Frank McCabe is an avid relaxer and Chinese food (i.e. Mai Tai) connoisseur. When he is not tending to his ‘real’ job, his wife and three children, Frank escapes reality by writing and inventing anything “funny” that pops in his head. A former Ski Mask supermodel, Frank subscribes to the theory that life is short…and, well, that kinda sucks, doesn’t it? In his downtime Frank enjoys skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid.
Some of Frank's writings include:
Book: Can I Be Frank?: An Auto-Blog-graphy, published December 2012
Screenplay: St. Patrick’s Day, 2013 WGA Registration Number: 1239438
Contributing Writer / Blogger, Can I Be Frank & Crew July 2014 – Present
Contributing Writer/Blogger, Sons of Franky Cabot June 2013 – May 2014
Contributing Writer/Blogger, Boston Sports Extra August 2017 -
I am a very proud American, but being an Irish American is especially sweet right now. ‘The Old Sod’ is bleeding green more than ever this weekend as the 148th Open Championship is being played at Royal Portrush (Northern Ireland).
The Passion
The Irish and, in general, Europeans are passionate folk. They hug, kiss, laugh, cry and love a bit harder from this guy’s perspective. I often joke about people that are “good huggers”. They are not that many. For some reason, Irish Americans (many of my friends and family included) are a bit hardened for some reason. Emotion sometimes viewed as a sign of weakness, perhaps? Boston has more residents of Irish decent than there are people in Ireland, according to my terribly inaccurate fact checking machine, but I am getting off topic.
The Point
My point is simple. Turn on the “tele” and watch this historical sports event. The Open Championship (still called ‘The British Open’ by most) has not graced the fairways of Portrush Ireland in more than half a century. Watch the play, interviews and comments by Irish golf legends such at McIlroy, McDowell, Lowery, Clarke and (the best which I have a great story about) David Feherty . You can see the excitement and pride in every movement and word. This is BIG deal for Ireland. Rightly so.
As of 2:43PM EST, it appears that most of these sportsmen of the Emerald Isle will be a part of the weekend, and enjoy the continued exuberance of golf’s oldest tradition.
Stanley Cup Game 5 is upon us. Puck drops in a few hours. Biggest questions and concern on Bruins fans’ minds? What is Captain Zdeno Chara’s status? After taking a brutal deflected puck to the face last game, his future in this series is uncertain.
Is his jaw broken? Shattered? Did it land somewhere in the upper deck of TD Garden? Does Jack Edwards steal it off the ice and now it sits on his mantel from insanity? No one knows for sure. Speculation across the board and the Bruins are have gone darker than Wayne Gretsky’s dye job on the subject. What is going to happen here, people? As I type this I just learned Z’s jaw is wired and he is speaking to media with written messages, but “cleared” to play. Do’H!
While Z’s series playing future remains a 6’9″ question mark, I want to offer a few possible scenarios and the correlating reaction by Bruin’s fans. Some are good, some are bad. And there is actually the possibility we could see some storybook, Patriots-level ending to this Cup Final.
SCENARIO #1:
Zdeno returns tonight to play in Game 5. He is reinjured. Bruins lose game and then the series.
Boston Reaction: Fire Cassidy, burn the Garden down. Bring us the heads of any of Lord Stanley’s living heirs.
SCENARIO #2: Chara never returns to Series, despite clearance. Bruins win without him.
Boston Reaction: “Ship him back to Tall-istan. Waste of cash! I’m glad his jaw is broke so we never need to hear him speak again.“
SCENARIO #3: Chara never return to series. Bruins lose cup in 6 games.
Boston Reaction: “We total would have frickin’ won that thing if that big prick was in the lineup…”
MY SCENARIO:
Chara plays Game 5 only for Penalty Kills (PKs) and the Bs win. Reinjured, he can’t play Game 6. Bruins lose. PRIOR to Game 7, he writes down on a wipeboard for the press, “BRUINS CAPTURE CUP IN 7!!!” Captain Chara scores the game (and Cup) winning goal and retires as oldest and tallest Bruin. Statues are being built presently.
