Casting Celtics around Batman Kyrie Irving

DATELINE:  Colorblind Mask

 Masked Kyrie Kyrie, Eleison

Kyrie Irving, now playing the Masked Marvel, led the Celtics to their 13th victory in a row. It qualified them to meet the reigning dynasty next in the matchup of the year.

Yes, Golden Boys from California are next on the list to become the Golden Fleece to the Celtics.

Irving won national attention for wearing a mask to his game in New York, not a late Halloween gag, but a medical necessity after a small bone in his face was cracked by a teammate’s elbow. He told Aaron Baynes not to send a fruit basket.

Everyone awaited to see the black mask he wore several years back with Cleveland—but Irving wasn’t in the mood to play the Lone Ranger. Black was out, which seemed ironic, but he explained that the black mask limited his peripheral vision.

Even teammates had to relent: they want a victory and a happy camper in Kyrie, even if he failed the Bruce Wayne as Batman contest.

Fake news expert commentator Brian Scalabrine, redundant in his new fake hair from Dr. Leonard, made the off-hand comment that the NBA had stopped Kyrie from becoming the man in the black iron mask. But, that was untrue. Nor did he wear a high yellow mask for racist Boston fans.

Instead, Irving wore clear plastic with thick black bands. It was not a look or feel he enjoyed, constantly adjusting it and removing it. He even left it on the table before Scalabrine during the game.

Like it or not, Kyrie is the Boston Batman. His Robin is clearly Jayson Tatum, and his Alfred the Butler is the tall drink of water known as Al Horford. Commissioner Gordon Hayward is out with a broken ankle, and Jalen Brown may take on the role as the team joker.

Whatever the facial remedy, short of Tom Brady’s Botox mask, the Celtics went on to victory: setting up the hoop dream as their best team in a decade goes after Steph Curry and Kevin ‘I Don’t Look Good in Green’ Durant.

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Lord of the Flies: Donald Trump

 DATELINE:  Free Speech & Concussed Politicians

lord

North Korea has it wrong. Trump is not the Commander-in-Grief. He is the Lord of the Flies, the William Golding horror reborn.

NFL fans of the game may be coming to a rather harsh realization. Freedom of speech cuts. Two ways. They were counter-free speechified by the players on Sunday.

You may boo your least favorite players in the stadium and to their face as they score winning points to help your team. Then, cheers. What manner is this hypocrisy?

On the other hand,  players have a right to express their feelings as well. We think they ought to just thumb noses, instead of a respectful knee to the ground. Save that for the bully-pulpit fans.

You may not like seeing players kneel during Our National Anthem.  It’s almost like praying for a better country.  Fat chance for that under the Lord of the Flies.

Mr. Trump is completely convinced that he would rather be right than president.  Trump is no Henry Clay when it comes to cold feet. He has performed no presidential feat greater than dividing the nation into red and blue. He leaves the white for separatist flags.

Perhaps his wish will be granted. We either will have the end of the world in a nuclear holocaust against another race of the Yellow Peril, or we will have a race war in America. In either case, you have to admit Trump has divided America in ways we haven’t seen since the Civil War.

Russian interference of the election is secondary to Trump hijacking of the Constitution.

Of course, we have come to expect the worst of NFL fans. They laugh and demean the idea of concussions. Ask Will Smith.

They watch gladiator athletes concussed weekly for entertainment. If memory serves, during the campaign President Trump scoffed at the idea of concussions for NFL players as a sign of weakness. Talk about brain bankruptcy.

All this goes to show that what goes around comes around, like Aaron Hernandez and Confederate resurrection.  It’s all in a day’s work for the Lord of the Flies.

Turf Time Beats Star Gate for Patriots

 DATELINE:  Belichick Mows Fake Grass

 


Lean and hungry Cassius speaks some rather profound lines in Julius Caesar: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but ourselves.”

In a normal universe that might be true, but we are talking the world of Gillette Stadium in Foxboro where the Caesar of Sports, Bill Belichick, would beg to differ. Walt Whitman might like blades of grass, but we never guessed Belichick would agree with him.

As for fake Brady news, he would rather cut his teeth on broken mirror glass than play on fake turf.

After a humiliating defeat at the hands of the Chiefs, Tom Brady and company are fully embarrassed. But, don’t blame your stars, and they won’t blame themselves.

The fault, dear Brutus, and dear Belichick, is in the turf.

Yep, you guessed it:  The Patriots have ordered the old turf be torn up and replaced immediately. The old turf was installed in May at great expense. Some “players” called it too soft. Heavens, not soft! The Patriots are not looking for a Beauty Rest mattress.

