Patriot Player Involved in Girl-Gate!




If you thought Deflategate was the big Patriot controversy of this year, you’d have overlooked Girlgate. It’s 50 shades of gray matter for Gronk.

Yes, Gronk has thrust the Patriots into the middle of coitus interruptus when it comes to girls.

Gronk has sparked nearly as much interplay as the Devil in the Black & Blue Dress. In case your friends have not retweeted it to you, here’s the news. Gronk does not have a girlfriend. “sometimes chicks are crazy,” he reports.

This news flash has driven women across the globe crazy.

It has caused some men to come rushing out of the closet to offer their opinion that Gronk is gay and has been carrying on with Justin Bieber.

Others say he is what is known in the parlance as an “eligible bachelor.” Some say he is not the marrying kind.

So, Gronk continues to dangle that carrot and refuses to buy into the carat thing,

Next thing you know, owner Bob Kraft will be demanding an apology from the media and gay rights advocates.

Tom Brady wants to be a movie star after football, but a role in a remake of Gone Girl will belong only to Gronk.

We don’t understand why people are down low on the concept of playing the field. Isn’t that what Gronk does professionally?

Now if you had asked if Aaron Hernandez really likes girls, we would have a tweet worth sending with flowers.

A Day to Recall for a Dress Down

DATELINE: Small World

sullinger devil in a black dress

The World Wide Web turned into Marshall McLuhan’s global village. And, it’s a village populated with idiots.

We saw the black and blue dress and wondered what all the hubbub was about, bub.

This day in history may remain famous as the day that a tale of two dresses obsessed the world. Most of us thought people were parading around with dresses over their heads.

White? Gold? Blue? Black? Pearls before swine?

One dress apparently created an optical illusion that sparked odd debates over the two-tone colors of a cheap piece of fashion. It goes for $77, but the publicity was priceless today.

Scientists weighed in to tell the world that the way color hit a picture had an impact on what colors people saw. Strange, but we never saw that phenomenon ever before.

And, then, out of a Hollywood hotel, with poor security, or sticky fingers, someone purloined last year’s Oscar winner’s pearl dress. It allegedly is worth $150,000, but may now be a mother o’pearl rag today.

Someon stole Lupita Nyong’o’s stunning pearl dress that contrasted on her dark skin with a striking effect. Her smiles today suggested this was not quite as serious as you might think.

Insurance may cover the loss, and someone has won expensive media attention.

The world is now a small place, and even smaller when you think of the dumbbells who populate it. And, then Mr. Spock died after living long and prospering for five decades.

What a crazy little world.

Bilko Meets Lawrence of Arabia?

DATELINE: Movie Mashup



Call us astonished when we discovered that there is a movie wherein Sergeant Ernest T. Bilko meets Beau Geste and lands us in an oasis of British comedy about the French Foreign Legion.

Well, it’s something akin to that. It seems when Phil Silvers had his famous Bilko TV series cancelled, he went off to merry old England and made a movie with the Carry On… gang. It was called Follow That Camel and was made in 1967.

In beautiful Technicolor, Silvers shines with his usual schtick. He plays Sgt. Nocker of the French Foreign Legion in 1906. For all purposes, he is Bilko, barking orders the same way he did in his hit show You’ll Never Get Rich.

Oh, his commandant is a German right out of Stalag 17, and there are more belly dancers than you could possibly imagine for Silvers to leer at in the Zig Zag Cafe.

If there was a big difference between the Bilko show and the movie version, it was simply that sexual innuendo was given a free hand. Of course, by today’s standards, Mae West is safe for children. So is Phil Silvers as he sticks his nose into bosoms.

When you dig down deep, there is nothing much to this film except the fun of seeing Phil Silvers continue his personification of a wheeling and dealing con man. He is obsequious to superiors and a shark to others, all hilariously done.

Since Follow That Camel never had a wide distribution to American theaters, we had to find it by accident on Amazon Instant for a nominal fee. Yes, we did feel Bilko had fleeced us by the end of the 90 minutes, but we loved every penny spent.

DWTS Finds a Deflated Football Star

DATELINE: Dance Humor

thank you, ESPN  Uhoh



As our football offseason blends into baseball spring training, we thought the Patriot shot of Gronk would trip over the light fantastic.

Nope. The cast for the next season of Dancing with the Stars, or DWTS as the purists call it, seem to have forgotten all the promises to offer a dance chance to Gronk.

Gronk, whose unchoreographed moves look like a ninja fight gone wrong, has been bypassed. Usually he takes the pass, but this time DWTS takes the cake and hands it off to the other football player available.

