The Great Hoodie Shoots All Lame Horses!


DATELINE: Belichick’s Message!

For the third time in three years, the Patriots will find a new doctor to tend to the variety of wobbly knees, bent attitudes, and separated shoulders.

Of course, the present doctor praised the organization and his dream job with the Krafty business. You wouldn’t expect a respected professional to be dismissed by Belichick. Dr. Matt Provencher has been associated with Mass. General Hospital. We are not talking about a guesswork meteorologist that irked Bill Belichick.

So, the housecleaning at Patriot Place continues with anyone associated with the weaknesses of this year’s team find themselves pushing the revolving door, spinning out quicker and quicker.

You might theorize that rats leave a sinking ship, if you were a Denver Bronco, but you’d be wrong. Belichick is giving a heave-ho and a pushy push-push to anyone who seems askance.

Since these are the staff members who labor for the glory of being with the Patriots, you can imagine what the Great Hoodie has in store for those whose salary towers over their performances.

Bill likes a good return on his dollar—and he likely will find a bunch of unknowns and undrafted John Doe types. They will shine for a season or so under the Hoodie—before wanting big bucks.

As far as we can tell, there are few untouchables in the Belichick caste.

Brady and Gronk seem to be top of the list. Indeed, Patriots will find another Gronkowski brother in the draft, already having interviewed him, to keep Gronk happy. He had another brother on the team a few seasons ago.

As for that notorious O-line that has the same porous quality of the notorious O-ring for NASA thirty years ago, you can expect that Brady’s staunch defenders will be unrecognizable come this summer.

What’s the Matter with the NFL Today?

DATELINE:  Hate the Pats?

With 24 hours to go before the AFC sends its nominee to the Super Bowl L convention, we have a group of extremists at the National Review charging that the New England Patriots are “bonkers,” “cheaters,” “fake champions,” and other sundry accusations.

These elite NFL fans think of themselves as purists who disdain a shrewd coach who seldom makes mistakes. They prefer dumb-ass coaches who are fired within three years before taking their act to another team. They want bad coaches to continue to be the backbone of NFL games.

These football purists disdain having one coach with one team for two decades—and they despise the notion of a quarterback staying with one team and one set of fans for an entire career.

The New Puritans of Football want a moveable feast for every Super Bowl. It should be a traveling circus, looking for sunbelt stadiums and fair weather fans.

The Patriots have exposed the folly of NFL referees and the burlesque of opposing players with an inability to concentrate on the play at hand. What? Off-side again?

If you see a parallel to the crypto-Nazi attacks on Donald Trump as not being a real conservative, you may well understand those who see Tom Brady as the football equivalent of Trump.

You guessed it: Brady wants to make Patriot Nation great, while Cam Newton represents the nouveau Johnny (Manziel)-come-lately types.

Belichick has undercut the Goodell dream of annual winners of the Super Bowl rising out of a different region and division of the NFL each year. Parity actually means you can play FanDuel and continue to guess a winner.



Brady Mentions Edelman on Facebook!!

DATELINE: Two Exclamation Points!!


Like a good humorist, we use only two exclamation marks in our headline.

Tom Brady sent one of his patented and classic zingers in the direction of his occasional Burger Tyme friend, Julian Edelman, this week.

Apparently Tom had been watching the film of his near touchdown on the goal line where he was brutally hit from behind and knocked out of bounds. It was a Red Zone moment that referees often turn into Twilight Zone moments.

He had scored, breaking that invisible plane, but that view was denounced by referees in New York and on the scene. They are under orders to deny Tom any benefit unless it is clear cut—and then still deny it lest the Commissioner cut off their heads.

So, Tom was crushed. Standing nearby in joyous celebration was Jules. Alas, he was a tad premature and undone for not blocking the man with a bead on Tom.

Brady noted it was Julien flexing again, posing for those photos that adorn his man cave. Throwing one of those stink bomb bouquets at Edelman seems to make Tom feel better.

Tom’s Facebook tweet said it all:

And we quote: “Hey, Julian, how about a little less flexing and a little more blocking next time!!”

Brady let Julian off the hook by using only two exclamation points.

We suspect that the duly chastised Edelman will not respond on his own Facebook page. He might if the barb came flying his way from Gronk or Amendola. The bread is buttered on the side Julian likes—and he will not get butter on his pants when he is on a roll.

