Cruz Throws Up a Brick at the Basketball Ring

DATELINE: Ted Hears a Hoo-sier


Ted Cruz scored a ringer today. He thought he just scored a Pacer moment in Indianapolis.

Unfortunately, he was talking about basketball, not horseshoes.

In a valiant attempt to pander to voters in Indiana, Ted Cruz commented about a “basketball ring.”  At first we thought he was referring to some kind of championship trophy worn on the finger.

Our second guess was that a “basketball ring” is a metaphor using colorful language to suggest a parallel between the sport and politics.

However, it was far more egregious than that. Ted Cruz thought he was talking hoops. It was like talking Esperanto to a Cajun and not knowing there was a difference.

According to some, Canadian Cruz never saw a basketball game in his life—and the netted hoop at the end of the gymnasium looked like a ringer to him.

We know that some people in Canada play basketball because one of our favorite flakes, Kelly Olynyk, is a dead ringer for a basketball player. We think he is a remarkable hoopster too.

Don’t lean on us too hard if we can’t think of other basketball players from Canada. We suspect Ted Cruz can’t even name one.

He may know his horseshoe moves, however, being from Texas where the cheerleaders all throw leaners when in Dallas.

A few wags are now saying that in an effort to outdo Trump (with an endorsement from Bobby Knight), Cruz decided to play HORSE with his opponent—and wound up as the horse’s rear end, no leaning involved.

Curse of the Bambino Haunts the Celtics

DATELINE:  A-Rod Spoils the Night

 Jacoby Returns

The curse of the Bambino hit the Celtics and eliminated them in the playoffs this season.

Yes, you had only to look at the New York Yankees who came to the playoff game to realize the Celts were dead meat. If the Yanks can do in the Red Sox annually, the Celtics end up as an appetizer.

Who let them in?

So, with the Yankees coming to Fenway Park on Friday for the first series of the season against the Red Sox, you had several Yankees coming to the last game of the season for the Celtics.

You be the judge.

There in the front row, inexplicably a fan of someone somewhere, was A-Rod. Yes, the loathed Alex Rodriguez of the Yanks was at a Celtics game, smiling and spreading his own brand of joie de vivre for Atlanta fans.

To see A-Rod in fine fettle across the court from Bill Russell, you wondered what voodoo would outdo the doo-doo.

Yet, it was worse. The Prodigal Son of the Red Sox showed up in a luxury box, high above the rafters. Yes, there he was in all his splendor, Jacoby Ellsbury, former Red Sox star of the future, and now Yankee bench-rider of the present. He too was a happy camper, waving at the crowd from his perch where the Atlanta Hawks might have an aerie.

The Celtics were doomed from the opening tip-off. The Bambino sent his minions to another sport in Boston—and sent the Celtics off to the golf courses of America for another summer.


Famous Couples Rival Ted Cruz and Carly

DATELINE:  Mates Out to Keep on Running

In the world of entertainment politics, Ted Cruz continues to clear every room he enters.

We have seen Ted Cruz lookalikes everywhere we turn nowadays, and the idea is not comforting. Recently, Jerry Springer brought forth a woman who looks like she was separated at birth from her Siamese Twin, Ted Cruz. No, it wasn’t Kaitlyn Jenner.

However, the recent selection of a new partner, a teammate, a marriage of political interests, has created more fodder for the grist mill. We can only hope the saw mill will make splinters of the latest couple.

Yes, Ted Cruz selected Carly Fiorina as his running mate. This is not quite on par with Huntley-Brinkley, or even Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley.

While pondering this matchup, we had visions of the Tin Woodman marrying the Wicked Witch of the West. It might seem like a horror only possible in Munchkinland, or in the GOP.

Yet, there he was the man who won the contest to resemble Grandpa Munster teaming up with Grandma Addams.

We could only see Mr. Haney teaming up with Arnold the Pig from Green Acres. As Sarah Palin once said, you can put lipstick on a pig, but you still have Mr. Haney and his running mate.

Donald Trump called the new couple of power seekers, “Cute.”

We can only speculate that Hilary Clinton may be motivated to pick husband Bill as her running mate.

Debatable Deflatable Rafts Required in NFL

 DATELINE:  Nowheresville

The NFL has missed the boat again.

