DATELINE: Dumb Opening Acts
When an aging 40-year old superstar QB chases down a superstar tight end coming off back surgery, you have the potential for a Super Nova.
This is the kind of tale told when you sit around a campfire and explain it to your grandchildren at the end of the 21st century.
In space terms, that’s one Big Bang.
If you see stars falling out of Super Bowl LII, you may think Belichick’s mantra of “One More,” could take on all the elements of Greek tragedy.
If you like your bangs with medical accoutrements, you may be in a body cast up to your earlobes with a cast of super stupid stars.
Instead of the Alpha, jock humor will be the Omega of the Patriots firmament.
Many fans, and Bob Kraft too, must have looked aghast upon the Great Chase of Brady after Gronk who re-stole the infamous Super Bowl jersey. Only Bob Kraft saw millions of dollars going down on the Fenway short right field.
If you want to steal the fire from heaven, you could end up in Hades.
The last time we saw a chase like this, it was in a Buster Keaton silent film about the Civil War called The General. The old locomotive went into the drink—and that was that.
Imagine losing your two biggest NFL stars at an MLB ceremony. It would be like Hertz giving Avis a bunch of flat tires. If you want to kick the tires on Brady and Gronk, you might wonder how they manage to run the field when Tony Romo retires the same day at a median of their ages owing to injury.
On the other hand, you might like the feistiness of the young pup Brady, having discovered his second childhood, and the quick, nimble recovery of a man prone to back pain. You may like to live dangerously.
Fortunately, the Great Fenway Chase was about as scripted as a Three Stooges skit about a week back.
DATELINE: Weird Sports & Fake News
April in Boston sports is a dubious time for the most part. For example, this past weekend the city dodged a springtime snowstorm. And, we are preparing for a spate of human interest stories centering on Boston Marathon bombing survivors.
Yet, Opening Day for the Red Sox was pleasant—and all the dubious elements converged on Fenway Park.
We weren’t sure what would arrive and when.
Take, for instance, Gronk who’d been in Florida where he incensed football fans by jumping into the middle of a wrestlemania match, jeopardizing his bad back.
The Lombardi Trophy under the care of the Patriots again found itself involved in a storm related accident in Maine over the weekend, where Bambi’s descendant met an untimely end.
Tom Brady’s stolen Super Bowl jersey was returned from international intrigue and media duplicity in time to show up for the Red Sox to inspire them.
And, we aren’t even mentioning the former Patriot who was not at the game because he was in a courtroom being tried for murder.
However, almost all was good. Brady and owner Bob Kraft were there with the QB ready to throw out the First Pitch of the season with a check for $14million in his back pocket, his latest lump earnings for football work.
Then, as Brady held up his jersey at the game for the crowd’s edification, a purse-snatcher ran past and grabbed the shirt. Not to worry: it was only the mentally challenged Gronk into his latest lunacy.
Like a Wrestle-mania performance, we suspect this was staged. Brady had to chase down his tight end to retrieve the jersey before 40,000 fans in ecstasy.
Oh, by the way, the Red Sox won the game. It’s never easy to write humor blogs in Boston.
DATELINE: Patriot Movie Updates
Tom Brady needs a better publicity agent. This week the Atlanta Zoo made good on a bet against a Rhode Island zoo. The loser would have to name a baby animal after a notable Patriot player.
Tom, of course, seems right for the honor. So, the new born baby hissing cockroach is now baptized Tom Brady.
On the other hand, Malcolm Butler’s agent, Derek Simpson, is working hard for his client and himself.
He just sold the rights to the life story of Butler to a movie producer. Many likely titles will be proposed for the film script, from The Butler Did It to Don’t Call Me Rhett. However, his agent revealed that its working title is “The Secondary.”
This is not a reference to coming in behind Tom in Super Bowl MVP voting.
A smart agent makes himself part of the deal, and part of the movie. So, Simpson’s tale of inspiration will feature how he negotiated that his client, working at Popeye’s Restaurant, be given a try-out by the Pats.
Butler went on to make the phenomenal interception on the goal line to win one Super Bowl in his rookie year. This season was just icing on Tom’s avocado ice cream.
Movies about Tom and Deflategate will never be given the green light without Tom’s cooperation—and so far, there is no other movie coming from the Patriots. Oh, wait, we forgot about Gronk’s forthcoming USA film, American Violence, or his work with the late Alan Thicke in The Clapper, or with Eric Roberts and Steve Bauer in Deported. His starring role in Divot, about golf, has yet to begin production.
No one can keep up with Gronk when it comes to movie rights.
DATELINE: Move Over, ALF
Gronk is never far away in spirit.