Belichick Feeds Masses Fish Heads & Tails

DATELINE: Blessed are the Playmakers



Insiders are reporting that the Great Hoodie of Gillette City has decided to keep his ruby red slippers under wraps.

He gave nothing away in the last few games of the season when double agents, scouts, and media spies are looking for a report to help plan a strategy to defeat the New England team. What they saw likely created overconfidence and arrogance.

It has rattled athletic supporters on the home front jewels.

Once again, Coach Bill Belichick let them eat cake. And, they will starve to death on that special diet of rotten apples and stale crackers, compliments of the Great Hoodie.

There was nothing obvious in what tactics the Patriot coaches will take in the playoffs. This Belichick soup du jour is diabolical and brilliant.

Film and game plans are oft created by watching the performances and player groupings of your opponent. If they watched the Patriots in December, they learned nothing. It was not a month to remember.

In the past Belichick has relied on the notion that the brains of his next opponent are focused, like a fly, on the recent weeks of play, and they never look much beyond it with their goldfish memories.

But Belichick is like the elephantine wizard dominating the room. He recalls all, and he knows all. What he has shown to the potential adversaries in the playoffs is that his team is weak, injured, and the coaches are slipping. What a brilliant façade.

It is the ultimate Potemkin village. When the opponents drive by in their sleighs, thinking it’s a holiday, he will pounce with guerilla aplomb.

You can bet the practices over the next two weeks will have more security than Homeland provides the Congress. That is the telltale heart of Belichick at work.

Back to the Drawing Board for Belichick

DATELINE: Three Coins in the Fountain

Back to the Abacus

As Bill Belichick now must deal with the worst decision of his coaching career, he has taken to justifying it. Talk about making matters worse. He claims he was making a list and checking it twice when the infamous coin flip seems to have flipped him a bird.

The diabolical Hoodie of yore would never have stood on the sidelines, playing with his etch-a-sketch, which some commentators have mistakenly called an iPad.

Everyone knows Roger Goodell has made a $400 million deal with the famous toymaker to give coaches something under their Xmas tree. The blue bauble appears to have no Internet connectivity, let alone an off switch.

It was on this little blue tablet, often called a Surface at Microsoft, that the New England braintrust seems to have drawn up one of the worst plans of the regular season.

The NFL Etch has no memory, no statistics, and no known reasonable function. Yet, Belichick used it to decide to kick a ball to the Jets in overtime, thereby giving them a chance to score instantly.

Technophobes like Belichick then could use the device to prove that Steve Jobs was a bad movie about knock-offs.

Since Belichick’s defensive schemers were unable to stop the March of the Jet Toy Soldiers, the Etch-a-Sketch turned Tom Brady into Betsy Wetsy. Matt Patricia, the erstwhile Defensive Coordinator, was degraded to using #2 pencils to work it out.

It seemed like the Jets took the old-fashioned Slinky hop and bounce over the Patriots D-men.

It appears that the motto, “In Bill We Trust,” has been deflated.

Tossed Out by a Trick Kick Call: the Pats Lose

DATELINE: Asleep at the Switch

Belichick Plays Dumb at Coin Toss

The Jets played like they had an extra pot of coffee this morning, and the Patriots were sleep walking. In this deplorable effort, our Patriots were the original sleepy time gals.

Pats fans probably could not believe their eyes at some of the half-baked mistakes, culminating in Coach Bill Belichick’s truly mammoth error in judgment: he won the coin toss for overtime and elected to kick to the Jets.


Yes, Brady and Belichick agreed after the game that was their decision, no mistake about it.  Well, it is one of the major errors of the Belichick error-free era. We cannot recall anything quite so significant at this point of seventeen seasons under the Hoodie King.

The overtime loss was merely icing on the slumber number of their mattress. We could feel a pea under our tush, but the Pats had a numbness that ranged from skulls to backsides. We were astounded at how they seemed a dollar short for the ferry fare as the creek rose around them.

If you believed the Pats wanted to deliver this game to the Jets, they made it a Christmas to remember. Everything was on the line, except the big red bow on the gift wrap.

We can take solace that Carolina Panthers also lost, despite carrying big black bats.

Yet, the nagging feel remains that the NFL referees are influencing those under the influence, whether they are Browns players coming home from too much spirit at the party, or coin tossed captains who don’t know whether their heads are screwed on.

Tom Brady’s Jiminy Xmas!

DATELINE: Man in Red Suit


Who knew the Jolly Old Elf was bigger than a breadbox? Who knew Santa Claus had clodhoppers on his feet? Who knew Santa drank protein shakes?

