Sox Star David Ortiz Felled By Mysterious Illness




Red Sox Manager John Farrell has joined the medical community of Sox managers who make a diagnosis.

If you recall, Terry Francona famously declared that his ace pitcher Josh Beckett suffered from the slings and arrows of “intestinal turmoil.”

That understatement made medical history.  The Red Sox clubhouse was considered gutless and out of control under the former manager. Others felt the root cause of such turmoil was too much beer and fried chicken wings.

Francona’s lexicon went into the history books as a medical marvel.

Not to be outdone this weekend, in his maiden voyage as a Red Sox manager, John Farrell, the Dudley Do-Right of Boston leaders, addressed the continued void of David Ortiz.

The Sox DH is in jeopardy of forfeiting a chunk of change because of his Achilles heel not responding to rest and relaxation.

When Ortiz missed a minor league game to prepare him for major league duty, the media was all over Dudley Do-Right who proudly announced that Ortiz suffered from the slings and arrows of sinus gunk.

This vile illness seems to resemble something yellow, whereas Beckett’s colorful sickness was more of a brown hue.

Boston media experts and insiders had to scramble to their medical dictionaries to discern the subtle differences between intestinal turmoil and sinus gunk. Both terms fall under the category, “Hypochondria.”

PGA Guilty of Child Abuse at Masters Tournament





The PGA at the Masters now must shorten its name to PG after a 14 year-old Chinese Wunderkind has taken the course by storm.


Tianlang Guan, quite the fashionplate among the dowdy older men playing, has struck more excitement into the game than another round of Tiger Woods tales.


So, it came as a shock when the PG-A assessed young Guan with a penalty. Now, for most 14 year olds, this entails being grounded, or losing his tweeting privileges for a day, but the PGA decided to levy a stroke onto the back of the game’s new prince. The price was not right.


Unfortunately this was not one of those wet noodle strokes, but a stroke added to his daily score. This one hurt. It seems the PGA is on the verge of child abuse.


Fortunately no one sent young Guan to a priest for absolution, but John Paramor (the judge who hanged Guan) was no lover of the game. He accused the young man of slowing down the game.


Assessing Guan a bogey may cost him more than any face-saving gesture. One of the older gamers, Ben Crenshaw, was muttering that the PGA was on the verge of an international incident with its high-handed treatment of a guest player who represents the future of the sport.


Not since the Mikado mistreated Yum-Yum has there been such a blatant act of punishment upon the innocent kid trying to learn the ropes.


For his part Guan was gracious, accepting a loss of a week’s allowance and promising to drive the putter with more alacrity next time.


Cherington’s Folly Follows Bad Idea Track



A plethora of riches is the worst enemy of the Red Sox.


Once again history repeats itself at Fenway Park, and it does not bode well for the team put together by King John Henry VIII and his minion GM Ben Cherington.


The Red Sox like to take the extra step, even if it pushes them into the realm where enough is enough.


Years ago the Sox forced upon manager Terry Francona a new powerhouse closer. His name was Eric Gagne. He couldn’t find the plate and, when he did, he was shelled.


The Red Sox installed him as their closer, but installations are for popes. And, this pitcher was no miracleworker. Years later he admitted he used banned substances to convince the Red Sox he was the real deal.


The Sox brought him in right before trade deadline to win the pennant. It was not to be.


He proved to be the biggest bust since the gold panned out in Alaska. They had the money, the wherewithal, and they added a sure-fire reliever. It was a disaster.


Now the Sox have brought in Joel Hanrahan who looked doughy and defeatable in spring training, and now he is costing them in every key game he enters.


The ace is one step below a deuce in this game. The Sox have dubbed him their closer, despite having a wealth of others who could do the job.


The Sox know better than anyone else watching their team. They will be the last to admit they have made another huge blunder in a long history of huge blunders. Joel Hanrahan is folly.


Fans can only pray that the damage can be repaired before the season goes into high gear.


Heat & Celtics Snooze & Stretch in Playoff Preview



A preview of the playoffs between the Celtics and the Heat did not happen on Friday night.


Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce did not play as their heels were aching from playing another 18 holes of golf in Miami. That Florida sunshine can sap your energy if you are not used to it.


As usual, LeBron James was indignant of a foul call upon him. He must be worried that the NBA officials will toss him out of the game. That would be a first.


Worse news for the Celtics was that LeBron was wearing green sneakers in honor of the Green Team.  Those watching the clodhoppers running up and down the court might mistake him for Avery Bradley.


In the first quarter James tried to score all the buckets for the Heat, figuring this would warm him up for breaking Wilt Chamberlain’s scoring record.


With ranks in the playoffs set and time in a regular season game coming down to that can avoid an ankle sprain or an ACL issue, you might expect the game would be a dull affair.