They plan to sack Tom Brady for four games the same week that Johnny Boyziel, erstwhile QB of Nowheresville, has been indicted by a Dallas grand jury for assault.

Breaking the eardrum of a woman is considered less serious than breaking the social media instrument of a smartphone in the eyes of Roger Goodell.  Does this guy have a clue?

Goodell has set a legal precedent that is medieval—and was given his magna carte blanche by the NFLPA, since idiocy knows every boardroom in football.

All those steroids have taken a toll on the commish. When you’re an aging jock with a penis envy for the players you control, you tend not to keep your eye on the sparrow. You are looking crotch-level.

The only way for Goodell to save the game of football from another season of round-the-clock Deflate-gate horror stories is to pardon Tom Brady immediately.

Alas, accepting pardon means admitting guilt. We doubt that Brady will jump at that chance. Instead, the chess game will up the ante in the direction of the U.S. Supreme Court.

How do you spell defamation of character when the hashtag is Antitrust?

Billionaire owners may think they are swatting at horseflies, but skip to my loo, darling, your NFL is heading to the loo.

Despite all the wishes and hopes of billion dollar waving owners, this catastrophe is not going away. Tom Brady will see you in court, again, Roger.



Johnny Manziel—Man Overboard

DATELINE: Boyziel, Boy Wonder


If you’re indicted by a grand jury for domestic abuse in Texas, you must be a bad boy.

They don’t take lightly the sanctimony of a heterosexual relationship in Texas. It’s where gay marriage is anathema, and where heterosexuality is next to serfdom.

So, when former football flash Johnny Boyziel was indicted for abusing his girlfriend, you know he must be a bad man.

We use the term ‘man’ advisedly. Manziel is the guy you send into a boy’s game to do a half-assed job.

Apparently, Boyziel needs more strength training. In his nasty attempt to imprison his girlfriend and drag her back to his man cave by her hair, he failed miserably. She escaped.

Nitwits being what they are, we doubt that Johnny Be-Bad learned a lesson through any of this. He continues to party like it’s 1999. And we all saw what happened this week to the man who invented partying like 1999. His world now is lavender in remembrance. Just ask Boy George.

Most women have now dumped Johnny Boyziel because no NFL team will give him a million-dollar contract—thus causing the effect that no woman will give him a tumble.

Everyone has dumped Johnny—his agents (plural), teams, media hangers-on, and women, leaving only endorsements from booze companies. He doesn’t drink beer usually, but when he does…oh, you know the rest.

He can always find employment in Gotham as a villain.


If Goodell Only Had a Brain…

DATELINE: Deflategate Lingers


If there is a semblance of a brain left in the witless Roger Goodell, he will immediately move to remove Deflategate from the upcoming season’s vocabulary.

We are not optimistic that Goodell will receive a brain from the Wizard of Oz any time soon.

Today, upon the heels of the latest Circuit Court’s circumlocutions and illogic, Donald Trump told a rabid crowd that the NFL should “leave Tom Brady alone.”

When Trump was a mere pretender to the presidency, he could be ignored. But, now, Tom Brady has a friend in high places. Look out, you purveyors of NFL ownership. The Anti-Trust element is around the corner—and not since Teddy Roosevelt has there been a president who might whip the NFL to an inch of its billionaire economic arrogance.

Goodell is no longer between a rock and hard place. He is now facing a deluge that could mean the quality of mercy falleth like a torrent from heaven.

We might bet all the gold in Fort Knox that Brady and Goodell come to an agreement soon, but there is probably no gold in Fort Knox—if Trump is right.

Will Goodell suspend the sentence, or will he issue more question marks?

Parsing the NFL is sort of like listening for radio waves from outer space. The great visitors from the Milky Way will land before we can translate the murky logic of Goodell or the bonehead fans of the NFL.

Fans of other teams are rejoicing, but remember this: when Goodell comes for a member of your team, we shall be silent.

Tom Brady Out of Suspended Animation & Into Frying Pan

DATELINE: A Comedy Tonight!


Deflategate has risen from the semi-comatose to walk like a zombie over Foxboro, tormenting the fans of New England.

Roger Goodell has given Deflategate mouth to mouth—and resuscitated the monster to rip the heart out of Tom Brady.

