americans (couple Chester and Collette MacFarland) run into small-time crook Ryland, and it’s a contest to see who’s more untrustworthy. Since this is a Highsmith story, amorality and sociopathic behavior is the norm.

We love the opening when two dangerous men sound each other out like cruisers at a bar. Viggo Mortensen (the epitome of an attractive older man) tells his beautiful trophy wife (Kirsten Dunst), he wouldn’t trust Oscar Isaac to mow his lawn. We were hooked.

Hitchcock traversed the territory first with Highsmith, figuring out that two wrongs just multiply like rabbits.

Comeuppance is hard to come by with characters like these. You can enter and exit by the same egress, but you may end up in some time/space continuum where crime pays the last man standing.

It’s inevitable that the two dubious characters end up playing father and son to escape the law when they have a history of disrespecting their fathers. It’s a delicious Highsmith irony.

Hossein Amini enters the directorial sweepstakes with an impressive start. We are lately compiling a list of intelligent filmmakers who have managed to pass through movie doorways by-passing the deplorable extinction of true movie fans.

Keep those complicated movie plots coming. A few of us dinosaurs are feeding off them.

Garsh Shoots Blanks at Aaron Hernandez



A-Her Gun Mad

Judge Susan Garsh continues to take bullets out of the prosecution’s gun. If Hernandez wants to shoot first and ask questions later, Judge Garsh is okay with that.

Giddy Garsh seems to be on the payroll with the Ninja defense team.

She just doesn’t like the prosecution and district attorney shooting anything but blanks.

You might say the bullets that Garsh is firing at prosecutors are the dum-dum sort. She will make maximum damage by ruling that more evidence is not allowed if you want to stop Hernandez from going on a murder spree.

The .45 caliber bullets that riddled the storeroom of Aaron Hernandez have been ruled inadmissible in Fall River. The same bullets may be used to convict him in Boston.

Susan “Don’t Call Me Harsh” Garsh’s latest action to try to free Aaron Hernandez without a trial took place in October when she made an effort no one foresaw. She decided to rule any bullets that Hernandez owned were inadmissible at trial.

In other words, he couldn’t shoot Odin Lloyd because there is no gun and no bullets. The only bullets Hernandez owned were in Lloyd’s bullet-riddled body. That’s not proof that Hernandez is a trigger man.

Chalk one victory up for the million-dollar ninja defense.

The judge who never saw a criminal she disliked is now allowing only evidence that the prosecutors are persecuting the wrong man. She can prove that verdict in one note.

Now we know why she wouldn’t recuse herself from the case. She is a one-woman wrecking crew when it comes to taking a lenient position with sociopathic killers. Her leniency leans toward setting them free.

Forget the truth setting them free. Judge Garsh (whose goo-goo eyes for Aaron’s big asset) shows that justice is indeed blind.