Tom Brady, that’s who.

We are a little late this year for the holiday, but found our investigative skills put to the test with this Christmas Eve edition of stolen identities.

Tom Brady hosted Saint Nick for cookies and protein shakes before the long journey into day.

Skeptics started assessing the shoe size of Tom’s Uggs next to Santa and came to a conclusion that is usually reserved for DNA evidence at trials. And, that indicated Santa was bigger than a Polish sausage—pointing fingers in one direction:  Gronk.

We know that, after years of playing together, Tom has grown accustomed to Gronk’s face. He likes the tune Gronk whistles at noon. His smiles, his frowns, his ups and his spikes are second nature to Tom now.

Now Gronk is playing Santa on Christmas Eve to Tom’s kids.

Tom can never be serenely independent. He’s grown accustomed to that voice and that face, its highs and lows.

We recall the first season when Tom would make a sarcastic comment to Gronk—and Gronk would be dazed, mouth agape, unable to speak.

Now, they are sharing milk and cookies. It’s like breathing out and breathing in.

Gronk has become a habit hard to break.



Patriots Lost on Revis Island?

DATELINE: On Gilligan’s Island Before Playoffs

The rats are abandoning the Good Ship of Lollipop Brady. You can swim to the nearby island belonging to the good Dr. Goodell Moreau of sports where you will be hunted down like a deflated ballboy.

As the game time clock is about to strike, the hickory dickory media is running down the clock before the bell tolls.

Predictions for a Jets victory over the Patriots is the latest fad. And, some are accusing the Patriots and Belichick of, you guessed it, cheating to lose. The game’s score will be within the FanDooDoo boys’ range of betting.

A Patriot loss would throw the wild cards up in the air for a game of 52 Pickup.

So, media defenders of Brady and his teammates are now looking for portholes and exits out of the cargo hold.

We have held firm to a Patriot victory as de rigueur in the scheme of NFL shenanigans. And, we subscribe to the new theory that Revis Island is the new Riker’s Island of New York.  Your huddled masses of semi-talented players will be housed there in overcrowded and teeming tenements.

Like Kong’s Island during a storm, Revis Island is on the downswing. Islands tend to sink eventually. Just ask all those survivors of Atlantis, or Santorini.

If you think you will survive a Patriots juggernaut by pulling a Robinson Crusoe on Revis Island, you are living on Fantasy Island. And, Friday is not a game day.

As John Donne would tell you, no man is an island, but the bell is tolling for the New York Jets.

NFL Blames Brady for the Ills of World

DATELINE: Goodell’s Growing Paranoia

NFL Seeks Tom Brady’s Head

The NFL’s latest brief against Tom Brady in a court appeal of their Deflate-gate catastrophe is shocking.

With each legal step, the NFL seems to change the charges against Tom.

In a regular judicial proceeding, this would be unconstitutional. In the NFL it is in the best tradition of Adolph Hitler and colleagues at the local concentration camps.

Now the Roger Goodell kookoo bird contingent feels Brady has undermined confidence in the game and eroded public goodwill. They stop short of accusing him of poisoning the water supply of every team in the NFL except New England. If you believe the hyped up and hopped up attorneys on retainer for the NFL, then you may begin to think conservative Tom is on the payroll of some radical Islamic terrorist group.

Next, we expect Brady to be nominated by the NFL for the no-fly list. That would effectively stop him from playing in most games of the season.

Yet, on the same day, the public whom the NFL says is jaded and disenfranchised by Brady actually made him the biggest vote getter of the NFL for the Pro Bowl.

It smells distinctly like the media campaign against Donald Trump. The more the public supports him, the more the media disparages him with false charges, accusing him of being unfit to be president. It sounds like the same people who hate Brady also hate Trump.

The Wells report originally charged Brady with being “generally aware” of deflated footballs, but now the NFL feels he is orchestrating one of the great conspiracies in the history of the world. Move over, John Wilkes Booth and shooter on the grassy knoll.

The NFL is soon to reveal a magic bullet that Brady used to deflate balls by means of voodoo and paranormal influence.

Save us from the maroons of the NFL.

Texan Two-Step to Avoid Third Defeat?

 DATELINE:  The End is Near!

At long last Tom Brady has deferred to our judgment.

Yes, in an interview this week, he said he did not dwell on scenarios for the playoffs—and left that sort of thing to the bloggers.