As the Pats won yet another AFC East championship, Martellus Bennett shared a public photo of teammate James Develin holding Gronk’s T-shirt to be given on next meeting—and a public shout out.
Gronk, however, has not been idle, nor idyllic, but more idol. His family business opened a health and fitness spa outside of Boston—promising that Gronk himself may make an appearance one day. In the meantime, one of his innumerable brothers shall hold down the fort. It’s a Gronk no matter who shows up to cut the ribbon.
Our Gronk has taken our advice and never breathed a word about it.
Gronk’s new movie American Violence is about to be released. Directed by Timothy Woodward, no relation to the Equalizer Edward, the film features Gronk in a bad-ass role as a mob hitman. Looking dapper, menacing in dark glasses and a suit off the Tom Brady rack, the role is a springboard for the movie actor career.
Heavy violent drama may not be Gronk’s real forte. However, he will have billing ahead of Michael Pare, which indicates a star is born.
We more hopefully anticipate Gronk’s second movie, a sports comedy called Divot. This one he carries on his bad back. He’s has # 1 billing in a so-called “golf comedy.”
Perhaps that is a misprint. We suspect it’s a goof comedy, more in keeping with Gronk’s Noel Coward-style wit. We will stream American Violence during the Super Bowl if the Patriots fail to make it to the Big Show.
You can rest assured that this epic will receive our full critical eye and traditional zingers.
DATELINE: A Plaintive Plea
The hoary, old joke about how long you’ve had a weak back seems rather unfunny today. “About a week back.”
Rob Gronkowski will have back surgery for his herniated disk, apparently from another brutal double hit he took early in Sunday’s game. He left almost immediately, and he walked tall and unassisted off the field.
Our heroes are like that.
However, a bad back in football is tantamount to a glass jaw in boxing. We do not like the sound of it, and we worry for Gronk’s future. A few nitwits were trolling that he’ll be back in two weeks. No, not with a weak back. It won’t be a few weeks.
He’s had these problems since college—and his medical history played into his draft selection.
We will become our usual alarmist self when looking at someone we really care about: Gronk could be out for a long time. We fear he will try to come back too soon. This is not the concussion protocol. This is a weak back, perhaps a genetic situation.
Gronk has shown his infectious humor and bonhomie will make him a talk show star, or a movie star of adventure/action fantasy. We’d urge him to consider going there as an option. Don’t play around.
Though we love his camaraderie with TB 12, even his dressing up like Santa Claus last holiday for an anonymous visit to Brady’s kids, he is too much to be cherished as a healthy specimen.
If it means leaving the game that has brought him fame, it’s better to walk away than be wheeled off the gridiron on one of those ugly golf carts to sympathetic and pathetic cheers.
The cheering will never stop for Gronk, even if he moves to another, safer venue.
We cast our vote to have Gronk whole and healthy over playing again in a dangerous situation that could end in true tragedy.
The Patriots had a Bengal Tiger by the tail for the second half of the game at Foxboro, according to the referees who came to the game directly from their meeting at the Old Ladies Sewing Circle.
A most unhappy lot of Bengals were playing over their heads in the first half, mostly heady over sacking Tom Brady repeatedly. Thank heavens the offensive line gave no more offense by half-time. Tom does not approve of Tony the Tiger and Sugar Frosted Flakes, and so the Bengal Tigers probably incensed him.
When the momentum changed, the Bengal pussycats started to show their claws. The Cincinnati team had a lean and hungry look—and such teams are exceedingly dangerous.
They even took to baiting Gronk, who never quite lost it as he did in this game. We saw a most uncharacteristic Gronk being called for unsportsmanlike conduct, worse apparently than taunting the enemy.
We know Gronk was not feeling well because he was doing a shimmy shake at the goal line when LaGarrette Blount mixed it up with the Bengals.
Gronk agitated is a sight to behold. When he came off the field, he seemed to make a case to a mostly sympathetic Swami Belichick, but the real support came from Jimmy G and Devon McCourty who congratulated him on his bad sportsmanship on the sidelines.
Brady seemed to need a few extra minutes to raise up his hackles. By the second half, he made mincemeat of the Bengals—and gave Gronk one of his biggest career days for yardage.
It seems highly likely that Brady may have more yards than quarterbacks who will have played all sixteen regular season games, having done his work neatly in a dozen games.
On to Pittsburgh with the Roger Goodell Memorial Tour.
DATELINE: Major Tom Gone for 4 Weeks in Space?
Pardon us if we start to sniff smelling salts. After watching Jimmy G, temporary star QB of the Patriots, achieve a nirvana of passing after smelling the salts, we feel justified in our 19th century damsel routine.