Tom Brady may hawk the mattress in one of his hilarious commercials, but the Pats like it hard.

There is likely only two people who could exercise the power over the Kraft family to insist the turf ‘n surf dinner be taken off the clubhouse menu. They are the same tandem that can veto new artificial grass.

That is Coach Belichick the Great, and his acolyte Tom Brady the Ageless.

Yes, indeed, we may have voted to legalize grass in Massachusetts, but don’t let that have an impact on the Patriots. Off with the turf.

A new sod will replace the new old sod. Some old sod will do the work in time for the next home game. If they lose again, you may have to look skyward: the only blame left is in the stars.

No, not those stars.

Time for Tom Brady to Retire?

DATELINE:  Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

off off-season

When our Haitian home health aide tells us something, we generally listen closely. He knows everything—and he is also an expert in voodoo.

So, when we considered the post-game post-mortem on the Patriots loss to Kansas City in the opener of 2017, we realized that the mantra of “One More Time” is the equivalent of whistling past the graveyard. It was, we were reminded, the 9th anniversary of the same Chiefs crushing Tom’s leg in a game, losing an entire season.

All this was detailed in the off-season book about the Patriots called The Most Off Off-Season Ever. For those with elephantine memories, you will recall that Tom Brady dismissed talk of curses and superstitions by taking the proactive stance of smashing a mirror with a hammer.

Well, we cringed then—and now a series of freakish injuries has decimated Tom’s receiving corps. The esprit de corps is now in a MASH unit in North Korea.

In no short order, Tom Brady has lost Edelman, Amendola, and Malcolm Mitchell. Other Patriots look like the walking dead from cable television: notably Gronk.

So, when our health aide said Tom Brady is too old to play quarterback, our ears were pierced with the shrill cry of a banshee in the night.

We were reminded of Muhammad Ali’s comment to Howard Cosell about age: “Ask your wife, Howard. You are not the man you were seven years ago.”

Yes, the mirror may mean that Tom’s next comeback will be in seven years: that’s a lot of IR under the bridge. Just ask any troll you find there.

You may dismiss superstition when you are the 1968 Mets, but you don’t go walking under a ladder and asking black cats to jump into your 50-yard line of vision.

Tom Brady should retire? Who’d have thunk it two weeks ago? But today, Tom looks like the man who smashed a mirror out of arrogance.

Going, Going, Gone in Boston Sports and Trump Politics

DATELINE:  Time to Outline a New Book? 

In the immortal words of Don Corleone in Godfather 3, “Every time I try to get out, they pull me back in.”

Yes, Boston sports humor is like that.

We want to say, “Book’em, Dan-o,” but is there really another book here? Celtics or Pats?

Now, we feel sucked back into calling Trump the cause of turning the Patriots into the most despised team in the NFL, and now we are sucked back into the Celtics who have sent another oddball point guard into the LeBron Twilight Zone. Move over, Rajon Rondo.

Word has filtered out after the fact now that Isaiah Thomas, our dear little cousin IT, was actually not liked on the Celtics team by his mates. What???

Yes, his martyrdom status as midget wrestler and tiny tot grew thin on the nerves of many fellow players. His ego seems to have been bigger than his player status. Hence, he is now playing on the all-ego team with LeBron James, another character we try to avoid in any humor discussion.

Cousin IT was doomed when his closest friend and longtime Celtic player, Avery Bradley, was sent packing earlier in the summer.

Head honcho Danny Ainge was not about to pay big bucks to secondarily big stars. It did not matter that Tom Brady liked IT. Tom Brady likes Donald Trump. In the end, Tom only can save himself in Boston. In Boston, Trump is a lost cause.

We told various sports fans there would be no book this year on the Celtics or on the Patriots, which seemed to bring much relief when it was not greeted with a yawn. But, now, we are cast into the depths of indecision.

We could do a book on Donald Trump’s season in hell, but Bobby Valentine already did it for us. On the other hand, we suspect Mr. Trump will quit in the middle of our book—leaving us with a Charlottesville Web conundrum on whether it’s crypto-Nazi or neo-Nazi. It could be ether, or eye-ther.

Should we just call the whole thing off?

We are offering up a trial balloon on Trump to see if the media shoots it down as more fakery from the news bakery.

Is Trump the newest sports satire?

We know Trump’s on third, because he is going down yet again, but always rises anew like a rally in Phoenix.

Ossurworld has done a series of books of humor on the Celtics and Patriots. He may or may not do another one. His latest is NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS MOST OFF OFF-SEASON EVER. It’s available for smart readers. Just put it on your tab.

