DATELINE: Old Overnight?
We know Tom Brady infamously jumps off the cliff in the off-season, diving into a pool near his vacay estate in Costa Rica Plenti. Now, after years of ominous predictions, have we just witnessed the aging phenom being pushed by the Grim Reaper into a new phase?
Though the Patriots won their fourth game of the season, undefeated still, it was the worst performance by Brady in a winning cause in his career.
No touchdowns—and an interception in the endzone. His QB rating is on a par with Trump’s popularity poll numbers.
Yikes, he could not do much at all. We blame the team management for disarming him: every season they take away one of his best weapons, the latest is the release of Antonio ‘who me a violent offender?’ Brown who made life easier for Tom.
Head Coach Bill Belichick has made it his mission to divest every weapon that Tom likes from the team. Where is Amendola? Gone with the wind. Where is Edelman? Playing hurt, and Tom scrupulously avoided throwing to him.
His best receiver was wearing a Mae West corset under this jersey, which made him look like a candidate for the RuPaul Drag Show. He played gamely with a busted rib or two. No one wants to confirm how many cracks they found in the ribcage.
His go-to second bananas, like James White and Phil Dorsett, were MIA when it came to push and shove.
Tom was also making decisions that rival those of a rookie QB—going for glory and long passes when shorter and less spectacular will do. It was all reminiscent of past aging QBs who refused to admit there is something rotten in the state of their game.
Tom still looks personally spectacular, dapper and smooth, resembling Adam Vinatieri’s son rather than his contemporary. However, under the creamy Botox layer beats the heart of a man who just fell off a cliff.
DATELINE: Water on the Brain?
Gronk (retired New England Patriot tight end Rob Gronkowsky) gave a rather humorless presser the other day in which he made some fairly peculiar statements in layman terms.
He alarmed us greatly when he began to talk about liquids in his brain, caused by football injury.
In his own simplistic way, he may have spoken about a hideous condition that surely means he would be mad to return to football. He discussed the ways you may recover and find some balm for the body and mind after the cruel sado-masochism of playing a game that makes jousting in armor appear to be civilized.
Gronk used terms that reminded us of the old phrase, “water on the brian.” You don’t hear it much anymore. It was a misleading term about spinal fluids unable to flow out of the head region. Doctors mght have called it “hydroencephalus” many decades ago.
Today it might better be explained in terms of concussion sysdrome: that repeated brain injury that has led former players to die too young, too suffer too much, to kill themselves, and to become violent shadows of their pleasant selves.
We think of former Patriot Junior Seau. Some players have donated their brains to research. It is frightful.
Gronk admitted that his brain injuries have given him mood swings already. He is not yet 30. If anyone wants to encourage him to return to the place that is already making his future a nightmare, they are greedy, mindless fans of a bloodsport.
We hope it is still early enough for full recovery for Gronk, though we fear that damage to the brain has been done and even in healing there will be scars, both mental and physical.
Liquids in his head and water on the brain, the end product of hydroencephus or concussions, is the horror no one in the NFL wants to face directly. Yes, they are men paid handsomely for the privilege of being media stars and marvels of physical heroism.
The price, we fear, may be far more devastating. It might make young stars like Gronk a shadow on the Moon, like a werewolf or cursed creature of night.
We do not think his simple declaration about strange liquids in his head should be dismissed as a childlike and preposterous notion. It is deadly.
DATELINE: Tarnished Hero with Feats of Clay
Chump or Champ with Cousy?
On a night when when usually are talking about Ancient Aliens, we find ourselves facing a true abduction crisis and missing time. It seems that Boston Celtics legend, Bob Cousy, has been taken prisoner to the White House, turned back the clock to the years before the Civil Rights movement, and now he has become the voice of white racist America in the Oval Office.
Yes, Bob Cousy who reconciled whatever differences he had with fellow NBA legend Bill Russell has rekindled the fires.
He received a pat on the back from the President he most admires apparently in his lifetime. What happened to the Celtic legend?