And we have the pleasure of witnessing this again…
Boston Reaction: Every real Bruins fan intentionally breaks their own jaw (preferably by a puck to the chops from their best buddy). They each write down “City of Champions” on their forged doctor’s note. And then, the whole city hums the Czechoslovakian National Anthem while the Duck Boats pass on by.
Let me kick this whole thing off with some straight honesty. I am not a hockey guy.
From my vey cheap seats, here is what I know…
Icing is something that goes on a cake.
The crease is a place where you wipe.
The neutral zone is a description of my high school (ok, and college….and global) sex life…
Why?
Anyway. Playoff hockey is the best. Really. THE best. I’m a football guy by nature, but lets face some facts. Baseball completely sucks. Basketball is baseball’s younger, junkie brother. BUT, hockey – playoffs in particular -might just be the best thing in sports. The better team typically wins simply because of more hustle and tenacity. How awesome is that? Skate, push, fight harder than your opponent; and you likely will win. It’s amazing.
My brother-in-law was arguably one of the best players New England has produced and he gets it. I don’t. At all. I try…but, totally faking it. If I played this sport, I would be the guy throwing cheap shots at weak opponents and shooting pucks at hot girls on the stands for attention.
As a Bruins/Boston fan, please enjoy this. We are spoiled. So spoiled. Boston is blessed. America hates us. Good. Sorry y’all, but that’s life. Now dust off those duck boats. Its been like a hundred days since our last world champion team. Puck off!
See you Monday for Game 4. I’ll be the guy with the brand new Bs t-shirt from Kohl’s.
Today is the big day all fans look forward to each year. The true beginning of Spring; Red Sox Opening Day. The Sox will meet the Seattle Mariners and remain on the road until the much anticipated Home Opener at Fenway on April 9 for our World Champions.
Here is a feel good story from Spring Training heading in to this season about 2018 World Series MVP, Steve Pearce.
My brother-in-law, Paul, and my nephew, Matt, have made going to Spring Training an annual tradition over the past few years. Matt is 10 years old and, like most lucky kids in Boston these days, a borderline insane sports fan. Matt does not miss a pitch, basket, goal or touchdown; ever. What makes Matt unique and especially awesome is he is bound to a wheelchair. See, Matt holds the diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA).
SMA is a disease that robs people of physical strength by affecting the motor nerve cells in the spinal cord, taking away the ability to walk, eat, or breathe. It is the number one genetic cause of death for infants. (per www.curesma.org)
Matt has not let this interfere with his maniacal love of sports and enjoys it all from his powered wheelchair he can maneuver like a NASCAR Driver (I think he actually may like NASCAR, now that I think about it?).
On this beautiful Florida morning, Paul, Matt and his faithful service dog, Gunner, headed to Jet Blue Park to catch some February pre-season ball.
Matt has encountered many kind gestures from the Sox over the years, and today it was Steve Pearce’s turn. After a brief handshake and hello the day prior, Pearce made his way toward Matt again and decided to throw him a souvenir; one of his his batting gloves. The glove flew over the fence in Matt’s general direction. Another enthusiastic fan snatched it out of the air while bumping in to Matt’s chair in excitement. At first this woman was ecstatic, leaped for joy and took off with her new prize. In true Matt-fashion, he shrugged it off and went about his day. Moments later, this woman returned. She realized that this gesture was meant for this little guy and promptly bestowed the glove to Matt. (Nice to see there are still awesome people in the world, by the way)
Here is where it gets interesting…
Matt, Paul and Gunner returned to their hotel for the evening. The next day would be there last before returning to Boston, ending another great February break with the BoSox
Below is an excerpt from Paul’s email to the Sox following their trip…
“Had it all ended right there – it is a “feel good” story to share and reminisce about for years; add it to the pile of our amazing Red Sox moments.
The following morning before the Twins game Matt says: “Dad – do you have the glove did you bring the glove”.. as we left the hotel and climbed into the rental van.
“We need to try and get Steve to autograph it… today.” Of course, we had the glove I exclaimed; tucked away in our backpack as we headed over to Fenway South at 9:00AM- Day 5- of our Annual Spring Training Boys Trip.
As we met Alex Cora and David Price, we noticed Steve Pearce running the bases and pausing to sign autographs for the tour that was on the field by the backstop.
