After all the hue and cry, Belichick is shutting down the sturm and drang of Gronk on parade.
Yes, Gronk has hit a telephone pole (metaphorically speaking) like Captain Jason the Kidd.
We can only imagine what horrors would befall Rob Gronkowski if he had actually done something illegal.
The New England Patriots have a New England Puritan code of conduct, as indicated by the Miles Standish of all coaches, Bill Belichick.
No one speaks for Bill Belichick, Longfellow. The courtship of Rob Gronkowski is over-for now.
Even in the offseason, the Patriots pay their star on his new six-year contract-and when they speak, he listens every time he goes to the ATM.
It's not like he's Wes Welker, thrown to the dogs on Millionaire Acres by an Owen Wilson wannabe named Bob Kraft, busy doing screen auditions with his new hot babe.
We shall not again see the Gronk or his likes in New England. He has been sent to the gulag of overly exuberant Patriot players.
In the Old Days of Yore, Belichick would sentence Gronk to a day in stocks on the Boston Common. We don't know if there were stocks big enough to accommodate the head, arms, and legs of Gronk.
Of course, Belichick would have one built to specifications.
Oh, well, Gronk, it was fun while it lasted. The bubble has burst. We have reached the end of the plank. The rainbow has faded, and the Pinada will no longer rain down upon us with adult film stars, home run derbies, Gronking the opening puck, selling coffee at a local drive-thru, or posing naked for animal crackers.
Alas, Gronk, we hardly knew ye, but what a glorious ride while it lasted.