Well, his Jesuit roots of Holy Cross conservatism emerged. Perhaps you can write him off as the aging hero outliving his standards of integrity. Growing old does not always mean you die of Alzheimer’s. Sometimes you simply become the epitome of everything you lived through and fought against.
Time makes us all doddering fools and blithering idiots. You can outlive your usefulness and your own personal values. It’s called betrayal by younger idealists, but it is far more powerful than that.
Cousy once teamed with Tommy Heinsohn on the parquet floor of the Boston Garden, and they were both brilliant and talented men beyond the game that made them famous. One season in retirement years they were even teamed up as fellow commentators for a season of Celtics games on TV. It was extraordinary to behold.
When they grew furious with each other, now and then, they simply called each other, “Thomas,” and “Robert.”
We wonder if Tom has started calling his friend of lifelong years, “Robert.” We know that William Russell may be doing so, if he is even speaking to his one-time nemesis in the locker room. Time wounds all heels and we have an Achilles heel ripped apart by the President Medal of Freedom.
Perhaps Couz showed his mettle by doing and saying whatever needed to receive his Medal.
He stood next to a man who wants to give himself the Congressional Medal of Honor. Heaven help our old heroes from their blithering end of days.
DATELINE: Pardon Us!
Boston sports media always protect their own. If you have questions, you may not always receive answers. Not even the get well wishes of a former President of the United States can hide bigger puzzlements.
Dark questions haunt the situation surrounding the hit on David Ortiz. Oh, yes, make no mistake: it was a hit that fortunately did not end Big Papi’s game. As he told doctors entering surgery, “I am a good man.” He did not want to die.
So, we wonder why the Red Sox organization decided to fly Ortiz out of the Dominican Republic as soon as possible, even before he stabilized (despite the medical opinion to the contrary).
If you think he was stable, he arrived in Boston to face immediate second surgery. Did someone botch the job in the ER of the DR?
In New York’s Post, you see the words “hit man.” This does not surprise several of his former teammates, who indeed think an assassin’s bullet is not out of the question.
You may well wonder why Ortiz returned often to the DR. Was it to see his family—while leaving his wife and children back in Boston?
You may well wonder why the assassin is tied to drugs and why his companion was a police officer. You may well wonder if the long-ago charge that Ortiz used illegal substances in his baseball career might resurface.
They removed Ortiz from the DR before another attack might finish him off: how easy it is to die in a hospital from complications after being shot up and losing your intestines, spleen, and other organ parts.
Septic poisoning is but a day away.
Big Papi’s agent thinks something odd is going on. Well, when you are spirited out of the hospital before the police can question you, there is an appearance that leaves a dubious feeling.
We can count only on the fact that the Boston media has thrown up another protective shield around David Ortiz.
DATELINE: Go Away, NBA!
A few years ago we stopped writing our satiric, light-hearted blogs about sports in the NBA, NFL, and MLB.
If you want to know why, take a close look at the antics of the Los Angeles Lakers and the NBA this weekend. A brawl of unimaginable hatreds broke out.
Former Boston Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo was at the epicenter if the blowup. However, we were not surprised that Rondo’s deep-rooted emotional problems have not abated with age or change of venue. We wrote three books on him while he played in Boston. He became increasingly dark, like a Darth Vader figure. He wasn’t funny or amusing by the end of the Boston tenure.
We were more appalled by the vocabulary and attitude of the official NBA investigation to this latest “spitting” on another player incident. The NBA has millions of dollars invested in presenting the players as cute, all-American boys who have made good.
The truth is far more disturbing. You have pampered, spoiled, egomaniacs with emotional problems, ghetto backgrounds, and gang-related ties. The NBA does not want to talk about that.
There is now a media cottage industry geared to protect these guilty parties from themselves. The cash cows are all around the sport—products, foods, endorsements, personality cults, and it is all a fraud perpetrated on the gullible public for their entertainment—and to sell the Brooklyn Bridge to unsuspecting fans amid fixes.