When Steve was finished we yelled over
“Steve, you dropped this yesterday (jokingly) can we get the glove signed for Matt?”
Appearing astonished Steve responded ‘Yes- but can you check the Glove for my wedding ring?…it’s missing!'”
Low and behold- there was a wedding ring- it was lodged inside the glove– it took some maneuvering – but we found the ring and gave it back to Steve.
Steve invited us onto the field- signed the glove – and took the ring back – with gratitude.
Matt says: “I was thrilled and excited to meet the MVP – but wished it was a World Series ring that was in the Glove – not a wedding ring.
We all proceeded to move on with our day- as if nothing happened…No press, no pictures, no fanfare, just the way we like it.
Wanted to share our gratitude once again with the entire BoSox organization for another impossible / unbelievable Spring Training experience.
Now, let’s go Back-to-Back! Go Sox!”
And while Matt’s new BFF, Steve, wont be in today’s lineup, take comfort that we not only have a great group ball players down on Yawkey Way (is it still called that? :)) but also some great humans leading us in to the 2019 campaign.
Thanks Steve…you already made Matt’s season.
P.S. Same day in Vail, Colorado, my Dad (one on the right) was hanging with his new BFF, OJ Simpson. That story is for another time.
Why? Why wreck a perfectly crappy early Spring Sunday with this announcement? Why?
Let me start with two sentiments. Thank you and Good Luck.
You have been a mainstay in this dynasty for a decade-ish and the Patriots (and the NFL) have been better with you in their lives. You are a stud. You are a freak of nature. You (gulp) “were” the man. Except for Tom ‘Effin’ Brady, you have been the best thing this franchise has seen since Stanley the Steamer or Hog Hannah. We will miss you. You are beloved. You are part of this history…and always will be.
I could delve into some of your career highlights. Why bother? The nerds at the Globe and Herald are already deep in to film and past articles that we will all enjoy in the coming days. They got this. Rather, I want to reminisce about the insane physical specimen from a Buffalo, NY family that was clearly created in some muscle-bound laboratory of Polish insanity that produced more pro athletes than well….other Buffalo families? Sorry, I am a little verklempt right now just an hour from reading this news. I could carry on. I could opine about the affinity Patriots Nation had for your sophomoric approach to football and life. I could wax poetic about the the childish spirit you played every down. I could say a lot. But, lets just leave it with this; thank you, sir.
You were a always beacon of light for Patriots fans.
You were always fun to watch each and every Sunday.
You left football a better place than where it was when you found it.
Onward and upward my man. Thank you.
P.S. Already bought ticket to Wrestlemania 2020….predicting you may be there.
The Ryder Cup. In this golf fan’s humble opinion, it is second only to The Master’s.
Perhaps one of the greatest events in SPORTS, not just golf, the Ryder Cup is about patriotism.
It’s about America. Us versus them.
It’s absolutely awesome and you don’t even need to like this weird game of hitting a small white ball with a stick to appreciate it. The 92nd edition of the Cup opened this morning just outside Paris, France… at 2:00 am, and yours truly actually dragged myself out of a deep slumber to tune in. Now, I can’t get out of the sack to make the kids lunch… or get to work… or “live a productive life”, but the Ryder Cup only comes around every two years so I was like a cardiac surgeon on call. Steady, ready… BOOM!
In my narcoleptic-like haze at 4:17AM, I starting examining the players participating in this year’s matchup. As I pondered further into my caffeine-fueled awakened state, I imagined what these young (not you Phil) men were like in their younger years. It caused me to put pen to paper and here is where I am at.
What were the US Ryder Cup Team like as kids?
Bryson Dechambeau
Bryson is the thinking man’s golfer. Goes against the grain. Very scientific approach to the game. OK, I got you figured out, bub. Your name is Bryson. You went to a fancy prep-middle-school kind of shit. You were cerebral. Intriguing to teachers and peers. You probably sat in your room doing a Rubix Cube with one hand and dissecting a frog with the other. You accidentally found a golf club, which you thought was Merlin’s wand, and for some crazy reason, you knew what to do with it. Good on you, Erkel. Otherwise, you probably would be in a lab somewhere trying to re-split the atom with your stupid signature scally cap you don.