 

 

The President Rings Twice, and the Patriots Answer

DATELINE:  Ring-a-Ding Trump

off off-season   Mr. Kraft to you bradys-friend

Having eschewed humorous sports reports on Boston travesties lately, we are forced into a return to the topic one more time.

For this, you can thank Robert Kraft, owner of the New England Patriots and close friend of President Donald Trump.

In April, one of the first big sports events of the Trump era was the visit of the Super Bowl champs of 2017 to the White House. This fiasco was decorated with many missing members of the team who protested the new President. One can only wonder how many of the black players might find their lives hardly mattering after the incidents of KKK and neo-Nazis in Charlottesville or Charlotte’s Web.

They might feel some blame for the violence, making their livings through one of the most concussed and violent games around.

However, we beat a dead horse when today’s news is not fake enough for the alt-right. Yes, Robert Kraft has bestowed one of his $36,000 diamond-studded Super Bowl rings on Mr. Trump.

Usually the President receives a jersey with Tom Brady’s partial number, 1, on it, if it is recovered from international thieves.

However, this year, the man who often breaks bread with Trump and flies on Air Force One often, decided to break precedent and give the President one of those prized rings.

Reportedly, Kraft wanted Trump to have something to put into his presidential library when his term is up, sooner than later, with not much to show for it so far.

Kraft also gave a ring to Tom Brady’s mother for her valiant battle against cancer, which felled Kraft’s wife several years ago. It was Trump’s condolences back then that sealed his friendship with the billionaire NFL owner.

 

 The White House is not talking about when the ring was made or bestowed. And, the Patriots have only made a sly announcement this week in the midst of the pre-season after a tumultuous off off-season.

You can read all about it in Ossurworld’s notorious book, The Patriots Most Off Off-Season Ever, perhaps the last in the Patriots series of hilarious, if not nasty, accounts of their dynastic years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tom Brady Writes a Book: Sort of

DATELINE: Literary Lightweights

kindlecover

No, we are innocent of the crime:  we did not ghostwrite Tom Brady’s new book: The TB12 Method.

We suspect that even Tom does not know who wrote his book. He only found out he wrote a book recently.  He has been busy doing other things, like traveling to China, training for the new season in Wyoming, and charity events—not to mention teaming up with Tony Robbins.

The Robbins event would have been a good chance to announce his new motivational book.  He didn’t because the corporation behind Tom, into making money, only tells Tom about the checks he receives for endorsements. So, who wrote Tom’s new book?

And will this be a better best seller than Tom’s pajamas or secret recipe compilation? It likely won’t be cheap to buy. Tom likes expensive prices on his merchandise. He learned that from Tony Robbins.

The world learned this week about Tom Brady’s new literary effort that is based on his dietary, physical training and personal philosophy.  The book will be out during the upcoming season to maximize royalty payments.

We don’t know when Tom had time to write so-called book, but certainly the idea was floating around when he did the Tony Robbins motivational speaker show in Boston. If he had been working on the book then, he would’ve likely mentioned it during his appearance as a motivational speaker. He did not.

However, he may have been inspired to come up with a book to make more money when he heard Julian Edelman wrote a children’s book about a greedy squirrel with an obsession on nuts.

Tom’s book is already a best-seller on Amazon–without a cover or a price.

We would like to take credit as Tom’s ghost writer, but the book apparently is not about ghosts, nor one with humorous intent or comical asides.  Tom does that quite well– but we are slightly better.

So, we are forced to ask Tom: Was it something we said in one of our nasty books on a previous Patriots season or on the scandal of Deflategate that caused Tom’s handlers to select a different ghostwriter?

We know Tom would have picked us if he knew he was writing a book. He appreciates excellence in grammar.

Sumo Like It Hot for Tom Brady

DATELINE: Great Wall of China Meets Great Brady

sumo like it hot

When Under Armor sends Tom Brady around the world in eight days, you can expect some great moments.

Phileas Finn had his sidekick, and Tom Brady had his young son along for the ride.

So, the Greatest of All Time in football quarterbacking met the Greatest of All Time in Walls. It was enough to make President Trump jealous. Or, perhaps Tom was there to give Trump a report on how well walls work in the world.

Great Wall Meets Great Brady

Sublime met the ridiculous again when Brady decided to doff his shirt (not stolen by agents of North Korea) and do a tag team wrestling match against some heavyweight Sumo guys.