We have seen this in 1950s horror movies at the drive-in when the evil scientist never learns and comes back in sequel after sequel to terrify the populace.

Tom’s recourse may be the Supreme Court of the United States, which is a horror story in and of itself. If they deadlock on the issue, the lower court ruling stands.

Some haters of Brady are suggesting that he should bite the bullet and take the four-game suspension, but having stood tall in protest to his innocence, it seems more likely that the appeal process will play out.

In the meantime, Brady and his hired guns will need to order up a stay-of-execution to send this cascading into next season.

The question is not to be or not to be, but are four games at the start of the season a better bet than four games at the end of the season?

The NFL now insists it was breaking a cell phone that requires a draconian penalty. In an age when privacy is all but dead, the NFL wants to keep the ball rolling.

Cell phone talk is not cheap, but hiding your social media conversations can cost millions of dollars over four games. Tom Brady is about to test the tin can and wires that Roger Goodell uses to communicate.



Patriots Rally for Celtics

DATELINE:  Playoff Fever

That notorious Celtics leprechaun has put a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—and perennial town favorites from the New England football squad are now responding.

Everyone loves a cross-pollinated city of champions.

To that end, New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft and head coach Bill Belichick were courtside fans watching the Celtics win an overtime game against the Atlanta Hawks in the first-round of the NBA Playoffs.

Belichick must enjoy seeing another up and coming genius coach preparing his long career of banners hanging from the TD Garden rafters. Brad Stevens is the successor to the Great Hoodie.

Belichick is no lucky charm, but is a true fan. He also brought his entire coaching staff to game three and planted them all in a luxury box.

IT Boy Isaiah Thomas had high fives and eyes only for recently re-signed bull in a china shop LaGarrette Blount who also sat near the Celtics bench and exchanged support worthy of a mutual admiration society. At game’s end on Sunday, IT gave Blount the shirt off his back.

Of course, the majesty of all sports celebrities in Boston nowadays is Gronk who showed up to give his blessing. In fact, he came with one of the other Gronks—not his onesie pals.

Grand Gronk once again managed to outshine Tom Brady (a no-show this time). Tom is likely to come to a game six or seven. He doesn’t really throw that magic around until it’s needed.

Since winning is contagious, we expect around twelve Patriots to be at the next home game, including the usual suspects like Patrick Chung, Julian Edelman, Danny Amendola, and Matthew Slater who have come to games in past championship runs.


Shane Versus Hondo

DATELINE:  Western Heroes

The similarities are unmistakable for these 1953 Western movies, which are classics of their type.

Alan Ladd was Shane, a pint-sized gunfighter, and John Wayne was a giant gunfighter. Each had a shady past, though Wayne carries a Winchester ’73 rifle he won in a contest in 1870, thus trumping James Stewart in his movie of the same name.

Jean Arthur played the married woman with a little boy in Shane, though she was over 50 at the time in her last movie; Geraldine Page made her first movie (Oscar nomination, thank you) playing a plain pioneer wife (bearing a startling resemblance to the woman Wayne later hired for The Alamo—who was promptly murdered in real life).

The boys are respectively Brandon DeWilde and Lee Aaker. One was a bona fide stage actor and film star, and the other was Rin Tin Tin’s sidekick.

Hondo is interesting because the ranch where Mrs. Lowe and her son reside is a Mexican desert during the day. At night, there are lush vegetation, a pond, and big trees.

There are no native Americans resembling Cochise in Shane, which takes place in the Tetons where the villains are businessmen with cattle ranches, not displaced Apaches.

Wayne’s Hondo has great sympathy for the Indians, whereas Ladd’s Shane has no sympathy for the cattlemen.

Wayne felt his movie did not do well because of its comparison to Shane—though George Stevens created a masterpiece whereas John Farrow had to be replaced by John Ford for the final Indian attack scenes, shot in 3-D.

When you finally boil it down, Hondo is heroic beyond Shane—and John Wayne has it all over Alan Ladd. Give us Hondo, please.

Alternative History of Hollywood Murder!

DATELINE: New movie book challenges true story!

One of the more interesting, great untold stories about Hollywood concerns the murder on location when John Wayne was filming The Alamo in 1959.