Tony Finau
The newcomer. You probably never heard him, but he has made a big splash this year. The silly and charming fella from, wait, what? Utah? Sure, I’ll buy that. Tony was likely a do-gooder as a lad (and Mormon?). Brushed his teeth, combed his hair and did his homework. Found out he could swing a mashie and found a one-way ticket out of Polygomaniastan. I like Tony.
Rickie Fowler
The fact that he spells is “Rickie” scream one thing; incest. Rickie is a quiet southern kind of guy. Guessing he was goofy as a kid, …spending hot summer days buying cigarettes for his half-step Mom, Carla, while walking his dog/brother Zeke to the 5 and Dime (and his boss WAS Mr. McGee), someone figured out Cooter could spank a Titleist. Add a little Oklahoma makeover and a splash of Puma orange and Viola! He is now married to the sexiest pole vaulter in history and worth more than the entire Sooner state. Hey, Rickie…you win, pal.
Phil Mickelson
While Philly Boy figured out the ropes of life and golf at a young age. Charming, handsome and witty, Flip was playing chess when the rest of class was playing hopscotch (something like that?). Phil was the 13-year-old kid who got all the answers to his algebra test from the teacher’s 19-year daughter he was banging… all while betting on the 9 horse at Pimlico.
Tiger Woods
Too easy. Insert your own bio for a young Eldrick.
Brooks Koepka
You can’t name your kid “Brooks” if Dad works graveyard shift at the power plant and Mom is a waitress at I-Hop (well, of course Tiger… never mind). Brooks likely had life all teed up (pun intended) from the day he fell out of Mrs. K’s, undoubtedly, gold and diamond laced vagina. Never having to study, work or have to feel the empty emotion of losing, BK was the kid that got asked to Prom, by the Prom Queen… when he was in 6th grade… and said no because he was already going to the “Delta Kappa Sorority Slut Off Party” at Florida State the same night. I hate you.
Dustin Johnson
DJ is a simple one. Literally, he is simple. My hunch is he was the best athlete in the school but was bounced out of spelling bee with the word “dog” (we all know there are 3 Gs, DJ). Teachers had to pass him through because Coach Takeadvantageofski was drooling at the dreams of making young Dustin a legend. Mission accomplished, Coach. And while all mountains of cocaine and rivers of booze did not help little Dusty’s two-digit IQ, he still ended up the number one golfer in the word and is married to the daughter of an athlete who is actually better than him. And so the match goes to Mr. Johnson. Now come over and collect your shiny object you big, village idiot.
Justin Thomas
I picture this little prick as the kid that held his breath if he didn’t get his way. Too small to be the school yard bully, I bet he teamed up with the big kids and found way to collect half of the stolen lunch money which he discretely hid in Size 5 Foot Joys. Punk.
Bubba Watson
Guessing he was a crier? After undergoing habitual abuse at Our Lady of Perpetual Sobbing Bible Camp, Bubba needed to take his left-handed anger out on a golf ball. It’s not your fault, Big Man, it’s not your fault. Now, take this box of Kleenex and get a hold of yourself, chief.
Webb Simpson
Look, honestly, this guy seems like just your average entitled golf brat. In between sailing lessons and caviar tastings, Webb found as golf swing. But look, pal, unless your parents are Spiderman and Homer, you just can’t walk around being known as Webb Simpson. I’m sorry…just giving it to you straight.
Jordan Speith
Not a bad word to say about this guy. Just a kick-ass Texas kid. He held doors open for old ladies, brought the teacher an apple and watered Mom’s ficus plant. Don’t see a lot of character flaws here. But noone can be as seemingly “good” as St. Jordan, so my best guess is the second half of his life will be filled with regret, shame and misery…ya know, kinda like Tiger’s 30s (well, depends on how you look at it?)
Patrick Reed
Best for last. I hate Patrick Reed. Pompous little round mound of sound. I can sum up what he was like as a youth real easy. Patrick was the fat, annoying kid that nobody liked but was awesome at kickball so you had to pick him for your team anyway. Suck it, Tubby.
And there you have it. Depending on the scoreboard and my sleep schedule, I may attempt to analyze the European team tomorrow.