Are we surprised a brawl broke out based on ten-year old feuds and jealousies? Are we amused by the outmoded macho attitudes of these testosterone-drenched idiots?
The answer is simply we don’t write about them anymore, and that should be our final response to those who ask why we don’t present those funny, double-entendre drenched blogs nowadays.
DATELINE: Out, Out, Damned Spot!
While Tom Brady and the New England Patriots pulled another game out of the hopper in the last second, the news was not all good. The Boston Globe featured an interview with another gay lover of the late Aaron Hernandez.
Yes, the paramours of alleged and former murdering tight end of the Patriots are coming out of the woodwork. Had he not been indicted for multiple murders, Aaron Hernandez might have been on the receiving end of Tom Brady’s passes this past night, instead of Gronk and Julian Edelman.
Instead, we are treated to more salacious details of his affair with his high school sweetheart, the quarterback of the Bristol, Connecticut, football team. Aaron had a thing for QBs, which explains his trips to California to train with Tom Brady years ago.
Of course, nowadays, Tom has no memory of the name Hernandez and never breathes it in polite company or even to the media.
Several years ago, during the trials of Hernandez, we were a lone voice in the wilderness, pointing out that the police covered up the gay angle to the crimes—believing it did not serve the public to hear it.
And, of course, the prosecutors declined to go into the gay motive in the murders because they thought the public would never find an NFL player capable of being homoerotic behavior, let alone homicidal behavior.
If you want to read the dirt, unvarnished and uncovered, go to the either the print or ebook entitled The Strange Case of Aaron Hernandez, available on Amazon.
DATELINE: What Follows
Fans may be a little disconcerted to learn that, if Bill Belichick leaves the New England Patriots in a snit, he will destroy everything he has created and leave mere ashes to his successor, whoever that dumb associate is.
If you think Josh McDaniels or Matt Patricia is prepared to pick up the pieces, or capable of saving the franchise, you will not be surprised they are moving onward.
Scorched Earth will mean that whatever is left will be in a messy state: like an aging Brady and his guru Guerrero running the team. Doddering Robert Kraft will surrender more power to his dim-wit son. We’ve seen in other cases of primogeniture how that works out in the NFL.
Will Bill depart after this season, perhaps with yet another Super Bowl trophy, and return the Pats back to their pathetic Patsie ways before he arrived? Ah, yes, the happy days of Pete Carroll!
Look at what may happen. The Patriots will have a 41-year-old quarterback on his last legs. His successor-in-emergency will be Brian Hoyer, a man who has lost in seven franchises.
Coordinators Josh McDaniels and Matt Patricia will happily move on to other teams.
Front office genius Nick Caserio will leave for greener pastures.
Without Jimmy G, the Patriot future is bleak. Perhaps he will re-sign in free agency.
Otherwise, Brian Hoyer will mostly help the aging Brady on and off the field for the next five to ten years.
|It was always the strategy of the Roman emperors to leave the nation in worse hands after his departure.
The logic was that the former emperor, now gone, will be much better appreciated if those taking up his job and his successors are deplorable.
Time and time again in Ancient Rome, the Empire crumbled because worse and worse emperors followed each other, rewarded because they would insure the previous leader was missed, appreciated, and honored.
There is no head coach on earth who can follow Bill Belichick. The crying of fans will have just begun.
What comes in his wake when he leaves is the fall of the Patriot Empire.
DATELINE: Examining Aaron’s Brain
Like a murderous zombie, Aaron Hernandez comes back repeatedly from death.
The latest news story deals with the findings of another pathologist Dr. Anne McKee, head of the Boston University CTE Center, who makes the case that the damage done to the New England football player by repeated concussions is enough to create a Frankenstein’s Monster.
The apparent shrunken and withered frontal lobes to his brain were even worse than originally feared. They had never seen anything quite like it in the brain of a 27-year old physically healthy young man.
There is no doubt that Aaron Hernandez had a magnificent body, well-taken care of. He had no idea that it encased the worst case of damaged goods you could find in the NFL.
