Fantasy Football: A Completely Healthy Response to Tom Brady's Absence

Dear Tom:

I know I said I would stop writing you, but...it’s just so hard. I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss the way your hair fluttered about your head after victoriously removing your helmet following a long Randy Moss touchdown.

I guess it could be worse. I could be Jabar Gaffney. My Name is Earl is looking at a better season than he is.

Do you ever think about me? They way you so carelessly left me to twist in the wind as my fantasy keeper-league mates routinely pummel me, week in and week out? How could you? You’re TOM BRADY! How dare you let your knee explode! I needed you!

I’m sorry, Tom. I’m not being fair to you. But do you know how humiliating it is to show up on Sundays with Matt Cassel on my arm? He couldn’t even beat out Matt Leinart or Carson Palmer at USC, and look what they went on to do in the NFL: Leinart is backing up someone who could be his grandfather and Palmer is tanking faster than Brooke Hogan’s music career.

What’s that? You were a backup in college, too? Oh Tom, you make me laugh. I think everyone knows by now that you were just giving Scott Dreisbach and Brian Griese a chance to make something of themselves. And do you know why you did that? Because Tom Brady is generous like that.

But let’s get back to the point. No one cares about the scorned fantasy owner left behind by the malicious acts of Bernard Pollard. All we have is your jersey to dry our tears and the memory of 50 majestic TDs and 4,800 prodigious yards. We are the forgotten and we mourn in a forgotten silence.

On an unrelated note, I watched the movie Fatal Attraction recently. You should Netflix it since you’ll be laid up for a while. It’s great. I really connected with the Glenn Close character and her raw emotion and honesty.

I want you to know that I’m keeping your QB spot on The Wolf Blitzers warm in case you discover a cure for destroyed knees while you are re-cooperating, because Tom Brady is a medical genius like that. Even if you don’t, I’ll be here next year waiting for you. I’ll be the one outside our fantasy football draft with a white rose. Clenched between my teeth.

This was good. I feel better. I’m glad we can talk like this. I apologize for the crayon writing, but the doctors insist because of the sharp point thing. I’m sure yours were the same way with you. Anyways, feel better soon. I’m going to go start my next letter to you.

Respectfully yours (and carefully observing your 50-yard restraining order),


R.K.