Well, that one sucked. Patriots lose 27-20 in the so-called “Magic City” of Miami Florida last night in what can only be described as a lackluster performance. Worried? Not at all. Confused? Yes, I have to say I am.
What is it about our South Beach semi-rivals that we cannot seem to overcome when we visit their City of Skin?
In particular, why can’t Sir Thomas win in “The Birdcage“?
A losing career record when visiting ‘Little Cuba’ (ok, I am officially out of Miami monikers)?
Is Tom Part Porpoise?
Is Miami to TB12 what the NY Yankees were admittedly to Pedro? His ‘Daddy’? Gulp. Nah. Lets not overreact. The Fish have been getting squished by the entire NFL for the better part of this millennium, and a couple regular season losses in the heat by the Patriots do not change that fact. Dan Marino is not walking through that door. Don Shula is not walking through that door…unless of course you order a bone-in ribeye at one of his steak joints. Tommy Boy, and the team at large, will be just fine. Next week Pittsburgh, the push to the post season begins. Frankly, an angry Brady/Belichick combo is just what the doctor ordered, in terms of playing tough after a loss. Look out Big Ben/Parliamen,t that’s not Santa Claus coming to town, it’s a pissed off GOAT. You have been warned.
With that said, I did come up with a list of reasons why this pattern of losing in southeast FL has plagued #12 throughout his career. Best I could come up with anyway…
TOP 10 Reasons Tom Brady Can’t Win in Miami
10. Bad Cuban sandwich
9. Two Words: David Caruso
8. Six more words: Men Rollerblading that look like this.
7. Gronk. Yes, I am, in fact, blaming you for ALL the Miami losses, Big Guy. That’ll learn ya.
6. He is simply weirded out that a place exists where people are (almost) as good-looking as him.
5. Illegal shake down for cocaine by Crockett & Tubbs (won’t get that reference if you are under 35 years old) rattled his confidence.
4. The tropical tans of everyone down there distracts him unlike the pasty, white flabber-messes he has grown so accustomed to in Foxborough.
3. Larry Czonka Mustache Curse
2. Wait, Al Pacino is a Drug Lord AND the head coach of a pro football team…in MIAMI? Mind: Blown
“Well it ain’t much all right I know But it’s the only song I know 2 a.m. and the traffic’s slow Another ladies’s night in Buffalo”
-David Lee Roth
Per usual, DLR gets it right. Buffalo, for lack of a better adjective, sucks. As I type these first few sentences, I have just witnessed Rob Gronkowski get screwed again. Why? Because he is the greatest tight end in history and no one can cover him without foul. Sure, he tried to drive a defender in to the ground so hard he would reach the 7th Circle of Hell. So what? Gronk is a victim. He is like every intern at the Today show. Just trying to do some good and then the “magic button” gets pressed and he is trapped; to no fault of his own.
But, the mainstream media with spend the lion’s share of tonight/tomorrow/this week analyzing this aggression by RG, I am here to advise to another undercurrent that I want the fans of both sides of this game to recognize; Buffalo sucks.
You’re Not Good… You Stink
The legendary Ty Webb said it best. Yes, they suck at football. But the place just sucks in general. What do they have to offer this grand nation of ours? Bad weather? The world’s largest water slide? Shitty mustaches. You are New Yorkers, but not real New Yorkers. You are a 5-iron from being Canadian. That said, you ARE a great football town. I love this #BillsMafia phenomenon. You are embracing your sheer suckiness like you part Clevelander. Golf clap to that. The videos that dominate #Barstool on Sundays make us all laugh. But my condolences. Lighting yourselves on fire or slamming your buddy through a tailgate table is basically your only hope of getting media coverage. Desperate times, desperate measures. I get it and admire your grit.
Excuses Are like A$$holes…
And so, the Bills have lost to the New England Patriots… AGAIN. What do you do as you depart (I’m glad I am dead) Ralph Wilson Stadium? Here is my best guess.
– Pick a fight with the guy you have shared season tickets with for 11 years on way to car
– Talk about the Sabres in hopes of making yourself feel better
– Review the big day you have tomorrow working your plumbing apprentice job ‘near the Falls’ just to give your life some meaning
– Tell your buddy you and your 3rd wife are actually going to see the “real” New York at Christmas
– Make a Jim Kelly reference
– Distract your sad sack Bills’ fan kids about when you met Bruce Smith in a Men’s Room at an Arby’s in 1993
– At least we have the wings, right?