Roger Goodell and his partners in crime ought to be cringing.
When doctors reveal it is the most severe trauma they’ve ever seen, you have reason to be freaked out. Those three murders may well have been the result of a mind that had no control over his impulses. He could not make decisions in any normal manner. He suffered a lack of judgment that had nothing to do with his intelligence.
Knowing he felt smart, Hernandez must have been repeatedly puzzled and baffled by his own twisted logic. Doctors insist they have never seen such a condition in anyone under 46 years of age. That is scary.
The doctor said: “…we can say collectively, in our collective experience, that individuals with CTE, and CTE of this severity, have difficulty with impulse control, decision-making, inhibition of impulses for aggression, emotional volatility, rage behaviors.
In other words, he was a perfect Type A personality for the NFL. He had the right genetic marker to make him vulnerable to the condition.
Researchers believe he had deteriorated to the level of someone in his 60s, “the most severe case they had ever seen in someone Aaron’s age.”
It makes you wonder what they might have found in the brains of Billy the Kid, Jack the Ripper or Lizzie Borden.
Dare we say it? We feel sorry for poor Aaron Hernandez.
DATELINE: Hard Break for Celtics
Gordon Hayward came to Boston to play for the Celtics. He was a superstar ready to write his Destiny today in big letters. Instead, five minutes into his Celtics career, Destiny wrote him off.
If ever you wanted a lesson in how ephemeral are the superstars of sports, this abject lesson is a horror story. Gordon Hayward went down in a senseless act of the cosmos and its mystery waves.
But as terrible, gruesome, and awful is the injury to Gordon Hayward, it’s not as bad as what happened to Len Bias, the Celtics hope of the future so many years ago in the aftermath of the Bird years.
Bias died of a drug overdose that caused a heart attack. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Does it matter? He was an unproven talent.
Unlike Len Bias, Hayward is an established star, not some vague potential. Gordon Hayward will live to play another day. However, we don’t know how this injury may affect his ability to play at the same level that made him a superstar.
Boston hardly knows him and now may never know him as the new centerpiece of a Big Three to bring more championships to Boston. That dream may have just evaporated five minutes into a new season.
The season will go on for the Celtics. But the heart of players may have gone out with Hayward’s injury. The stomach to move on will settle down.
Grizzled old vets like Al Horford may take the injury of a teammate in such a devastating fashion in stride. It is the nature of the obvious horror that has an impact on the younger players. The Celtics core is young and impressionable. It tells them a message of sobering fright: your days in the sun can be over in a blink, or a twist of an ankle: in the crack of a bone.
Bones can be fragile and can snap like twigs in the wind. There may be no reason that can be discerned as to whom it condemns—and who may escape. The quantum physics of the universe is cruel.
The psychological damage is immeasurable on the psyche of players—and even fans. The tragedy belongs to Gordon Hayward.
DATELINE: Return to Victory
|All of those Fair weather fans of the Patriots Are now worried that their imperfect team is made up of Juggalos or in the vernacular, an Insane Clown Posse.
We fully expect that too many Cooks will be ignored by Tom Brady in the long arduous search to find a replacement for both Julie Edelman and Danny AAA, those over charged batteries of the Patriots offense. As we know, Tom disabled them with his superstitious challenge of breaking a mirror in pre-season.
Now after losing the first game of the season, and ruining the predictions of a perfect 19-0 season, Tom has had to play an entire game in the first quarter against New Orleans Saints.
He threw three touchdowns and scored the second highest first quarter total in his career. Machine Gun Brady could rest on his laurels after that, but his curse continued.
In no short order, he lost Gronk to an alleged groin injury. We gathered from the despair on Gronk’s face that he is worried. We also saw Chris Hogan limp like Walter Brennan to Brady’s John Wayne. On top of that, newcomer Phillip Dorsett may be dubious next week.
So much for mirror challenges.
As far as Tom’s bench, love seat, or throne of honor, he sat alone only briefly. His court jester, Josh, is always thighbone to thighbone with him—and more comfortable in his backup status, Jimmy G sat on the other side of McDaniel.