Tom is not quite the Pillsbury Doughboy when it comes to muscle, but he is not Arnold either. He posed, rather ill-advisedly with Sumo wrestlers in their diaper wraps. Tom had the good taste to wear his patented sleepwear pantaloons.

Some Brady groupies are agog at the fleshpot photos of Brady among the Sumos.  We are less impressed that Sumo like it hot.

Pictures like these generally come back to haunt. In this case, it may never go away long enough to be missed. We may take a long time to try to expunge the image from our memory banks.

We can’t imagine that Tom will sell his sleepware to many wrestlers who seem to revel in having their hot flesh bare in bed.

We aren’t sure who is advising Tom on this latest cavort. At least he managed to escape the clutches of his own Passepartout, Julian Edelman, for a few days.

Birth of a New Big Three for the Celtics?

DATELINE: Hoping for a Triumverate

 Boston sports

In the beginning there was Bird, McHale, and Parrish. Thence came Garnett, Allen, and Pierce. Now the Moving Finger seemed about to write a new chapter of Big Guns.

Though the Celtics were starting free agency looking like a candidate for the TV show The Biggest Loser, the roll of the dice out of Beacon Hill seemed to harbor a Boston change.

Late Saturday afternoon in the Hamptons, the Fourth of July fireworks grew into a frenzy.

The Boston Celtics sent a contingent to meet with Kevin Durant. This seemed to rival the Paris Peace Talks of 1973.

Delegations to convince superstars to join the ranks of a new team have become de rigueur practice in sports negotiations. Already, the Celtics reportedly signed Kevin Durant’s close friend, Al Horford, to a maximum contract—and that was considered a trump card for the Celtics strategy.

Of course, chief bottle washer Danny Ainge once put together the Big Three with Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen. Now he was orchestrating another Big Gang.

Showing up in the Hamptons with Kelly Olynyk, Marcus Smart, and Isaiah Thomas, was the other secret weapon player: Tom Brady of the Patriots.

We’d seen him courtside at the Boston Garden, and now Tom Brady was courtside at a conversion party.

Not to be left out, Red Sox superstar David Ortiz sent Durant a tweet apologizing for not being at the meeting, but he had a game that afternoon.

Kevin Durant is cogitating at last report about joining the Celtics.

Clinton/Curry Versus Trump/LeBron

DATELINE:  Winners Take the Cake

enough already

                                                   NOT BIRD & MAGIC

You may have noticed that the negative feelings toward the presidential candidates, Hilary and Donald, rival the negative feelings toward the presumptive NBA champs, Steph and LeBron.

It’s a negative year for sure.

Curry may be a media darling, but he has worn out his welcome. And LeBron has always been insufferable. It should remind you about the way the media handles Clinton and Trump.

In the NBA Finals, the referees are the objective arbiters of winning and losing. Heaven help us! We already saw these zebras lay the groundwork for a Curry victory in the semi-finals, though the NBA claims their games are not fixed.

We can’t imagine the presidential election being fixed, though we think the media has played the role of NBA referees with all the aplomb of fixers.

Who voted for the referees?

We have only ourselves to blame if the more unpopular candidate becomes president. The process has been fixed by super-delegates.

We are sick of Curry and James enough to expect them to become running mates for Clinton and Trump. That would make for a ticket with a price higher than a court-side seat for Game 7 of the NBA Finals.

The winner of the Curry-LeBron battle will come soon. And they both will go into oblivion for the rest of the summer, not soon enough. They are not Bird & Magic, and won’t be having any Broadway plays written about their friendship/rivalry.

In the presidential race, the losing candidate will go into oblivion forever—but we will be stuck with the winner for four more years.

 

Gronk as Cover Boy Undercover

DATELINE: Gronk or Grog?

Gronk uncovered

Rob Gronkowski has been put on the cover of GQ Magazine for June, and the cover of Madden mad sports for 2017.

Cover boy is merely another sobriquet tossed before the Gigantica Pithicus of the Patriots. We can never become pithy when it comes to Gronk.

He is everything Tom Brady is not. Or worse, he is everything Tom Brady is in spades.

Gronk hardly seems the gentlemanly sort. He might drag a mate into a man cave or onto a Mal de Merry ship’s cruise. We do see him on the boxtop for an NFL computer game. He is Donkey Kong in the flesh.

On GQ he once again displays his version of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity: pecs and abs countering string-bean quantum physics or physiques.

Much to our disappointment, there is no nude centerfold of Gronk. He leaves everything to the imagination. It’s no mean trick he plays on his fans.