Look, I am sorry. I really am.
But, like Dr. Sean Maguire said in Good Will Hunting (P.S. another case of Boston winning!), “It’s not your fault.”
You suck Buffalo. Go eat some wings and some crow while you are at it.
‘Don’t be jealous,’ my Mom used to say. Jealousy, as an emotion, is weak and useless. I was taught to always cheer people on and be happy when good things happen.
Well, this week, my Mom admitted she was jealous.
As a sports fan – specifically a die-hard New England Patriots fan – I got the opportunity of a lifetime. Through the team, my new best friends, Draft Kings,Weber Shandwick and some good old-fashioned fate I was able to be a part of the Patriots experience, up close and personal. The invite to travel, stay, play and be a true part of the World Champions on a game day. Yeah, I guess I can do that.
Tampa Bay? Week 4 of the season? Wheels up on Wednesday? Damn, skippy, I’m in!
Here were my 40 Hours with the Patriots…
Let’s GO!
Wednesday, October 4
I won’t spend anytime talking about the early morning details of wardrobe selection, scripted conversation plans or the eight times I was slapping myself in the mirror praying this was not a dream or some elaborate scam my buddies were plotting against me. Let’s get right to the heart of it.
11:30AM
Arrive at Gillette Stadium – The Big Razor. The House that Kraft, Belichick and Brady built (OK, Bob paid the tab, but you get the imagery). God’s Country for Bostonians. Graciously greeted by the some of the great Pats’ peeps (Hey Tiff) and ushered up to one of the many incredible stadium suites for a little lunch and a meet and greet with my traveling mates (Hey Aliza, Bob and Mike!). I am 16 minutes in to the this whole experience and I am literally pinching myself in the coolest bathroom ever. (gratuitous selfie included).
12:30PM
TSA check…AT the stadium. What, whaaaaat? Yup, the Patsys don’t mess around. Full security check point completed right there. Why? ‘Cause World Champions don’t have time to waste. Not sure why I am asking the TSA agent for an autograph…on my chest? Guess I am just jittery? Thank you ladies and gentleman for assuring my safety before boarding the inaugural flight of ‘5 Rings’ Yeah, that’s right, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
1:30PM
Anxiously board one of the luxury buses in anticipation of our short trip down to TF Green. Hey Zo! (coolest cat ever, by the way).
And just before we get this bad boy rolling, enter Chris Hogan and James White for a little pre-trip motivational speech. Yeah, cause I was starting to doze off and needed more excitement! Just awesome. Btw, James, still waiting for the answer to my final question from our interview two weeks ago. And dang, Chris Hogan, you are handsome. Of course, that is a Patriots wide-receiver job requirement as we all know.
2:30PM
I’ll let this video speak for itself
WHEELS UP!
3:30PM
I love the expression ‘Wheels Up’ and will continue to use throughout this column. Probably going to start using it to start all my sentences after this week. Just saying.
“Wheels up, kids. Dinner is ready.”
“What are you talking about Dad?”
“Shutup, Elizabeth.”
Hey, is that my name on my seat? So wait, am I on the team now? I do get to play linebacker tomorrow night? Sweet! Thanks! (Love how they threw in the ‘JR’ like I am Odell Beckham)
Incredibly gracious and polite in-flight staff. Thanks folks. I hate flying and you made it so easy. And the halibut was delicious.
6:30P
Wheels down (doesn’t have same cool ring to it, huh?). Perhaps one of my favorite moments of the trip? The 10-car police escort to the hotel. Felt like Trump… only with less tweets. Very cool.
7:30PM
Check in, clean up and back to Frank Force 1 (oh yeah, that’s what I titled the bus). Oh, and look what I found waiting for me in my room? Bag of swag. I wish I could take the Patriots to prom. By the way, Patriots staff, here is your number 1 fan that will be receiving the lion’s share of this awesomeness. Matt is pretty awesome too. Thank you kindly.
