Rob: WHAT fucking bullshit
A-Town: I KNOW
A-Town: i am upset
Rob: even you are! shit
I like Bill Bellchick. While his habit of cutting off the sleeves of his sweatshirts is wasteful (what does he do with the sleeves??), it's almost endearing in an obsessive sort of way. He also looks like the kind of guy who, if he were your uncle, would never say much more to you other than "stay out of trouble"... but come Christmas, would give you an envelope with an obscene amount of cash in it. Randy Moss can fly. Welker is the spry hobbit of the NFL. Bruschi is an inspirational made-for-TV-movie waiting for happen. And Tom Brady... well.
He's Tom Brady.
So I was disappointed with tonight's game. Both teams were tough, but... so it goes.
But I won't say that the NY Giants coach needs to crawl back under the bridge from whence he came. Or that one of the owners of the Giants looks like a pedophile. Or that Eli Manning was a quarter of a chromosome away from being the slow kid who stuck his hand in the Fry-alator at McDonald's...
I will say this, however: I'm sorry, Boston. It is going to be a depressing week. And I'm up past my bedtime. The only thing worse than bloated, hung-over, exuberant Catholics is bloated, hung-over, depressed Catholics - a people who thrive on mourning, loss and misplaced guilt and anger. And I'll be stuck in the tin can known as the MBTA with them all week.
Let the grouching begin!
But as I finish my highball, I'll remind myself that 18-0 ain't too freaking shabby and shall now start chanting the Bostonia mantra of "next yeeah, baby!" To cheer myself up, I shall post a picture of Tom Brady holding a baby goat. Simply because such a thing exists.