We have taken the easy way out by suggesting the Patriots will not make the playoffs this season. Like a bird with a broken wing, the Patsies face carnivores in the NFL who are ready to turn the ultimate predator into the juicy leavings of a good meal.

How nice of Tom to think of his blogging army at this time! He also thought the Patriots will have hands full just trying to stave off Texan Coach Bill O’Brien’s vengeance game. Tom’s former offensive coordinator and nemesis clashed on occasion when they worked together under Belichick a few short years ago.

O’Brien only shares a footnote with McDaniels as one of Tom Brady’s list of handlers. Where is Charlie Weis when you need him?

This is a new Brady, freshly pressed from his Botox treatments and directed by a rage you only see in movies like Death Wish.

Tom also expressed a hope that Gronk would return from injury “sooner than later.”  Ah, a man of understated hope and of realistic dreams, too. Yes, we think he wants Gronk back last week, if not sooner.

Without a half dozen of his coterie, Brady is limping along like those movie heroes who lose half their platoon during an impossible effort to recapture glory on a suicide mission.

Tom likely wishes he had his pal Donald Trump’s hubris—a galling confidence that makes him fly in the face of all odds. Tom is more realistic and has less money in the bank to mollify his sense of self-importance.

The eyes of Texas will be upon him—at least, the eyes of Texan pass rushers.


The Wiz of Foxboro Goes Live on Sunday

DATELINE: On to the Yellow Brick Road

The Wiz

Unlike T-Rex Ryan of Jurassic Buffalo, Chipmunk Kelly wants to kill the Patriots with kindness. How else do you explain the syrupy mess that he has oozed all over Bill Belichick and Tom Brady?

T-Rex won’t genuflect and kiss the rings of Belichick, but Chipper the K is ready to canonize the Patriots and send them to the NFL equivalent of nirvana in Canton, Ohio.

We cannot dispute the politically correct Kelly. Bill Belichick will give him more than the time of day at the end of the game on Sunday when the Patriots will kick the Eagle out of his aerie and take the Emerald City.

Kelly likely hopes his kindness will beget kindness from the master of strategic kill. Belichick has not been able to issue any “take no prisoners” order lately.

Belichick has had a week to think about not having anyone with true ability to catch a Brady pass. There will be compensations made and dispensations not given. We expect his brain-trust aides have found new ways to defend onslaughts on Brady’s crown by stopping him from falling down and breaking into pieces.

If the Great Hoodie is anything like Queen Latifah playing the Great Oz, he will use all his guile to keep anyone on the Eagles from discovering that the wizard behind the curtain is a little man using great PR.

This is Belichick’s moment to show that the Wizard of Foxboro Park can dispatch any of the evil sisters of the NFL with their flying monkeys in referee suits.

If The Wiz Live can be a big hit on TV as its Broadway tryout, then the Patriots may take the cue and not let the House of NFL land on their star quarterback.


To Be or Not To Be a David Price Chopper?

DATELINE: It’s Only $$$$


Taking a day off from our Mad Dog Patriot Season, we turn our attention to the Mad Dog Red Sox Off-Season.

After enduring the Puritanical Ben Cherington who orchestrated the witch trials that rid the Sox of the billion-dollar chicken nugget bucket brigade, Cherington settled into the dourest administration since Cal Coolidge ran Massachusetts.

We aren’t sure that the profligate Dumbo is a better fit, but it isn’t our money he’s throwing away like a sailor on holiday in Shanghai just before the Boxer Rebellion.

Dave Dombrowski is playing to the rafters. His version of Hamlet in the front office has taken on the name of action and bared his bodkin to the American League who are all running to a nunnery.

When you pay the Price, you know it has to be hefty. But, in Boston the price is right when you promise to take Red Sox Nation to the Promised Land. Churly Cherington led the team’s nation through the desert of last place for three out of four years.

He never could find manna from King John Henry VIII and finally went to the tower before losing his head entirely.

Like Cromwell, Dombo is a man of the people—he knows that a pricey pitcher is worth a two hundred million words on the shopping block.

For a time Dombrowski will have the ear of the King in the owners’ box, but there had better be an heir to the World Series, or we may have more carnage on Yawkey Way than the last act of a Shakespearean play.

NFL Puts Lips Together & Blows



That’s Buffalo Bob’s Bills, Howdy Doody Rexy.