8:30PM
Dinner time. Par for this course so far, the Champs took us guests to an absolutely ridiculous restaurant. Decadent and delicious. And how about this – this is how sharp the folks at 1 Patriot Place are – they made note of our info and realized yours truly has a birthday this week….and they sang happy birthday with the entire wait staff. You kidding me? Twenty-nine never felt so good.
Thursday, October 5
12:30AM
After treating my stomach like royalty, it was time to shut it down. What a day! Is that a lamb bone in my pocket?
3:00AM
This is all too awesome to sleep. Maybe I’ll do some push ups? Maybe Nate Solder is up and wants to chat? Probably not. Go back to sleep, jackass.
GAME DAY!
9:00AM
Oh my God, this bed is so comfortable. I haven’t slept this late since the late 1990s.
10:00AM
Little bacon and eggs to fuel up. Oh, hey elevator buddies, Josh McDaniels and Rob Gronkowski. In my brief time with them, all I could muster was a very sad, squeaky “Good luck” as I departed to my floor. Damnit Frank! You’re better than that! Come on, man!
1:00PM
Start applying facepaint.
1:06PM
Promptly remove facepaint.
1:07PM
I’m kidding – it was full body paint of Julian Edelman in his away game uniform, for the record.
4:00PM
Back to Frank Force 1 again. Time to get to The Big Sombrero/Pirate Ship/Place Where Buccaneers Play Football.
5:30PM
Oh man…walking through the tunnel like I am Bizarro John Gruden. This is legit crazy. After a couple hours of roaming the sidelines like Suzie “I wanna kiss you” Kolber, we head up to the awesome seats our home town heroes provided us. Oh, hey Tommy.
8:30PM
Kick off.
9:30PM
Brag about how awesome it is to be a Patriots fan in the beer line to Mildred, the 86-year-old Buccs season ticket holder. Boom, roasted, Millie!!
WIN!
Friday, October 6
12:00AM
A win is a win, baby!! Back to FF1 (yeah, already gave it an acronym)
2:00AM
Wheels up! (Youhate me yet for continuing to say that phrase, don’t you? I don’t blame ya’.) Another perfectly pleasant in-flight experience. Even got to watch an episode of ‘Always Sunny’. It just doesn’t get better.
4:00AM
Hello again, TF Green. WE are back (oh yeah, I am literally a part of the team at this point, obvi)
5:30AM
Back at The Razor and wishing I had a time machine to go back 40 hours in time.
You often hear the expression, ‘The Patriot Way’ regarding the unparalleled professionalism, confidence and winning way of this team of players and coaches. After this experience, I promise you that the Patriots’ ‘off the field’ team exhibits those very same characteristics and do our town equally proud. Thank you so much for this experience and don’t be shy if you ever find a extra seat on 5 Rings you need to fill..
P.S. And just when I thought it could not get better, I got to meet another childhood sports hero. Hey Rocket!
P.P.S. My new BFFs at Draftkings wanted me to remind sports fans that you too can win these types of experiences by gaming with them. #bucketlist
If Tom Brady is, in fact, the Greatest of All Time as an NFL Quarterback, then the late Hugh Hefner is certainly the GOAT of the flesh industry (although, Dave ‘El Pres’ Portnoy is chasing a legend).
Hefner, the brains and (anything-but-blue) balls behind the American dream that was Playboy Magazine, passed away at the tender age of 91 this week; no doubt with a giant smile on his face. This legend spent more than half of a century rocking a velvet robe and a captain’s hat while smiling and sauntering around the globe’s most beautiful women. Not only did he hang around these goddesses, he dated them. All of them. At times, all of them at once! And did I mention they all posed nude for his magazine? Yeah, safe to say if there is such a thing as ‘heaven on earth’ – for American males – the Playboy Mansion is perhaps that place.
What does this have to do with football?
The answer? Ab-so-lute-ly nothing. However, doesn’t it all come back to the Pats? And so, got me to thinking; what if we lined up HH’s most memorable Playboy Playmates and matched them to some of the All-Time New England Patriots. Sounds stupid, right? Well, so what, this is fun. The Boston Sports Extra Research Team took a long, hard (imagery intended) look into the archives and has matched up Playmate for Patriot. Some of the greatest and most famous cover models matched with their Patriot soulmate.