If Jimmy G is another Boston spaceshot, needing stimulants to achieve his pinnacle, we can only laud him for not falling down in a faint during the National Anthem.
Among the curios of the Patriots this season, we have found replacements to be better than a bad Keanu Reeves football movie.
Jimmy G has, of course, supplanted Tommy B in the hearts of those looking for lanterns in the belfry around Boston.
And, now, to prove spaceshots in Boston did not end with Spaceman Bill Lee, now running for governor of Vermont on the libertarian ticket—and soon to be equaled by Curt Schilling who will be running for senator from Massachusetts against Pocahontas Warren, we have discovered Martellus Bennett.
Yes, Gronk’s mirror image, the tight end to block till your heart bleeds, is a spaceshot on NASA’s guest list.
After wearing a NASA baseball cap during post-game interviews and expressing his interest in science and astronomy, NASA nerds sent him a twittering textual invitation. He readily has accepted, being in the mind to write a sci-fi novel.
Well, that trumps Gronk who barely can spell soufflé and seems to be one of the experiments of Ancient Aliens. At least Gronk didn’t go on Dancing with the Stars like Ryan Lochte circling Uranus. Talk about starry star power.
DATELINE: Where Humor Comes on Its Own
This was the weekend to be in Boston. A comic book festival brought William Shatner to town.
For those old enough to remember, he was the original Captain Kirk. For others, he was the star of your grandparents’ favorite TV show.
Robust at 85, Shatner went to Fenway Park to throw out the first ball over the weekend. He looked a little paunchy up on the mound, and without a warm-up, his pitch went flying into the dirt before home-plate.
Most honored guests would run off the mound in darkest, humiliating shame. Not Shatner. A man accustomed to re-takes, he demanded a second pitch. This time he reached the plate with us strike to the approving roar of the crowd.
Around the same time former Red Sox superstar Jonathan Papelbon found himself released from the Washington Nationals. And he proposed that he would be very happy to return to one of his most glorious locales, with the The Red Sox.
Though he pitches about as well as Shatner nowadays, he is not 85; he is the former Cinco Ocho. He could still help when the pennant with Big Papi as they did 10 years ago.
A little south of Fenway Park, the splendid Gronk was holding his own comic fest. He entertained a large crowd of fans doing standup comic stuff on a folding chair.
He demonstrated how to spike a football ball and imitated Tom Brady.
So, for humorists being in Boston unnecessary. In the hub of the universe we have everything from Captain Kirk to spacemen relief pitchers to compleat Gronk.
DATELINE: In the Form of a Question
Julian Edelman for $400?
You’d think we were on Jeopardy, the egghead game show for those whose pursuit of trivia is big time.
The question is how flattered was Edelman to be turned from Brady’s top receiver, to the penultimate big question on TV’s rococo game show?
This week’s playboy of the Patriot world trumped his teammate Gronk.
The two have had more schemes and tagalongs than Lucy and Ethel. Who can forget their plan to have an all-expenses paid trip to Vegas? It nearly ended their friendship when Jules accused Gronk of being cheap.
Their latest stunt is to hold a football clinic in October for the distaff side. We are sinking into the confidence game out in the open and out of the closet. Julian Edelman is prepared to take money from women and entertain them. We feel like singing “Just a gigolo, everywhere I go.”
Can we use the word “distaff” without blowing a women’s equality gasket? Yes, for a couple of hundred bucks, any woman who professes ignorance of the ins and outs of football can sign up, pay their dues, and be taught by Julian Edelman at Gillette Stadium.
If you really have money to burn, you can fork over $3000 for the chance to be chauffeured to the event by Edelman’s partner in something, Gronk.
Yes, these guys are going to all lengths to meet women. You might conclude their romantic lives are blessed, but to resort to snake oil bottles of charm strikes us as a new low.
On top of that, we await the Edelman/Gronk clinic for gay men who need to learn more about football and footsie. Now, that would be news.
DATELINE: HAPPY RETURNS!
We love birthday cake!
It’s especially delicious after a couple of cleats have chopped up the delight into bite-size pieces.
Tom Brady wished his teammate and “my spirit animal” a happy 27th birthday on Facebook. Unlike some animals in the NFL, the Patriots spirit animal is a Flying Elvis—not some creature from the Black Lagoon or a Panther or Bronco.
There is no doubt whatsoever that Gronk has changed his aging quarterback with a dose of evergreen sprouts in his diet, or was that anatomic white gold? Tom is turning the clock back to the thrilling days of yesteryear—when he too was 27.
