The Brady Divination - Episode 3

Roger the Good stands unnoticed near the water at Short Sands Beach in New Hampshire. It’s early in the morning and there are only a few other people on the beach. He watches them as they busy themselves with their blankets, coolers and beach umbrellas. He turns back to the ocean and takes out his phone. “Have you seen him? I know he’s late! Why do you think I’m checking? Yes, okay. Just be ready.” He puts his phone away and glances around, noticing the man approaching from the east. Despite the Red Sox cap pulled low over his face and the sunglasses, Roger the Good knows immediately that Tom Brady has finally arrived.

Brady finished his walk along the beach and stood next to Roger the Good. They were silence for a moment, each waiting for the other to begin the conversation.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Tom. I really think it’s best that we meet one on one like this. I’m confident we can come to an agreement,” Roger said.

“I told you I wouldn’t meet any other way so I’m glad you think it best,” Tom replied. His nose wrinkled as if smelling something bad. “Not that I expected you to keep your word. Is that Kensil I smell? Smells like he pissed himself.” He looks around, noting a man in a beach chair reading a newspaper. “And that’s Pash over there.” He turned back to Roger the Good and continued. “Terrible disguise. Nobody reads newspapers any more.”

“My apologies,” Roger said. “I knew better but they insisted. They don’t trust you.”

“Untrustworthy people have a hard time trusting. I doubt they trust themselves.”

Taking out his phone, Roger says, “I’ll tell them to go.”

“Forget it,” Tom said.

“No signal. I just, I had...”

“You can’t,” Brady said, pulling out his phone. “I’m jamming you.” Looking back at Jeff Pash, who is tapping the receiver in his ear, Tom smiled and waved before continuing. “They can see us but they can’t hear us. Well, they can see you. I told you I would only meet with you one on one and I meant it.”

Reaching out his hand, Roger asked, “Is that an iPhone? Can I-”

“Seriously?” Brady asked.

“We know about Gisele,” Roger said.

“And so the negotiations begin.” Tom smiled. “How is it hanging, Roger?”

“I won’t be bullied,” Roger said. “She could shrink my balls to the size of capers but -”

Suddenly his face is contorted in pain. He bends over as if he might throw up.

“You were saying?” Tom asked.

Still bent over, Roger replied, “I thought you said we were alone.”

“Don’t you know?” Tom responded. “I’m a liar and a cheat. You must have gotten the memo.”

Managing to straighten himself, Roger said, “We’ll go public with Gisele’s true identity.”

Brady laughed. “You’re going to out my wife as a witch? You don’t think that will look desperate? Ridiculous? Childish? Oh wait. That’s never stopped you before.”

“I have a duty to protect the integrity of the game,” Roger said.

“Now I think I’m going to throw up,” Tom said.

“Can’t you imagine how the public will react when they hear that every pass you’ve ever thrown has been guided by supernatural forces?” Roger asked.

“If Gisele had anything to do with my career Wes Welker wouldn’t have dropped that pass in Super Bowl XLVI.” Brady said. “We weren’t even together for the first three Super Bowl wins.”

“As we both know all too well,” Roger said. “Facts don’t really matter. People may laugh. At first. And then. People are far more inclined to believe in sorcery than science. Science makes most people feel stupid and they hate that. Sorcery may pass all understanding but it’s far simpler and easier to understand than climate change or fluid dynamics. Think about it. Suddenly everyone would have an explanation for the way Super Bowl XLIX ended.”

“I find it interesting that despite your now caper-sized testicles that you actually underestimate my wife’s powers,” Tom said.

“I’m willing to offer two games,” Roger the Good said.

Brady laughed. “You’re willing to offer two games? You? We both know you’re just an errand boy.”

Roger shrugged. “Everyone has a boss.”

“So, two games. That’s the offer? I don’t have to sign a Statement of Facts as part of my plea bargain?”

“If you mean accepting the Wells Report,” Roger paused, “yes.”

“An offer I can and must refuse,” Brady said.

“Tom -”

“I didn’t cheat.”

“Tom, this isn’t about your guilt or innocence. It never has been,” Roger the Good said.

“Don’t you ever get tired of playing the pawn?” Tom asked.

“I like to think of myself as a bishop,” Roger answered.

“Of course you do,” Tom said. “All crooked lines.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Roger said.

Tom sighed. “Here’s my offer. You will acknowledge consensus in the scientific community that the Ideal Gas Law fully explains the air pressure readings taken at halftime of the AFC Championship Game, that there is no evidence I or any member of the Patriots did anything to violate the… integrity of the game. You’ll rescind the four-game suspension and resign as Commission. For the good of the game, of course.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope and offered it to Roger the Good. “I’ve taken the liberty of writing up your statement for the press conference.”

“You know I can’t take that from you,” Roger said.

Brady shrugged. “You can find it on your computer in the folder named ‘TB12’. Your bosses’ spies have already found it so you might want to read it. I went for a level of sincerity and contrition heretofore missing in your public pronouncements. No?” Brady slipped the envelope back into his inner jacket pocket. “Personally, I find the printed copy with your hand-written notes in the margin to be even more compelling.”

They were quiet for a moment before Brady continued. “I think you can trust Kensil and Pash - they owe you too much - and your bosses can certainly keep a secret but I’d keep an eye on Vincent if I were you. I get the feeling he’s not the most satisfied employee in your latest HR survey.”

Roger the Good looked out to the ocean. “I think we’re done here.”

When he turned back, Brady was gone and Jeff Pash was running towards him. Mike Kensil broke from the cover of a hedge of rosa rugosa that lined the pathway to the beach. Roger the Good looked up and down the beach. Now Pash and Kensil, reeking of piss and vomit, were standing next to him.

“Where did he go?” Pash asked.

“How did he do that?” Kensil sobbed.

“Did you forget that his wife is a witch? How did he do that. You moron,” Pash said.

Roger the Good looked out at the ocean and in a rare moment of introspection realized just how small and alone he was.