On a cold, near-winter night down in Foxboro, with a gentle breeze flitting about the first few snowflakes of the coming season, Tom Brady and his band of brothers-in-arms took to the field at Gillette Stadium with determination in their eyes as they caused a massive traffic jam that forced me to sit angrily in place on the highway and miss part of the game!
After I finally arrived home, however, it became clear to me that something was different about this version of Tom. He looked more radiant than usual, no small feat for a man often confused with being the illegitimate offspring of George Clooney and the goddess of love, Aphrodite. And he was throwing the football with enough accuracy to warrant serious attention from military recruiters.
It was clear that it was going to be a good night.
By the time the dust settled, nearly seven Jets players were left dead or dying with an embarrassing score of 45-3. Brady stood atop the mound of piled carcasses, spear in hand, 326 yards and a 148.9 passer rating in the books, shouting at the crowd with a voice that could break steel and a face that could melt chocolate. Rex Ryan, meanwhile, exhibiting the stoicism and humility that he is world-famous for, ate a whole cheesecake.
After the game, Ryan congratulated the Patriots on winning a game that didn't really matter, anyway, and he clearly didn't have any idea what all the fuss was about. "It wasn't like this was important, or anything," he was quoted as saying, in between forkfuls of graham-cracker crust and shotguns bursts of sobbing. "Besides, we did score 3 points, and that has to count for something, right? Right!?"
Is Brady a mythical figure of ancient lore?
Brady, meanwhile, stuck to the usual script. "We don't listen to the hype," he said to the throng of reporters. "I don't think we ever have. We really take after our coach, and he always says to us, 'when you win, I won't kill everyone you've ever loved.' And that really means something to us." Then he laughed nervously before shuffling away from the podium and hurrying out of the stadium, never looking back.
Also having a good night last night was the honorable Ben Green, who lead the team in rushing, amassing 72 yards and scoring two touchdowns in an effort to ensure that the Jets are unable to blitz on every play. And we can't forget about Woodhead, the man who is small enough to fit inside a cereal box, who averaged 26 yards on four receptions without scoring a touchdown, which he promises he is not bitter about.
Finally, you have the nuclear-powered android in search of love known as Wes Welker, who picked up another 80 yards in his ongoing quest to gather almost, but never quite at or above, 100 yards per game. He also picked up his fourth touchdown of the year, and has been quoted as saying, with stunning eloquence, that he intends to "get another one" next week.
NOTES: Tom Brady set another record yesterday, passing Zombie Favre for the most consecutive home wins of all time at 26, a mark he looks to further when Green Bay comes to Gillette on December 19th to enjoy some warmer weather. Also, LaDainian Tomlinson did something of note, but I refuse to mention it here because he refused to get rid of the unnecessary uppercase D in his first name. Some people can be so selfish...
Next week, the Pats finally play on a Sunday again, against the Chicago Bears, a team that is actually quite good this year despite my brain refusing to accept it. I can only hope that Tom continues his march of greatness and claims the Patriots' 11th victory of the year. I will be sure to be home to see the entire game this time, assuming Chicago hasn't moved suddenly to New England just off of my usual Sunday driving route.