He always seems to have some girl in a bikini on his shoulders instead of the globe of Atlas. We suspect deep down he is a big Sisyphus, hauling those girls up the mountain during the day and having them tumble down every night.

We felt the notorious double entendre were so outrageous in this blog entry, we could short-sheet the readers.

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.

 

Murder in Baseball?

DATELINE: Watch That Beanball

Dead St. Louis Cardinal Stuffed into His Locker

They don’t make’em like this anymore.

Death on the Diamond is a murder mystery movie based on Cortland Fitzsimmons’s novel. Set in the early 1930s, it tells the story of the St. Louis Cardinals—yes, the old Gashouse Gang with Dizzy Dean where and when a murder plot could be believed. The film was made in 1934.

You better believe MLB would never approve this script today.

Robert Young (before he knew best as Father and Dr. Marcus Welby) is hotshot pitcher Larry Kelly, one of many suspicious characters. When players start to be murdered during the pennant drive, no one cancels a game. You can lose a bunch from your starting lineup—but winning is contagious.

The show must go on—and so must the baseball game. They don’t even have a moment of silence. We loved those old days. A player may be strangled in the locker room between innings, but batter up!

If this high gloss production from MGM were not enough in glorious black and white, you have Mickey Rooney as the bat boy and Walter Brennan making hot dogs as a vendor. We recommend you don’t put any extra mustard on that dog.

The film is utterly ridiculous and the perfect way to start spring training. You have a greedy, hostile takeover owner ready to bounce the manager by wanting him to lose. You have a couple of players thrown out of the game for gambling. And, don’t forget the Mob that tempts your favorite athlete with women and drink, as well as bribes. And, the local newspaper reporter is no saint.

Uncovering the homicidal maniac is only half the fun, making the tune “Take Me out to the Ball Game” utterly sinister when it plays.

Gronk To Host TV Series

DATELINE: Believe It or Not


 

Gronk is going small.

Instead of signing a contract to play the next James Bond (not as far-fetched as it seems), Gronk has decided to tackle the small screen as a series host on cable television.

Celebrities as hosts of paranormal shows is standard, but Gronk intends to be the star of Crashletes, a show that cheaply will take YouTube moments of young athletes in bone-crushing moments of hilarity. It’s right up his alley.

The show will demand that Gronk use all his wit and wisdom to comment on the clips that will be shown on the Nickolodeon network, indicating that Gronk’s audience will be voters in about ten years. And Gronk does not need to wear zebra stripe pants to find attention.

This should mean when Gronk is ready to go big screen, his young followers will have the means and motives to follow him. We would not be surprised to see Gronk run for president in 2028. If Trump can do it, so can Gronk.

Gronk has clearly found his métier in the show business realm. He has done various talk shows as a personality, and his TV commercials are always entertaining. He calls himself one-take Gronkowski because he hits his marks and never flubs (who could tell the difference?) when he performs.

We have always contended that Gronk’s movie career as a kind of Terminator is down the road after he plays out being a tight end for New England. Already he has expanded his fan base far beyond New England, football, and youngsters.

The only impediment would be a stint in AA, but come to think of it—that has never been an impediment in show business.

More Baloney from Fox Sports on Brady and Kraft

DATELINE: Liberal Fox Sports?

Fox Sports Dunking the Tea Party?

 

For those with an interest in believe it or don’t, Fox Sports struck out again with a new way to insult Patriot fans and attack Tom Brady and his owner.

Some writer called Arielle Aronson, a pseudonym if you ever chose one, complained that Patriot fans were incensed that Robert Kraft and Tom Brady consider Donald Trump a friend.

Now, the article went on to interview a handful of voters from the “liberal leaning fan base” of the Patriots to criticize Tom and Kraft for not studying the issues or disappointing their fans.

Of course, the writer failed to notice that Trump won in Massachusetts with about 50% of the vote. It seems like there are fewer liberal leaners in Massachusetts than in horseshoes.

People angry with the system seem to support Trump—and Deflategate seems to make many fans angry with the system of the NFL.

Kraft and Brady did not actually express support for Trump, nor did they claim to vote for him. They said he was an intensely loyal friend who had stood by them in dark days, which was greatly appreciated.

Why would that incense Patriot fans? The sort of people this writer spoke to (if they aren’t her relatives) probably are not football fans (Neanderthals to liberals) or Patriot fans (who can’t tell a tea party from a Tea Party bag).

A few anti-Trump people feared that Brady and Kraft had unusual powers over the weak-willed fans and could influence the way they vote.

So, this resulted in a headline worthy of our best trolling efforts that claimed fans were blasting the Patriots.