Who then would take the seat next to the throne with both Julian and Danny out? We saw that Brandin Cooks tried his luck there, but stayed more than an arm’s length from Tom. He may be whistling in the dark, but he knows Tom can’t be choosy with his receivers dropping like proverbial flies.
On a cheerier note, we saw that in solidarity with Defensive Coordinator Matt Patricia, Coach Belichick put a pencil behind his ear to match the nerd look of Patricia. It may be the greatest vote of confidence we have seen this season.
DATELINE: So Long, Julie & Jackie
This is not your father’s Patriots. Hell, it isn’t even your Patriots from last year when they won everything.
Before the first real game is played, there have been major shake-ups in optimistic terms or disasters for the downbeaters, all happening in the event known as pre-season games. These have changed the complexion of the offering from Bill Belichick for 2017,
How is this going to give those Patriots improvement?
Only the taste of the real season shall tell us whether the alterations, both deliberate and fateful, have sent the team in the right direction.
Over the course of two weeks, two major factor players seemed to have bitten the dust. The foremost of these is Tom Brady’s Mini-me, Julian Edelman, the little nut gatherer who walks in Tom’s Shadow and feels like Peter Pan’s penumbra.
Edelman suffered a freakish ACL tear, apparently for no reason except that his leg wanted to go in a different direction. These medical messes are always year-long, life-altering events. Whether Edelman will return to the Patriots at age 32, ready to go, or whether the Patriots will be ready to let him go, only next pre-season will tell.
So, Brady’s go-to guy has gone bye-bye.
Also losing his kneecap to the pressure cooker of the game is Cyrus Jones, looking to recoup his reputation. It now would seem he may regain form, as he is young, next year, but his tenure with the Patriots may be at a standstill.
Then, came the end of pre-season shocker. With two needed players gone, Belichick had to sell high. He put Jacoby Bissett on the block—and chop-chop, he was gone in an instant.
The Colts, arch-rivals, needed someone because Andrew Luck’s luck has run out apparently. Jacoby, we enjoyed messing up your name repeatedly, and now someone in Indianapolis will have that honor.
It was Brissett for Dorsett in this Belichickesque tradett.
Perhaps he was never meant to captain the ship of Patriots with Tom Brady wanting to play for another ten years. Perhaps he knew that Jimmy G-man was the gunner in waiting for Tom’s magic elixir to fail.
So, now, we are ready for the real drama, with the fake news off the blipping screen. The first game is upcoming within a week, and Roger Goodell is rubbing his hands in delight. If he cursed the Patriots, he is now reaping its advent.
DATELINE: A-Rod Spoils the Night
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.
The Short Unhappy Life of Wes Welker
In Happier Times
Wes Welker has come out of retirement to play for the Rams.
This is not a case of a distinguished elder statesman coming in for a last hurrah. This is a case of a man with a history of concussions playing with the remainder of his brains left on the field.
We knew he could not return to Brady and the Patriots. Time has moved on—and like a previous wife, Wes cannot rekindle the romance with his paramour remarried to Jules Edelman.
On top of that, the father of the groom would hardly hear of Wes Welkah coming back to the fold. Some insults are better forgotten, and some better remembered. Wes managed to burn the bridges as he fled to the silver dollar saloon in Denver and Peyton’s Place.
We like to think the Patriots would not re-up him because they don’t want him to experience another concussion. However, the NFL is not a place for bleeding hearts or even compassionate conservatives. If Welkah ends up brain damaged, he will have only himself to blame. But he will make enough money to hire nurses round the clock.
Wes has been raking in a good amount lately by combing his often hair. We may be splitting hairs, but money may be second to the parting of fame. Far more corrosive than a concussion, fame has killed more people than the NFL can count.
Welkah’s career now will have a coda—a short, punctuating moment of suspense, followed by sudden darkness. Don’t ask for the stars, as they said in Now, Voyager, when you already hit the Moon.