Hey everybody, it’s Tom Brady’s left knee checking in. Well, looks like it’s my time again. I won’t lie, it feels a lot like 2008 these past few days. And even though I failed in my quest to have Bernard Pollard banned from the game (and this Earth), things had been going pretty well.
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Then, the S*&%& hit the fan on Wednesday. In case you don’t remember, this is what happened:
Whatever. I’ve taken harder hits than that. But Tom, good lord … that high-pitched scream he let out would have broken glass. He was going on and on with his, “Waaah, it hurts, where’s Gisele and blah blah blah.”
And quite frankly, at that point I was sick of his crap. This summer has been long, dude. Tom thinks it’s really cute when he bounces baby Ben on my face, but let me tell you something: The kid has the density of a black hole. I seriously don’t know what they’re feeding him! I know, he looks normal, right? Now if it were Gisele sitting on me instead of Benjamin, you might not hear me complaining too much.
But I digress … anyway, I figured I could use a couple days off so I told Tom “Yeah, bro … I’ve got some shooting pain. It’s aiight though. Gimme a couple days and I’ll be good.”
So while the rest of the world pooped their pampers, I got some solid pillow time for a couple days. And Ben? Never saw him once, thank god.
Anyway, those media morons couldn’t wait to see me on Friday. “Will you be OK, how much strength do you have? Are you afraid you’ll get hurt worse?”
Get it straight, I’m not afraid of anyone. I didn’t direct Tom Brady to five Super Bowl appearances by being some weak-in-the-knee lilly pad. Who do you think stood tall during the Tuck Rule play? Who held Tom up during that unbeaten regular season? You think it was my twin on the right side?
WRONG! I’m the guy who allows Tom to plant and throw. ME. This is MY team! So when it was time to play tonight against the Bucs, I put out my cigarette (yeah, I smoke) and got to work. I’ll walk you through it:
I got annoyed because five of our first six plays were under center. I love Ryan Wendell — the guy snaps a good ball — but I don’t know what his face looks like. All I know (and smell) is that he really likes fajitas. Disgusting.
Anyway, other than Stevan Ridley almost hitting me during a handoff (why is he always in a rush?), things went pretty well.
That Danny Amendola kid might actually work out. I kept seeing him open and telling Tom to get him the rock. Now you’re probably saying to yourself, “Dude, aren’t you a little close to the ground?” Have you SEEN Danny? He’s almost a Keebler Elf. He’s a lot like that one whiner who left us this summer. I can’t remember his name … whatever, he sucks anyway.
People thought Tom and I would only be out there for 12 plays. Think again, punks. We marched up and down the field in 15 plays, including a couple handoff runs to the left. Amazingly, Nate Solder didn’t seem to have a problem with Adrian Clayborn on THIS day. We punched it in when Tom took my advice and found Danny on a 26-yard strike.
Tom was ready to call it a day, but I was pissed.
“Shut your mouth, you child!”
I made him walk his Ugg Boots ass back out there for another series. Seven plays later, we were done.
My final stat line: 11 of 12 passing, 107 yards, 1 TD pass and millions of people impressed. I’m killing it this preseason.
See? I’m fine. So, either get me a beer or get out of my face. And by the way, even Randy Moss knew what was up:
I’ve got a meeting with Dos Equis people in about an hour … I think they want to give me an endorsement deal. Hey, if it can get me away from Ben for a few hours, I’m all for it.
P.S. I see my backup really did some great things out there (barf). What’s his name again?