Bosh and Wade fairly much mailed in the game, always a danger. The real problem is that they will fall out of rhythm when the Celtics come into Miami for the real deal playoff series.


Celtic coach Doc Rivers may have been hiding a deck of cards up his sleeves by keeping his best weapons out of the game.




When Ray Allen came into the game for the Heat, you didn’t hear or see any razzmatazz. And, Allen didn’t see anyone he won a championship with (Rondo, Perkins, Garnett, and Pierce were AWOL).


If you think the Heat don’t know Garnett and Pierce after all these years, then you haven’t watched playoff matches in recent years.


If you were expecting a playoff style game between these two rivals, you tuned in a week or two too early.




Major Leagues Gear Up for Gay Announcements



Who is that rap-tap-tapping on the major leagues’ door?


According to MLB, NFL, NBA, MLS, and NHL, the rapper is the first gay athlete.


There are more plans being staged and rehearsed for the outcome of the outing than the US Department of Defense is planning for a North Korean missile.


Nobody wants to be caught with his pants down. Every league has contingency pants.


The professional sports world is preparing for the day to come when a gay athlete enters the fray. He will arrive like the Man Who Came to Dinner. Fans can expect a long stay and might as well discard that welcome mat now.


The last time there was such rapping on the chamber door, Edgar Allen Poe let in the “Raven.”  Unfortunately for unofficial gay spokesperson Brendon Ayanbadejo, the Baltimore Ravens have dumped him unceremoniously before he could open the closet door.


Sponsors are salivating at the prospect of naming the first openly gay pro athlete and bestowing more treasures upon him than the old Queen for a Day TV show.


Everyone from Mark Cuban to David Stern is lining up to put the laurels on the head of the first gay player to sign on the dotted line. If the gay player can play at any kind of significant level, the riches of endorsements will be his (or hers).


Speculation runs rampant that a mass announcement may come like Ring Around the Rosie, as gay players from every sport march into the arena, hand in hand, all at once.


We can hardly wait for the reality show when all the pro gay athletes share a summer house in P-town.








Rondo Throws Pearls of Wisdom Before Swine








When Rajon Rondo speaks, everyone listens—more or less.


In his first major interview since tearing his ACL and finding himself out in the cold and out for the season, Rondo spoke to ESPN, knowing his words will be parsed with all the interest of cracking the Bible Code.


With a mere few games left in the season, Rondo admitted that he tries not to listen to the fan chatter too much, though he managed to hear every incendiary word spoken about how the team was better off without him.


He admitted he still talks to Doc Rivers and Danny Ainge, though he isn’t listening to them too much either.


A man who knows bodies, Rondo revealed that everybody is different, and every body is different too. He felt his injury varies day to day.


Alas, nobody said anything to him for weeks about when he’ll come back or even play.  Since the team plays better without him, everyone is recommending he take his time.


The point guard admitted too that he is in a place where he is okay with his injury. That means in Rondo-speak that he is spending a great deal of time on the beaches in Florida.


Finally, Rondo told ESPN that his teammates are like his brothers, from Abel to Cain. For the most part, he noted he is still a member of the Boston Celtics.


Bad Dreams: Heady Cubs’ Fan Beheads a Goat



Chicago Cubs owner Tom Ricketts did not awake to find a goat’s head in his bed.


No, the poor animal’s head was delivered in a box to the Wrigley Field offices. This makes Wrigley Field the “Field of Nightmares.”


As far as known, Don Vito Corleone is not a suspect. Neither is Al Capone, nor any public enemy in Chicago’s legendary mob.


Because the curse of the Cubs has been centered on a goat, police likely will investigate the fan-base, a dedicated mob of miscreants who regard the famous field as a holy shrine, never to be desecrated by the likes of ownership and Theo Epstein, once a Red Sox GM, but now the man behind the curtain in Chicago.


The Cubs organization is on the verge of renovating the ancient field, placing a giant scoreboard before the bleachers across the street. People are angry to see their ruins rebuilt.


If you build it, dead goats will come.


Yes, Ray, like an army steamrolling across history, the Cubs fans are likely to come to blows over changes to their loveable losing Cubbies.


Though a few mythomaniacs may believe this is an attempt to lift the curse on the losers, most others of a rational bent see this as a negative vibe. There is nothing friendly in decapitating a goat for the cause of winning a World Series.


The legend depicted in The Godfather is that the Hollywood producer denying the Frank Sinatra clone a movie role was made an offer he could not refuse.


The right of first refusal shall now fall to Tom Ricketts, but we suspect he will press charges when the culprit is discovered, even if it means another losing season.




Wes Welker’s Mini-Me Signs on the Dotted Line



In an offseason when the New England Patriots looked like a gutted fish, they surprised a few free agents by re-signing Julian Edelman.