The Bills have come due—and whether Belichick has cash on hand, or credit up his hoodie sleeve only the four quarters will tell. Magician T-Rex Ryan plans on pulling quarters out of Tom Brady’s nose.

T-Rex’s defensive attack tormented Tom Brady, but truly befuddled the officiating crew, one of the worst Roger Goodell could send to Foxboro.

The big game did not test the ability to stay up late. It was paranoid fun.  It does test the ability to rise on Tuesday morning to work as per usual, but it sent Patriot fans into a frenzy of paranoia beyond their usual fringe.

Inadvertent Whistlegate showed up on Goodell’s doorstep screaming like a newborn banshee. Yes, blame the NFL for Whistle-gate.

Every game is different—and blowing out the Bills, a la the earlier game, may be like blowing smoke rings. You can’t have a Super Bowl ring unless you can blow smoke rings around your most arrogant and semi-talented opponents. The NFL just blew their whistles like Lauren Bacall did to Bogie.

Between the referees’ attempts to throw the game back to the Bison, Belichick prevailed—and the sight of Rex Ryan throwing an F-laden tirade on the sidelines made the game a classic of ineptitude.

Former Pat Rodney Harrison has said he hoped the Patriots would lose this one in order to relieve the pressure on them for a perfect season. It’s like wondering if the Patriot O-rings resemble the old NASA problem. We know the inevitable is closer than ever after last night’s victorious fiasco.

The Bills have been sent to clean the outhouse for another season, and they ought to be joined by the so-called officiating crew.

Celtics Look Smart and Go Young



Rondo Under Cone of Silence

When the Boston Celtics draft Maxwell Smart, you know he must have gone higher than 86.

We wait for the day that Smart tells Danny Ainge, “Sorry about that, Chief!”

Did anyone pull the Cone of Silence down upon the Boston Celtics before the media went wild? Yes, the media had predicted Embiid and Exum as the Boston best choices. No one had the Smarts to know how Young the Celtics would go.

Whether Marcus turns out to be a Smart-aleck or another dumbbell, only the first season will tell. In the meantime, the Celtics may be looking to see if Love will be exchanged for Smart Young players.

Marcus Smart is from Oklahoma where the corn grows as high as an elephant’s eye. Of course, someone with Smarts will point out that corn does not grow in Oklahoma, despite what Rogers and Hammerstein told us.

You don’t have to be a Smarty-pants to wonder what jersey Max will wear next season. Will the Smart money be enough to sign this outstanding young agent of change?

Smart earlier this year looked more like Metta World Peace than Cedric Maxwell. He went into the stands to go after a fan he deemed overly critical, making us wonder whether the Cone of Silence will fall on anyone in Smart’s circle if free speech is an issue.

The Smart money is on Avery Bradley having lost his job this night. A few think it means Rajon Rondo may be heading to any club where Carmelo Anthony plays next season.

If anyone thought the fireworks were over, they aren’t Smart enough to know the Fourth of July is next week.

Encyclopedia of Sports Idiocy



If you were to ask sports humorists whether there is enough material to fill an encyclopedia of moronic sports players, you would elicit a laugh out loud.

In an age when sports players in some of the most mundane of sports, and players of the most modest of abilities, are paid by the yardstick of wealth beyond dreams, you would find anyone at the professional level has made it.

Now comes another whimsical book, on both softcover and ebook version, that targets some of our favorite foibles and follies.

Not since the Ziegfeld Follies has there been an array of emperors parading without clothes.

William Russo, also known by the erstwhile moniker of Ossurworld and Dateline: Humor, has been dispensing his particular style of venom now for many years on a variety of websites. He was banned from Bleacher Reports and found his titles appropriated by others on MTR Media. But he keeps plugging away.

His favorite targets have found themselves in books dedicated to their own brand:  Rajon Rondo: Superstar, LeBron James and the Plague of Seven Rings, Compleat Gronk, Shakespeare in Sports and others have volumes dedicated to the vanities of their careers and personal flaws.

Now Russo has put together a compendium from A to Z that includes other notables like Rex Ryan, Kris Humphries, and David Ortiz.

The most frequent mentions do go to the Boston teams that strive to dominate national talk:  the Patriots, the Red Sox, and the Celtics all have claimed the territorial designation “Nation.”


No good deed goes unpunished. No flash is immoral. In the latest volume ENCYCLOPEDIA OF SPORTS IDIOCY, you will feast on another smorgasbord of bad puns, appalling literary references