Most books on Wayne assiduously avoid the topic, but Wayne’s progtege, actress LeJean Ethridge, was given a larger role in the picture by Duke Wayne—and one of her roommates, a man named Chester Harvey Smith, stabbed her to death.

Wayne testified at a hasty hearing—and the subject was buried almost as fast as the unfortunate actress. Chester Smith was given a 30-year sentence—and the story was allegedly over.

Now comes an alternative history book called MURDER AT THE ALAMO, which pulls no punches with its speculative look at what may have precipitated the controversies around the movie.

Wayne apparently lost control of his film—and nearly lost his personal fortune. Casting problems and egotistic costars dogged Duke. It’s no wonder he had John Ford come to the rescue to film scenes and give the star a break. It was too much to star and to direct under such pressures.

The book looks at how a rival star seemed to exacerbate Wayne’s troubles. We can’t tell where the truth ends and fictional speculation begins. And, if you can’t tell, perhaps the difference no longer matters after 50+ years.

The story is told in press releases, news reports from minor newspapers, and gossip columnists. And, there is a who’s who of appearances of notable figures to weigh in on the controversy.

A fascinating tale, this re-telling of tragedy and movie history compels the reader to wonder why the killer was let out of prison 4 years later with a large stipend of money that he parlayed into a radio network empire.

Now available on for ebook and soon as paperback by 1960s gossip columnist Dam Chewy.

Dinner with Gronk

DATELINE: Yum-Yum, Eat’em UP


Rob Gronkowski has started to rev up his personality for the forthcoming football season. They begin stretching and yoga this week at the Patriots camp, and it has Gronk excited, according to a new interview.

You have to pick up your Gronk pieces of resistance now because once his game face comes on, there will be little humor.

As astute interviewer asked him to name the three people in the world with whom he’d like to have dinner.

The answer deserves a bit of deconstruction. He named Channing Tatum, The Rock Dwight Johnson, and Arnold Schwarzenegger, the Governator.

He did not hesitate with this group, which means he likely was not joking. What on earth would they talk about over banana daiquiris?

There are common denominators. First and foremost, we are talking about people in movies. The Rock moved from sports to traditional action star—and Arnold was once a body beautiful who became a sci-fi staple. Channing is a danseur comedian par excellence as we saw in Magic Mike.

Have we here a glimpse of the post-football career of Gronk? Is it possible he will appear in the next Magic Mike, as the next Terminator, and as a hirsute version of Dwight Johnson?

Already a sharp performer, Gronk calls himself “one-take” Gronk for his ability to hit his marks before the camera.

Yes, he would pick these brains about the next direction for a most interesting personality. Like Rock, Channing, and Arnold, Gronk will join those known by only one name. There can be no one else like him.

In Defense of the Indefensible Curt Schilling

DATELINE:  Under the Tidal Wave

Bloody sock be damned. Curt Schilling has been sacked by the sanctimonious forces over at the ever-hateful ESPN.  You know them: the people who lied about Tom Brady repeatedly and will do anything to undermine the Patriots.

For several years Curt Schilling, a bust as a businessman, went media happy with the wrong people. Media moguls are politically correct, with waxy eardrums listening to the latest polling results. ESPN people have no backbone, and usually are found on the lower rungs of Hades if Dante is to be believed. They live with the jellyfish.

Today ESPN fired Schilling for having views not compatible with sponsors and others who succumb to pressure from consumers who hate sports. So much for a sports cable network eating its own.

Schilling  doesn’t want transgender people walking into any bathroom. For this he has lost his livelihood. It is likely that he will now be blackballed among the media libertards around the nation.

There may be a job for him in some backwoods backwater, evangelical black hole, but he should not expect his insights, expertise, or person, to be respected ever again.

Once your reputation is sullied, you cannot go home again. There is nothing more sanctimonious than colleagues who are intolerant of views they deem outre. Iconoclasm in the defense of liberty is a vice according to sports experts at ESPN.

Sometimes the greatest hate comes from those who hate anyone different from their majority. It’s bullying the bullies, but it remains bullying from the pulpit of correctness.

We have not always agreed with Schilling, but we know the feeling of being on the fringe of opinion in a world that put outliers into the same category as regular liars, intolerant ignoramuses, and gibbering idiots.