Known as a poor man’s Wes Welker, he had a short one game run as the alleged replacement of Welker. By starting Edelman over Welker, rumor has it, the notion sent Welker into a spiral of fury. Everyone denies it until the retirement biographies start appearing.


Welker has gone to the Rocky Mountain high, leaving Edelman at sea level. Whether the clone can be sent in or left out will be answered in the upcoming season.


A few tarnished reputations will rest on the performance Edelman gives under game conditions. If Josh McDaniels has designs on moving upward from Offensive Coordinator, he may want Julian to be a jewel in the crown.


Everyone hopes he has returned his fake sheriff badge with the other 911 costume paraphernalia. In the words of Goldhat, “He don’t need no stinkin’ badges.”


If memory serves correct, Edelman beat that rap, but whether he can beat the rap that he is a pale copy of Welker may be a tougher print.


Edelman did window-shopping out on the other coast and closer to home in New York. No offers were tendered, and the Patriots did not short-sheet him as they did to Welker.


Somebody up there likes Julian much more than Wes. For the well-being of the star QB, Mr. Brady, we hope prayers are answered.


Life of PI Not a Piscine Contest






Ang Lee’s lush tale of an Every Man on a spiritual journey actually is a story of an Every Boy, starring in an incredible parable on the way to manhood, or maybe it’s a fish story.




Calling oneself Ishmael and heading off to the voyage of a lifetime becomes rather the gold standard of searching for the meaning of life.




A half dozen actors play Pi, the teenager who melds all religion into one with more than a half-dozen gods ready to help him find God. The Life of Pi is slightly rhomboid.




From the largest part of the movie pie, Ravi Patel plays the shipwrecked hero who shares his voyage with a Bengal tiger as an unlikely stowaway. The film is lush, grandiose, and woven by the genius of Ang Lee who takes the film into the realm movies occasionally reach: a pedestrian tale with sea-legs.




The movie cannot be judged on any normal standard of film. It is like a few odd sticks in history. 2001: A Space Odyssey comes to mind. It is convoluted, unbelievable, weird, hypnotic, and creates its own reality. If ever there was a movie made for parody, this one is a list-topper. And, that sort of originality is a compliment, not a knock.




We found the tiresome prologue hard to swallow. Why would Pi feel the need to tell his story to a disbelieving novelist with no soul (and based on his attitude, no talent)? With all his sundry abilities, why would Pi not tell his own tale as a Kon-Tiki with a twist?




Perhaps it is the nature of mythomania. Perhaps it is the mystery of the East. Perhaps it is the miracle of special effects as Richard Parker (the tiger) is mostly imaginary. We almost expected the animal to start talking like Mr. Ed, or some shaggy dog out of Disneyland.




All your favorite movie sea creatures seem to make a cameo appearance—from Moby Dick to the Giant Squid from under the sea.  You won’t be able to avert your eyes, and you won’t have a movie experience quite like this again any time soon, no matter how fishy.








Red Sox Come Up Short at the Stopper Position


The Red Sox plan to send Jose Iglesias back to the minor leagues.


Having the highest batting average on the team and instrumental in helping win the majority of early week games, Iglesias must feel like one of the boat people, sailing back to Pawtucket.


The former Cuban refugee has now become another in a decade long list of shortstop refugees for the Red Sox. The next big thing arrived, played, and was sent packing for a Scott Boras client with a history of injuries.


Because the Red Sox have started better than in the best three years, GM Ben Cherington has received a pass ball for his smarmy administration.


Yet, nothing typifies smarmy than to keep one player on the roster (Jackie Bradley, Jr. despite a slow start) and to send away the man who proves to be more joyful than Christmas in April.


The Red Sox they always do what is best for the team, but it turns out to be not so good, let alone not so best.


We may discover that betterment of the team has Stephen Drew’s name on the ball. If he doesn’t bat .400 in his first seven games, then someone ought to ask the big question: why did they sign Drew to $9m for this season?


What is at stake is the reputation of Cherington. If he signed a player at a steep cost, he has to show why, hence Iglesias goes south upon the arrival of Drew in the north.






Red Sox Ferret Out the Real Players



In Argentina recently a man purchased what he presumed to be two French poodles, but they were in fact ferrets on steroids with their hair teased into a poodle cut.


Medical tests burst his doggy bubble.


In Boston this week fans are buying the newly revamped Red Sox, minus superstars, as contenders for the World Series, but have they really bought a couple of ferrets?


You can only count on one fact: baseball players on the Red Sox are not on steroids, even if they have certain weasel qualities. Even the Red Sox starting rotation appears to be high on life as ball players.


In the past the Red Sox medical staff couldn’t tell a rat how to get off a sinking ship, let alone whether they had ferret DNA.