You can always count on a retired athlete to dance up a storm on the show for a few paltry weeks. So, the producers of the hit tap danseurs went in another direction.

You could say they have kept the tempo up to date. As we have been passed the envelope, we now can read the winner: it’s Michael Sam!

Yes, the NFL wanna-be star who was cut sometime during the season after being drafted as a last minute political choice. He had signed with Oprah for a series delineating his fame. Alas, fame is fleeting. Well, unless you can prance along the sidelines with the aplomb of a caged disco queen.

Michael Sam will be our favorite, odds-on choice for DWTS. You may quibble that he is not a star, but neither was Bristol Palin.

Stars are no longer limited to MGM casting calls. They show up at supermarket openings and reality TV shows.

Michael Sam’s star has just ascended, and the Gronk has been eclipsed.

Jersey Boys Walk Like Men

DATELINE: Movie Mashup

Rawhide Meets Jersey


The ghost of Frank Sinatra is invoked multiple times, a motif that we lost track of counting somewhere around the halfway point of Jersey Boys.

The movie version of the stage hit about the rise of Frankie Valli and his Four Seasons seems a strange choice for director Clint Eastwood, despite his interest in good jazz and musicians.

Anyone around in the 1960s would have found Frankie Valli’s falsetto odd voice all over the AM musical dial. He was ubiquitous, and now his story has been staged across America for aging Baby Boomer women.

As in the days of the big studios, this is not strictly a musical and not strictly a biographical movie. It’s on the lines of those old Warner Brothers bios of George M. Cohan or Cole Porter. You never know how much truth you have not swallowed.

Try as the screenplay does, Frankie Valli is not Frankie Sinatra. They are both from New Jersey, but Old Blue Eyes actually was a movie star and a constant. No one did a road show of his life because he was doing it himself until the end.

This movie is watchable because of performers and a Roshomon style of narrative that breaks through the camera to talk directly to the audience.

Clint’s stories as director as always compelling tales of human nature, and this is sort of compelling if you followed music groups that weren’t British in the 1960s. To our way of thinking, the highlight moment of the picture is when one of the singers is watching young Clint Eastwood on TV—and promptly shuts him off.

We always thought Clint, a Rawhide kind of guy, preferred Frankie Laine to Valli or Sinatra.

John Lloyd Young is the not too handsome Valli, which may be the same reason he never made it to Sinatra level. Otherwise, the actors are workmanlike and solid with the ubiquitous Christopher Walken showing up as a mobster.

Those bubblegum hits of “Sherry Baby” and “Walk Like a Man” may end up in your noodle for a few days, but that was always the problem with the Four Seasons and Frankie Valli.

No Whitewash at Gillette Stadium

DATELINE: Goodell’s Follies


Not since President Nixon declared there’s be no whitewash at the White House have we been so disillusioned. It looks like the NFL has found skullduggery while looking for deflated footballs. And, they have fired a member of their own staff.

It appears that Mr. Kraft (all the sycophants call him that) may not be a cheater after all. He is still waiting for an apology from the vindictive administrator at NFL headquarters who used to work for the Jets.

Word has leaked out of the NFL version of the Watergate plumbers that Roger Goodell’s hirelings gave the Patriots an illegal ball. They took what the NFL gave them.

This was a handler who put a ringer into the occasional game.

Talk about plausible deniability.

The NFL has found a culprit, and he has worked for the league office (no, change that to the Goodell Group) for years, coming in only on game day to set up the Patriots as the Cheating Dynasty, not to be confused with the Ming Dynasty or Joan Collins’ Dynasty.

We won’t have Bill Belichick to kick around when Roger Goodell is available.

A league official liked to put a special K into the regular game. Oh, not the drug! And heavens, not the cereal. No, the Special K serial cheater was a kicking ball, slipping one past the semi-comatose zebra lackeys of the NFL.

They finally caught up with him at the Pat game plan. It only took the better part of a fake scandal, scapegoating Belichick.

We suspect that no one over at the NFL headquarters will be standing up and offering a handwritten apology on the order of A-Rod.

We give the Patriots credit for finding inventive ways to win games. We give the NFL demerits for being hiring officials who resemble Judge Susan Garsh at the Hernandez trial.

Impartiality and objectivity should be blind, not former Jets administrators.

Red Sox Truck Day Usurped by Patriot Truck Day

DATELINE: Highway to Spring


Truck Day is not supposed to arrive for another week, but the New England Patriots once again one-upped the Boston Red Sox.

Diehard Sox fans wait for February’s semi-holiday to improve their moods as the snow flies. This year, more than usual, Truck Day has become bigger than having one’s throat blessed.