Here we go…
TOP 10: If Playmates Were Patriots
10. Barbara Streisand (1 cover): Doug Flutie
Are either one of these really worth of this top 10 list? Probably not, but, like her or not, Streisand is a legend and Flutie is a Boston icon. In truth, I’d rather see Doug’s “Flutie Flakes” than any lady part of Babs… but, hey….they make my list. Just warming up.
9. Paris Hilton (2 Covers): Vince Wilfork
Both Hilton and Wilfork love the spotlight. Perhaps both too ugly for TV, but there’s something about each that you can’t turn away from. Hilton is the spoiled daughter of a hotel magnate. Wilfork can eat a shitload of ribs. It’s all science, really.
8. LaToya Jackson (47 Covers) – Irving Fryar
This seemed like a match made in a very bizarre and haunted heaven, but work with me people. Both of these talents have one thing in common; batshit craziness. Before Irving got religified, he imported more drugs in to the system than a Columbian coffee boat. As for Latoya, she ranks perhaps the craziest in a family that was founded in the very principles of nuttiness. Scandals, arrests…these two are kindred spirits.
7. Carmen Electra (44 Covers): Kevin Faulk
Diversity. That is how I would compare these greats. Electra could act, take off her clothes, take off her clothes and, um, well, maybe that’s it? Faulk was Mr. Utility during his tenure. Run, catch, special teams, you name it, he did it for the Pats. If he could get naked as willingly as incredibly as his counterpart here, we are talking like a seven-tool player. Maybe this comparison makes no sense; like Baywatch.
6. Madonna (11 Covers): Adam Vinitieri
Now let’s talk about the longevity category. That is the link this dynamic duo shares in common and why they are rocking the number-six slot. I feel like Vinitieri has been kicking NFL field goals since the Like a Virgin album was released. While Madonna now looks like a crack-head tranny, there was a time when she reached men across the world ‘right between the uprights’. And Adam, as far as I am concerned, there should be a statue of you in Boston, my friend. Maybe one of you kicking Madonna right in the baby-maker? Just a thought? No? OK.
5. Jenny McCarthy (32 Covers) – Stanley ‘The Steamer’ Morgan
Speaking of longevity, rolling in to the Top Five, the talent jumps up a notch. Jenny McCarthy has been oozing sex for more that two decades and keeps going. While Stanley Morgan was no sex symbol, he was a constant in the lives of Patriots Nation during his time in Foxborough. Thirteen seasons in New England. All-time receiving yards leader. And, Jenny McCarthy has been giving ‘Steamers’ to men and boys since the Pete Carroll era. (Was dying to use that one since I started typing)
4. Marilyn Monroe (22 Covers): Rodney Harrison
Confident, good looking, sexy-to-the-core and ,even a bit, controversial all describe this icon. And Marilyn was pretty wild too. Both Monroe and Harrison had swagger in their game. Rodney was a vicious (some argue cheap-shot artist) but likable assassin on the field and Marilyn banged JFK. Match to Ms. Monroe.
3. Anna Nicole Smith (47 Covers): Ted Johnson
Sitting at number three on our list, a couple of Lunch Pail Crowd-ers . Tough, gritty, and positively brain-dead. Poor Anna Nicole, she could never seem to get her act together unless it involved nudity or a sound byte that makes you question if reading is really fundamental? T.J. was a fan favorite but perhaps stuck around the head smashing game a little too long.
2. Farrah Fawcett (15 Covers): John “Hog” Hannah
Now this next pairing represent the golden days of greatness; the 1970s. Every little girl aspired to look like the beautiful Farrah and every little fat kid in Boston knew they were stuck playing offensive line like Johnny Boy. I am sure Hannah himself had a few missed blocking assignments day-dreaming about this Charlie’s Angel grasping for his…. Nevermind. Not even gonna make the ‘Hog’ joke. Sitting right there, but not gonna do it.
And our taking the #1 slot…
1. Pamela Anderson (151 Covers): Tom Brady
No surprises here. 151 Playboy covers for Pam. Five Superbowls for Tom. Not much to say. Best at what they do. Dodging balls and throwing balls. I won’t even poll you on who you would rather see naked? The answer to question may surprise you.
Rest in Peace, Hugh. No matter what place you are now, it could not be a better place than where you were.
