Whaddup Wit Dat?

The Dorks are getting advise from Bob Kraft on the best way to achieve “full release” after Super Bowl LIV.

When I walked past City Hall last evening I was shocked to see that it was not lit up in the traditional red and gold  Every other year the Forty Niners were in the Super Bowl the dome was saturated in those hues. LIV LEDs seem to be a different story.

It’s probably a reflection on the bad blood that remains between City Officials and the owners, the Debartolo-Yorks (the Dorks). When they were trying to build a new stadium and NFL-rape the local taxpayers like they always do, City Hall would not budge. So the Dorks swindled the burg of Santa Clara instead and moved 40 miles away. It was an odd but admirable stance for San Francisco to take considering that it has become the poster city for profiting from corporate greed.

The message from City Mothers is coming through loud and clear: you’re named for a body of water not the town you were founded in. Have your fucking ticker tape parade out in the polluted bay.

Although I don’t profess to be an expert interpreter of lighting schemes, many consider me to be one. What I’m seeing here is another example of how clueless politicians need outsiders to keep them up on what’s happening in the real world.

They’ve backed the wrong team. The Patriots were eliminated a couple of weeks ago.

Patriots Update

I realize that not every blog post is a keeper but in the interest of establishing a continuum of life I don’t delete. In the rich tapestry that is blogging you sometimes have to accept the barnyard burlap warp with the Venetian silk weft.

Such was the case with my Super Bowl entry from last winter. I must have been drunk, high or both when I wrote that. Still I am proud that I captured the essence of the sleaze-bag owner Robert Kraft three weeks before his Orchids of Asia arrest, The new shade on my kitchen island is not called Nostradamus for nothing.

The genius of the New England organization is that it eats, drinks, sleeps and thinks football 24/7. And it starts at the top. A Patriot insider recently leaked a new trick play to me devised by the distinguished owner himself.

Distinguished is a relative term in the NFL. When you consider that at the NFL’s inception George Halas and Wellington Mara won their teams at the poker table, Kraft might qualify for sainthood. Then there’s former Rams owner Georgia Frontiere who assumed ownership of her franchise after taking her first husband for a “swim.” He never returned.  China Doll frolics pale in comparison.

Little Bob isn’t sure if he devised the play while being massaged or if it came later when he was thrown into solitary after being bitched out to a Jamaican drug lord for a couple of hours. My guess is that it was on the table because the name of the top secret play is “Full Release.”

The play is designed for two tight ends to use snake-hip movements that momentarily beguile the tackles before boring down the field as hard as is humanly possible. This is a parallel thrust to the two wide-outs who are a few yards ahead because they have done the same thing without the greasy reptilian moves.

With all the receivers down field (ergo the code name FR) the quarterback is like a condom-less dick–completely unprotected. The success or failure of the play is centered on his head. For an instant he feels like nothing else in the universe matters.

It is essential for the quarterback to slide out of the pocket and quickly pull the trigger. He sometimes feels like he has no other choice. Giselle says this not an issue for Tom, it’s almost second nature for him.

The other key element is that, after crossing the threshold of inevitability, the quarterback must almost intuitively spot his opening and unload. Again, Mrs. B says Tommy never misses the sweet spot.

This play will not be seen until the playoffs. But the Patriots are so confident of its success they are already choreographing excessive demonstration moves. Nick Kyrgios is consulting on the celebratory, fan appreciation dance.

Go Pats! Pound it home!! And look for Tom Brady on the January cover of Oops! The Magazine for Premature Ejaculators.

Another Happy Ending for the Patriots