This is the time that baseball equipment is placed in a convoy of big rigs for a long winter’s drive to the spring training facility in Florida. Apparently, driving on slick highways is cheaper than asking Jet Blue to transport this stuff to Jet Blue Park.

If catchers’ mitts and fungo bats go off the road in an icy skid, the Sox season could be in jeopardy. Yet, this foolhardy tradition has unwavering, if not unsteady, support from the snow-blower contingent around Fenway Park.

Yet, the Patriots have now usurped the Red Sox tradition.

You can blame Tom Brady for having another season of immense pressure and showing grace under it.

Yes, it seems Truck Day has a new meaning for the MVP of Super Bowl XLIX. He has circumvented the tax code to bestow a gift on a fellow Patriot.

The Butler who did it in the final seconds of the game will now receive a red Chevy truck as his gift. It seems Tom Brady, whose wife’s annual salary is double the paychecks of the entire offensive Patriot line, has seen fit to donate the truck to a deserving soul.

Matthew Butler, whose interception actually won the game, will now be the tow-truck recipient of Tom Brady’s re-gifting.

We never look a gift of horsepower in the mouth.


Gronk’s Spike Itinerary



You can’t blame Rob Gronkowski if he feels he is a tad late to the party. Gronk plans to spike his way across America. He already spiked the eggnog.

The Golden Spike occurred in 1869 out in Utah. It may be the only spiking that Gronk will ever miss for the remainder of his life.

This week, as part of his TV celebrity tour of talk shows, he stopped by Boston TD Garden between snowstorms to spike a puck. With his usual aplomb, he imbedded the puck into the ice with a mighty swell foop.

Not since Paul Bunyan has there been an American giant ready to display his prowess.

Already there are expectations that Gronk will be spiking the baseball on Opening Day at Fenway Park.

As a long-time fan of basketball, and an occasional fan of the Boston Celtics, we await with bated breath for the chance to see how far the ball bounces when Gronk spikes the basketball. Perhaps they will deflate it a bit to prevent a bounce into the banners in the rafters.

The Boston Olympic committee is locking up Gronk for the opening ceremonies in 2024. We suspect by then Gronk will be heading for the last roundup of the spike. By then his movie career will be in full blossom as the next Terminator/Arnold.

We expect that Gronk’s signature line will not be, “I’ll be back,” but rather: “Yo soy fiesta.”

Once Gronk takes on James Bond, movies will never be the same.




Awaiting on the Partnership of Sullinger & Olynyk

 DATELINE: Return of Jelly O’Sully

sullinger devil in a black dress


With the departure of Rajon Rondo, the Celtics have a gaping hole in their conundrum syndrome.

Enter Jared Sullinger.

While not as Garboesque as Rondo, he is proving that he can be Rondoesque. The affable, social, friendly Sullinger will talk to the media—or anyone else who waylays him on the way to a game.

As consequence, he was the Late Mr. Sullinger for two games in one week. This resulted in the team benching him from the starting lineup. Coach Brad Stevens may have thought he was done with Advil moments when #9 hit the road, but think again.

Sullinger plays hot and cold. Gosh, does that remind you of anyone recently traded to Dallas?

And now the media is circling Jared Sullinger like he is the reincarnation of Rondo Past.

Who can blame the insider contingent? There is little precious to write about the Celtics nowadays.

Sullinger’s better half, Kelly Olynyk, seems injury prone this season and the tandem has not been on the floor together nearly as much as fate would allow. Once we have the exciting combo of Jelly O’Sully back in form, we know we are on the way to another championship (when Danny Ainge cashes in all those draft chips).

Olynyk may be a good partner for Sullinger now that Phil Pressey has been sent to the gulag in Maine. He needs a new number one go-to-supper on the road pal.

Sullinger could do worse than befriend Kelly who often calls his teammate “Mr. Hard Foul in Practice.”

Barry Lyndon Unearthed from the Kubrick Time Vault

DATELINE: Movie Mashup Revisited

Ye Olde Fops

Ye Olde Fops in Barry Lyndon

Nearly 40 years ago Stanley Kubrick made a movie based on a work of literature by William Makepeace Thackeray.

It was not science fiction, but a period drama. For that audiences avoided the movie like it was a betrayal of all Kubrick’s movie genres.

Its length of three hours could have had something to do with the box office poison. We often disparage overlong movies as wasting precious time in our ever-important lives. So, when endless feet of snow outside our TV room reached the window sill, or three feet, we decided three hours is not so long to spend with a classic movie.

