A bright sunny day towered over Gillette stadium. Gladiators from the East and gladiators from the North prepared for battle. They donned their helmets and adjusted their body armor. Their shields sturdy and blades sharp.
The crowd gathered to watch their beloved warriors battle once again as time was descending upon their decade of greatness. From the tunnel emerged their Mighty Prince. Anointed with rings, the fierce leader was ready to continue his quest.
For ten years he carried the burden of fighting off foe after foe. For ten years his wounds had were not enough to deter his will. Fire burned in his belly, resolve remained in his heart.
Anticipation stirred across the stadium. The roar increasing with each step the Mighty Prince took. As he settled upon the field, cheers reached epic proportions. Who could stand up to the proven warriors? Who could stand up to the almighty Prince?
The epic battle was about to commence. The kings from the North were a worthy opponent. What they lacked in the air, they made up on the ground with power and steadfastness. The Patriotic warriors charged ahead with their plan.
The goal is to win. Win at any cost. They know what to do and what it takes. The mighty Prince has traveled this perilous road countless times. He has reached the depths of Mordor more than once and escaped with the Rings of lore.
Gladiators, Orcs, and Sorcerers had been struck down by his blade. Yet, here were the kings from the North not only holding their own but excelling with the mighty sword Excalibur. The noise from the crowd had drowned out the hand to hand combat.
A Raven touchdown here followed by a Raven touchdown there. Tension filled the air as the underdogs stood toe to toe and throwing blow after blow.
The crowd looked to one another for answers. But only questions and shock were written across their faces. Excalibur ran roughshod through the mighty defense from the East.
Boos descended from the crowd as the battle became more one sided. At the quarter length of this disaster, the Ravens had struck 24 times. Lightning bolt after lightning bolt was piercing the armor of the Mighty Prince.
The Mighty Prince fought valiantly for victory and reputation. He fought for his warriors and onlookers. He fought to the end with grace and courage, but his spirit and leadership were not enough.
The Mighty Prince had fallen. His loyal subjects reached out their hands to lift him, but the Mighty Prince cast them aside. A Prince needs no assistance. A Prince may fall but shall arise on his own, he hangs not his head and he seeks not words of comfort.
Tom Brady, the Mighty Prince, fell on his sword when struck down by thunder and lightning. But the Mighty Prince did not die. He lives! He stands tall even as we speak and like the Gods above, he knows his return shall be all conquering.
Woe to those that shall stand in his path. Woe to those who don’t heed this warning. They shall feel his blade. Run! Run for your lives! Tom Brady shall return.
Ten years of glory have passed. Ten years of memories shall never pass. A new day has dawned. Hail to the new king, may his reign be as noble as that of the Mighty Prince.