Posting a picture of the action heroes on his website, TB12 is popping into the arms of the free spirit. His popover is a birthday cake, and unlike a stripper—he provides a fully uniformed QB at the top of his game. Alas, the cake is missing four tiers.
We are now watching the finely tuned machine that will come to a crashing halt for four games if the NFL has its way. Roger Goodell is the fly in the ointment, and he is the unknown ingredient in the birthday cake.
Eat it at your own risk.
You can blow out all the candles you want to wish Goodell would go away, but the lack of air in your lungs may be as deflated as the footballs the NFL is using to punish Tom Brady.
Gronk’s birthday cake is being made by the bakery of Roger Goodell where the ovens are either too cold or too hot—and every celebratory cake has a missing ingredient. Your official tasters are corrupt referees.
DATELINE: Gronk or Grog?
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.
DATELINE: Move Over, Hot Pants
When Edna St. Vincent Millay visited author Somerset Maugham at his South of France estate, she was flabbergasted, and reportedly told Maugham, “You have created Fairyland.”
Move over, Maugham. Odell Beckham, Jr., is not about to be outdone, undone, or overdone. Odell is living with a rap star named Drake. When another NFL icon, Stevan Ridley started designing fashion, they had a meeting of the mindless. Ridley’s nom de fashionista is Kid-Rid.
If Gronk looks like a giant Hobbit, then Danny Amendola is the Puck of paradise. Odell Beckham, Jr., belongs in Shangri-La-la.
The estate actually belongs to rapper Drake, and his new roommate Odell.
Gronk, Danny Amendola, and Junior, donned one-piece jump suits that haven’t been seen since the days of wine and roses. Stevan Ridley is already planning a career for his post-NFL days.
To top off the zipper fashion statement, they posed for animal crackers.
We almost could hear Gronk humming “Some Enchanted Evening,” while he posed sleeveless next to the lavender hued Odell.
Fairyland is not a Disney park, but seems to be an off-season land where magical boys transform from lions of the gridiron to pussy-cats of the Wonderland.
If the smiles become any bigger, we suspect the Cheshire Cat will disappear.
Fairyland is exclusive, and not just anybody can gain entrance. You will note that Julian Edelman was left out of the photo-shoot and model audition.
DATELINE: Continuing Adventures of Brady Bunch
When you blow into a conch, you never know what wild animals will show up.
Earlier this week Tom Brady summoned his receivers by the time-tested method that won favor in The Lord of the Flies. It was also a means to gather the media in that deplorable Ron Burgundy movie a few years back.
We saw Julian Edelman and Danny Amendola, apparently working as police officers in the off-season, answer the call with a run to the donut shoppe. One bite for the most appalling calorie laden gluten packed dognut in their hands.
Gronk came running out of the woods, breathless, apparently out of shape for his Mal de Merry shipboard party. Brady made him do five pushups as penance.
Then, the most troublesome houseguest since Edgar Allen Poe had some friends over to the House of Usher, Gronk showed up at Tom’s palacial estate for April Fool’s Day.
He caught Tom napping.
What appears to be an attempt to show that Tom overslept is actually a creepy moment when Gronk is dunking Tom’s hand in a bowl of rosewater with the conch next to it.
Anyone who knows life in a college dorm understands the upshot of dunking Tom’s pinky into the warm water. Yes, April Fool’s Day is the cruelest day of a cruel season.
We suspect the foul play is actually a set up for laughs.
Gronk Doubles His Pleasure
Over at our country club on the bay, we all know the importance of having a motorboat in excellent condition for summer cruising.
To our surprise, a rather busty woman (on the order of Anita Ekberg or Jayne Mansfield) who apparently was on the Mal de Merry cruise with Gronk has sent out a curious tweet.
She said, in exact nautical terminology: “Rob Gronkowski motor boated me today. All is well in the world.”
Being more of an officious sort, we were puzzled that she tweeted that Gronk “motorboated” her. We did not suspect that Gronk was a mariner; nor do we think he can recite the rhyme of the ancient mariners.
The poem has something to do with a girl in every port, as we recall from graduate English courses.
So, Gronk is now operating a motorboat in the off-season. We would certainly caution him to be on the lookout for rogue waves, and we don’t mean women in the Navy.
In our estimation, the size of the portholes on this young lady would render her more in the Tugboat Annie division of nautical sport. She would– in the parlance of World War II — seem to be wearing a Mae West life preserver—or likely would turn into one if a sailor found himself drowning.
We cannot find it in our imagination to think Gronk would be interested in such baggage, or two bags to be specific. It seems to require heavy lifting, but this acquired taste does entail making noises like a motorboat while deep sea diving. We are holding our breath over this.