The other big criticism for Barry Lyndon was Ryan O’Neal. He was pretty to look at, but hardly a good actor (shades of Tom Cruise and Sterling Hayden). To hold our interest, O’Neal did have a codpiece or something grandiose stuffed into his pants for every scene. This alone would win a stocking stuffer award in the NFL.

O’Neal seems to have an accent vaguely distant from the rest of the Irish and British cast, as if his shanty Irish demeanor was stolen from lace curtains.

Yet, the cinematography of this film is like staring at Turner paintings, and we don’t mean the cable network named Turner.

Kubrick’s film actually uses music and images as if we are in a reverse Clockwork Orange, or speeding uncontrollably backward to 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Though fans wanted to see an obelisk in the middle of a redcoat battlefield, Kubrick stayed true to himself. His costume drama looks like a Shining example of his idiosyncratic vision.

Slow, methodical, filled with gay jokes, the movie is, of course, so far in the past that it is now ahead of its time.



Jerry Rice Thrown for Loop, Old Shoes and Tin Cans Next

DATELINE: Asterisk City

fulvous yellow

Jerry Rice, Hall of Famer, has attacked Tom Brady and his Super Bowl victories as “cheating.” This paragon of moral virtue has come down from the mount to offer his holier-than-thou opinion.

We suspect he would defend Ray Lewis*, but has it in for Tom Brady. All this is part of a concerted plot by ESPN to disparage the New England Patriots and ESPN nemesis Bill Belichick.

Of course, Rice also duly noted a month earlier that during his entire career he used stickum to catch balls, even in his Super Bowls. This illegal substance had been banned since 1981. This dubious practice is illegal in NFL champion circles.

It was cheating, Mr. Rice*.

Why is it that people with the name Rice are throwing it around like we are at a wedding. That other Rice-a-roni guy used to beat his wife, but never cheated.

Jerry Rice wants to be an asterisk next to the name Tom Brady and suggests his legacy is tainted. This is part of a growing chorus of hypocrites and lowlifes. Yes, that means you, ESPN analyst*. This is a throwback to the Roger Maris asterisk of 50 years ago.

We presume it also applies to Jerry Rice* of the NFL Hall of Fame*.

Rice* issued a semi-apology later when the heat in the kitchen became too much for his delicate sensibility. He noted he had done his research (twenty years too late) and discovered he erred. But in his own case, Rice* feels to forgive, divine*.

He did not apologize for his own inflated ego. Where’s a deflation device when you need one? Let us be the first to offer a pin.

Jerry Rice* is a fraud.


Be sure to read Ossurworld’s new book: NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS 2014 to follow the Super Bowl team from training camp to victory duck boat parade. Now available as an e-book and soon to be paperback.

Bun Warmers Needed During Patriot Parade

DATELINE: Cold Buns, Warm Heart

thank you, ESPN JULIAN naptimeNappie

We know that Gronk is a goof ball. But, now we know that Julian Edelman is simply nutso.

Wearing a hat in contrast to his compatriots, Gronk looked singular and individualistic. It’s a Despicable Me model with colors out of the rainbow and his number stenciled upon the backside.

As he leaned out of a duckboat during the parade to shake hands with fans on the route, he nearly fell out of his blue denims.

Gronk’s cracks are always wise and this season have become more visible on gameday. Now we are seeing him unfettered, guzzling beer, and celebrating with pushups on the streets of Boston.

As for Julian Edelman, he came to a parade on one of the coldest days this winter in a white T-shirt. There was no message written on it. He intended, apparently, to blend in with the white piles of snow along the parade route.

It seems that Julian does not own a coat.

High salary does not mean a fashion sense or even a sense of winter apparel. A policeman took pity on him, fearing he be downed by pneumonia. So, Julian wore an official coat during the duck boat swan song.

This did not mean much as he stripped it off during the parade to fire up crowds.

As we recall, too, Julian does not wear under armor.

What a brave Patriot indeed. He could have worse than frozen assets after his celebratory ride in the streets than when another clarion rider named Paul Revere rode in a winter jacket that we presume was lined with silver.

New Book on Super Bowl Winning Patriots



Like Instant Coffee!

Now you can read all Ossurworld’s insights into the 2014 New England Patriots in one swell foop.

Yes, the complete collection of this season’s funny essays is now available on e-book from

Soon, there will be a paperback for burning!

If you enjoyed the weekly snideness when it came to Coach Belichick, if you loved Tom Brady’s cuteness, if you hung on every spike of Gronk, if you noticed Julian doesn’t wear underwear, you will love this new and complete collection of semi-so-called essays.

Ossurworld has not wasted any time and features all the stories in chronological order from training camp to the snow-lined duck boat parade in Boston.

How can you not want your own copy?