Only time will tell whether the Red Sox have a poodle cut to hide their true antecedents. Right now they are playing flawless baseball. If they win every two of three games all season, they will be more popular than the winner of the Westminster Dog Show. And, rest assured: the winner will not be a ferret.


The Red Sox may be teasing their fans into accepting hamburger helper with their filet mignon, but the team seems to thrive on playing hard. Last season they thrived on seventh inning chicken and beer breaks.


With over 150 games awaiting them, including those notorious dog days, the Red Sox may want a poodle cut by the time all those Yankee stars come off the disabled list.


As the Sox start their season at Fenway Park, the signs all read: “No Ferrets Need Apply.”


Flight to Nowhere with Nobodies



When Denzel Washington received another Oscar nomination, we were intrigued. He always seems to select interesting roles and manages to play them well, whether he is the good guy, or even better if he is the bad guy.


So with awaited our chance to view Flight, in which Denzel plays a heroic airline pilot who brings in a plane and saves nearly 100 lives. The plot revolves around the aftermath in which he is discovered to have illegal substances in his system.


Whether the substances have caused the accident, or he was heroic despite them, is the crux of the storyline.


However, within a few minutes of the feature’s opening, we were uncertain if it mattered much to us.


Denzel’s character is with a stewardess in bed and snorting cocaine, drinking vodka straight. He has a flight within an hour or so. Worse, he becomes friends with a porno actress with heroin addiction problems.


This immediately drove from our psyche the idea of Doris Day bringing in the disabled plane, or watching Peter Graves get food poisoning in his cockpit. Those were the old days of movies about crises in our airlines.


Not exactly moralist in viewpoint, we were taken off our feed with the characters in Flight. Perhaps these realities are part of the 21st century. Perhaps pilots are drunk and coke users in many instances, but we do not have to plunk down our money and spend two hours with such people.


The pilot brings in his plane to a cornfield, like the one in which Jeff Bridges was a passenger in Fearless. Yet, we were inspired, uplifted, awestruck, or delighted with this film. We were left queasy with air sickness by Flight.


Call us misguided, but we always want our movies to make us feel clean, not sordid. Catharsis even makes tragedy palpable. Yet, this film left the bitter taste of ashes.


John Farrell: Public Enemy #1 in Toronto



During the off-season of MLB, Blue Jays manager was traded to the Red Sox for Mike Aviles.


You’d think they would be happy to rid of a less than .500 manager in Canada where skating on thin ice is a way of life.


Instead, the crowd at the game on Friday night went bonkers, demanding Barabbas. They incensed crowd felt like they had found the equivalent of Benedict Arnold for the Maple Leaf crowd.


John Farrell returned to Canada where baseball has been the victim of high sticking on a daily basis. In a park that is quieter than the Toronto Public Library, brazen bullies were calling for the head of John Farrell, Red Sox manager who was once an honorary member of the Mounties.


Those in the crowd who were silent were knitting like Madame DeFarge, now living in Quebec. She merely wanted Farrell’s head on a silver platter. Lucky for the Boston television audience, she did not do the dance of the seven veils to achieve her ends.


If Hollywood in its heyday were making a movie about John Farrell, Al Pacino would play him like Scarface.


If Canada knew anything about baseball, they would not have treated Farrell like Ty Cobb. No armed policemen were called to the park to protect the Sox manager.


Blue Jay fans started throwing anything not nailed down when Farrell in his best Dudley Do-Right demeanor casually tipped his cap to his three adoring but closeted fans who cowered in the stands.


Dudley Do-Right Ties the Toronto Blue Jays to the Tracks



Red Sox manager John Farrell returned to Toronto where he managed a team replete with injuries and no stars for a couple of years.


Toronto media is ready to cast him as their villain, as Farrell noted.  It is a far cry for Dudley Do-Right to be thrown over the railroad tracks.


Stalwart and heroic of demeanor, John Farrell has always been the guy to save the fair maiden from the dastardly bad guy. Now, after unceremoniously leaving the Blue Jays at the altar with egg on their face, Farrell must show up at the church and sing to the choir.


Yes, folks, Dudley Do-Right will be playing Snidely Whiplash in the latest edition of MLB.


The worm is turning from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.

And this time there is no place for John Farrell to hide. He must face the music as the Toronto team reloaded their roster in a way ownership never provided tools for Farrell.

If anything, Farrell has a right to be indignant. If the team had given him the players it has now, Farrell might still be riding his white horse over the Canadian Yukon for the fans in Whitehorse.


In a country where the bad guys are usually called Bruins, John Farrell is showing his versatility this weekend. He is playing the dual role of man in the Red Sox hat and man in the black hat.


Dudley Do-Right never had it so bad.