Ch-ch-changes for Patriots in 2017

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.

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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.

 

 

Cam Newton’s Zebra Stripes Rival Refs

DATELINE:  Cam Breaks Cam

Cam Newton does not have a matching leopard skin pillbox hat.

On the way to the Super Bowl, he did wear his $1000 Versace zebra pantaloons. This jean is overlaid with gold to match his fillings.

In some circles this is a fashion statement. In other circles this is de rigueur wear for Circle de Soleil performers.

If he looks like he just stepped off a road company stage production of The Lion King, you might be on the right track to find poachers who are stalking him. He is obviously a trophy case collectible.

We haven’t seen such outrageous pants since codpieces adorned gawkers at the Gay Pride Parade in San Francisco. Newton may be a few years too late for the hippies, but he is likely to arrive in San Fran with flowers in his hair.

If you think Newton is a flash in the pan-ts, then you will be drawn to his drawstring motif.

To offset the look of a zebra’s hindquarters, Cam also wore a simple, basic black leather coat. No animals were harmed in the making of his fashion statement, though they may have hurt feelings.

In case you forgot, Newton is a Panther. No, not a Black Panther, and not taking Pan African roots for granted, he has sent the Twitter world atwitter.

Apparently, gay website Grindr was offline—and all the users were agog at the go-go boy attire of their new pinup boy hero.

If you think Super Bowl week is like a petting zoo, you likely will be breaking out the cameras for a photo shoot of Cam.

 

 

Worst Super Bowl: Brian Hoyer v. Kirk Cousins

 DATELINE: Send in the Seconds

 

No Gropes in the Backfield

As the world of NFL prepares for a bunch of playoff games starring the costars, the real stars of the game are home resting.

Yes, everyone wants to see Cam Newton, Tom Brady, Peyton Manning—and, hunh?, Carson Palmer.  It almost seems like among the superstars, Palmer is the Ralph Bellamy of the group. For those of you too young to recall the heyday of Hollywood, Ralph Bellamy always played the star’s best friend, but was never really a star in his own right.

For this first weekend, we have to watch the midget version of titans now populated by Rothlisberger, Rodgers, and the hopefuls like Russell Wilson, Kirk Cousins, and good grief, Tom Brady’s former waterboy, what’s-his-name.

If you want to sense who the biggest stars are, you had only to hear Donald Trump predict Brady was better than anyone else, even with an ankle injury, at a recent campaign rally.

For some fans, Tom Brady is Darth Vader in a zoot suit and Peyton Manning is aging Han HGH Solo without Botox backup.

Many are hoping for a rematch of Brady and Manning in the real Super Bowl, before the actual #50.  For the oldsters of the game, it would rival something akin to the Star Wars sequels and prequels. Are we up to seven big games with that dynamic duo?

Of course, the young stud of the group—and probably Roger Goodell’s choice to represent his billionaires’ club is Cam Newton. You couldn’t ask for a more blended version of Manning and Brady.

Looking over the possible fixes the NFL can make to the proceedings, it is nearly impossible to figure out what teams will receive the blessings of the referees during the game. It would look like a box office disaster if we end up with Brian Hoyer and Kirk Cousins in the Super Bowl. So, that’s where we put our two-bits for FanDooDoo, or DraftyThings.

That’s our favorite pick for poetic justice for Roger Goodell this year.

Sly Accusation Becomes Peyton’s Pain in Neck

DATELINE:  Pizza Pie in the Face

 

A rock from outer space just landed on Peyton Manning.

After having besmirched Tom Brady at every corner of the universe, the NFL suddenly had been caught in the outhouse with its premiere star. Some pharmacist named Sly has accused Manning of using human growth hormone to recover from his neck surgery in 2011.

This verboten substance may be miraculous for anyone with a medical problem, but the NFL has made a point of banning it.

Now they are facing the love of their league in a situation where Manning voided the banning.

We suspect that, if this vile story is true, Roger Goodell will hit Manning with a one-game suspension because he has pity on a suffering human being, desperate to cure his pain.

Tom Brady, on the other hand, in the alternate universe of Goodell, has merely caused pain to 31 billionaire owners.

Manning, of course, denies that he ever heard of someone named Sly and never had any illegal substance delivered to his wife at their various addresses.

We tend to agree that Manning is too smart for such a plan of action. If he had the substance sent to his various addresses, it would go to the butler. Yes, the butler did it.

No, Patriot fans, we don’t mean Malcolm Butler.

Peyton’s places are sundry. He has homes all over the country and his wife remains a woman more private than Greta Garbo. So, any investigation will simply cause anguish to people wanting to stay above or below the fray in elite zipcodes.

We refuse to believe the story is true, just as Patriot fans refused to believe ugly stories about Brady are true. Does this put the shoe on the other foot?

It likely means that sticky dirt has to be scrubbed off, whether Peyton is innocent or guilty. This is worse than a pizza pie in the face.

 

 

Belichick’s Trick is the Patriots’ Treat

DATELINE: Campbell’s New Line of Mincemeat

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Dan Campbell’s Miami Manwich recipe turned out to have too little meat and too much sauce.

The New England Chowdah-heads of the Patriots chopped up the Dolphins like a fricassee delicacy. The secret ingredient of a Manwich is apparently a Dolphin head.

The lesson taught to the Miami Dolphins probably could be put under the category of tough guys always lose by thirty points to a team with Dr. Frankenstein’s cousin, Bill Belichick, performing the surgery.

We know now that the next time Dr. Belichick wants to create a Halloween monster like Tom Brady, he will not ask his Igor, Josh McMcDaniels, to procure a brain like Ryan Tannehill’s.

Last week’s Offensive Player of the Week is Tom Brady’s lunch today.

Yes, the Manwich central nervous system went into lockdown when a snap went flying past Tannehill who was checking out someone in the Patriots peanut gallery. The result was a safety and a guarantee that this year’s Dolphins are not quite ready for prime time.

It isn’t fair at this time of year when ghouls frequent the NFL under the auspices of that warlock Roger Goodell. Belichick has two monsters running amok on the gridiron. Gronk also seemed to be in traditional seasonal mode.

Campbell himself looks like he was yesteryear’s model for Gronk. At least he has kept his juiced-up figure on the sidelines where he spat tobacco juice out at all the closeup moments on TV. What a role model for kids!!

Instead of trying to make a Manwich from of his out-of-water Dolphins, Dan Campbell may want to go Trick or Treating this year and find a few Snickers candy bars. His players may not be themselves, as the commercial often tells us.

We aren’t sure a candy bar is the antidote to hubris and incompetence.

Neither is a trumped up Manwich.