Why fumble through online searches?

Read it! Own it! Laugh at it!


Flaccid Footballs Aside



Patriots Parade Route Goes Straight to Olympic Gold

DATELINE: Olympics for 2024

glad gladiators

Some residents of Boston are wondering about the colossal cost of a parade for the New England Patriots.

Mayor Marty Walsh was unrepentant when confronted by media asking the question.

To clear the parade route took dozens of pieces of equipment and many more men working all night to truck away banks of snow along Tremont Street.

The Patriots themselves were oblivious to this suffering and the small relative size of the crowd. Media politely called it thousands, but the numbers of college-age students playing hooky was likely the vast majority.

The same people had the energy in the frigid temperatures to run up the street and start cheering all over again.

Since screaming crowd folks are merely extras in the big scene, no one noticed really. Like the yelling peanut gallery in ancient Rome epic movies, the chanting fans of Boston were a mere backdrop to the selfies being taken on the duck boats.

Oh, Tom Brady’s cute son kissing the Lombardi trophy was rather endearing, but was it worth the cost to the citizens of Boston?

Streets in places like Roxbury and Dorchester are totally unplowed while workers stayed downtown to clear the route for Brady and Company.

Why, you may ask? It is tied into that cockamamie Olympic proposal. Walsh was hell-bent to show Boston is a majors sports city—able to handle itself in crisis.

The night before was gridlock with commuters stuck in traffic for hours. So, the image of a smooth parade was paramount for the sellers of Olympic gold.

For our part, we would have enjoyed a little reception at City Hall—though rowdy is the bottomline for a sports parade.


Super Bowl Brawl & Downton Donnybrook!


The Super Bowl was dominated by undisciplined Seahawk players and lucky plays.

The game on TV was dominated by commercials with cute kids and cuter dogs. In some instances, the cute kids and cuter dogs were in the same commercial.

Advertising the Super Bowl XLIX avoided tasteless sexual jokes and monkeys. Either football fans were growing up, or castor oil is the new drink of choice for the NFL.

The Seahawks played catch-up, but they were all caught up by the time halftime rolled around. If you let vampires rise from their graves because you forgot to bring the stakes, you know the ending will not be pretty.

We did enjoy seeing Katie Couric and Bryant Gumbel changing little over twenty years in their spot together, and we found Lindsay Lohan as an irresponsible mother of a cute kid (or child predator) even more darkly humorous.

When you juxtapose this with the rah-rah attitude of Pete Carroll, we started rooting for Bill Belichick and Arnold coming back for another Terminator movie. Arnold playing himself as a young man is nearly as credible as Tom Brady turning back the clock.

The Patriots also had to be rooting for the new Jurassic Park movie wherein old dinosaurs come back to life. It was a foreshadow or augur of the second half.

If the Seahawks want to win the game, they will have to stop deflating their own balls in the second half.

The predicted snowfall in New England was downgraded during the game to about a foot. So too, the margin of Patriot victory seemed to tumble to frightening proximity. At least the Pats weren’t losing as the half ended.


We chose not to watch the spectacle.


We must admit we were wondering how they got that singer down off the roof of the stadium. Her little star seemed to be in the ascent as the show went to commercial.

By the time the second half began, we blinked and found that the domination by the Patriots had resulted in a falling behind. Those turnovers were definitely sour prune.

Next thing we knew, our evil twin had bopped us on the head, had stolen our remote, and when we awoke, we were in the middle of the grounds of Downton Abbey, not the gridiron of Glendale, Arizona.

Of course, Downton went to the dogs immediately. There we witnessed a slimy art dealer forcing his way into Lady Cora’s boudoir just as her husband Lord Grantham returned from the regimental dinner. Fisticuffs ensued, when a struggle resulted in the remote being returned to the Patriot-Seahawk game.  There too we found a donnybrook!

You needed a scorecard to identify the fighters on Downton or on the Patriots. Even more amazing, Lord Grantham’s butler Carson normally does it for the household, but Lord Belichick’s Butler named Malcolm did it for the Patriots.

The final two minutes featured errant bounces out of the paranormal, an interception on the goal line, and flying fists at Gronk turning into a brawl. We haven’t seen a football fight like this since Errol Flynn started one in his classic western, Dodge City.

What an evening of football and culture! We could not tell if we were watching Downton or the Super Brawl.

In all this mess, the Patriots won, and Lady Edith was about to kidnap her child and run off to London. On the distaff side, Lord Kraft was about to kidnap the Super Bowl trophy from Roger Goodell and run off to Foxoboro. What a night.

And a blizzard was about to hit New England as an anticlimax.