We never thought of ourselves as perfect, and neither is Curt Schilling, but there must be a Brave New World island where exile is preferable to being subjugated by the insufferable new Puritans who disdain anyone whom they consider practitioners of “unacceptable behavior” (and that covers any ground west of the Salem Witch trials, or east of the Blacklisted Hollywood writers).

Celtics Look Done for Another Year

DATELINE: When Likeable Isn’t Enough

Like the cicada, we come out of hiding every decade or so to re-dedicate ourselves to the Boston Celtics.

We thought this should be the year. The Celtics have a born-again Red Auerbach coach in Brad Stevens. We have become totally devoted to this remarkable superstar coach, and he has brought the team to the playoffs.

But this is not the year for the Celtics. Glaring holes in the roster emerged when Avery Bradley and Kelly Olynyk fell to the injury curse. Stevens played ten all season—and now, like an Agatha Christie mystery, the team has only eight.

Oh, we have been delighted with the Rondo replacement: the IT boy. Yes, there once was an IT girl, Theda Bara. She had it. Well, Isaiah Thomas has “it” too. We didn’t think there was a cure for the fatal flaw of Rajon, but “IT” is it.

We still have Jelly O’Sully on the roster, that remarkable combo of Sullinger and Olynyk, though some say its day is now over. The summer season will see one, if not both, gone with haste while Danny Ainge finds superstars to replace them.

We like the rookie who never played much this season: he reminds us of Kevin McHale in his posture and body language.

We have come to appreciate Evan Don’t Call Him Turnover Turner, and we have come to watch Marcus smarten up. His gold Mohawk has grown on us too–even if Fort Knox loses its golden locks.

Yet, the team is not ready for the Final series. It’s a shame because we truly liked this bunch. What returns next season won’t be the same.

Time to Re-Name the Boston Marathon

DATELINE: Running Up

We will be the first to suggest that the Boston Marathon should be re-baptized to honor its most impressive role in history: giving other nations a chance to win in the United States of America.

We nominate the Marathon, after 120 years, be called the Ethiopian Marathon, in alternating years with the Kenyan Marathon.

It has not been a homebody running race in decades. In its early days it was confused with the Irish Sweepstakes.

Let’s make America great again by making the Marathon the footrace of the footloose. Perhaps we could have the winner be granted American citizenship. That would keep the spirit in the Know-Nothing Party.

We almost yearn the golden age of Rosie Ruiz who jumped out of a subway stop in Boston to join the race and become the women’s winner. Of course, she was exposed rather slowly.

The Marathon has become so big, it has waves and waves. Those poor souls on the sidelines are waving American flags to an culture in absentia.

Diversity and greed have stolen the race out of Boston, however Strong, and made it economically an international warm up for the Olympics. Alas, it is not warm enough for Americans. Those warming up come from Africa with a chuckle in their hearts.

Perhaps it is time to downsize this event—and put it a month earlier on St. Patrick’s Day. It could be dubbed the Evacuation Day Marathon to commemorate running the foreign influence out of Colonial Boston.

Put another lantern in the steeple, please.


Crying Over Spoiled Milk



We had the unfortunate experience of reading one of the wordpress blogs that suddenly announced a “SPOILER ALERT” in mid blog, and went on the spill the beans about a movie plot. We left our complaint, but readers were angry about our comment–not the spoiled movie detail.

We then learned from astute comments that movies that are out for one month—and you have not yet seen—are ready to have their endings and key info divulged.

We had not seen the statute of limitations on the film canister.

We did not know that movies have a shelf life of one month.

We did not know so many insensitive and thoughtless people exist in the word. Oh, dear, we are being sarcastic for sure.

Yes, we were accused of sarcasm—which is our stock in trade in this blog.

Imagine that! It takes a comment on another blog that irked us for someone to recognize our talents.

We never reveal key points that may ruin a movie in our endless reviews and collections of reviews. Oh, there may have been some inadvertent moment in considering a 1936 Hitchcock film that we slipped up.

We were taught long ago, during silent movie era, that you just don’t wreck a writer’s well built suspense with an offhand and needless comment. A blogster or his nitwit reader can avoid the revelation and still make a point.

So, dear readers, stop spoiling for a fight, or we will give you one.