Brady Being Brady

I've already had three cups of coffee and I still can't figure out how buying a mass produced automobile can make me a special, unique, boss, leader, pro, father of the year who brings the sexy back with my young exotic girlfriend. Maybe I shouldn't try to understand it. I have been thinking about trading in my current car. Perhaps this is a sign.

The wife is going to hate that young exotic girlfriend, though…

The big news out of Patriots camp this week was birthday boy Tom Brady refusing to call his wife a liar in public. Or, as the pigskin pundits and bobbleheads put it, "Tom Brady refuses to deny he suffered unreported concussions last season." Regardless of the pearl-clutching that ensued or the justifiable paranoia of locals that Goodell will somehow find a way to suspend Brady for being generally aware of the fact that he plays football, as a married man I totally get Brady on this one. I remember a story my brother-in-law told years ago at a family gathering about grabbing the steering wheel while his wife was driving because he thought she was over the middle line and about to crash into oncoming traffic and I thought, "I would've just died before I did that."

I got knocked out in a practice playing junior varsity football. I remember coming to, not really sure where I was and why it was so dark, hearing one of my teammates' voice saying, "I didn't clip him, I didn't clip him." A few minutes later I was back in the huddle, ready to go. That was a long time ago, of course. I'm sure I'd be sent to the locker room if I could switch bodies a la Disney with a 15-year old in order to play football one more time today and suffered the same non-clipping knockout in practice. Then again, maybe not as I'd be sure to choose a much bigger, faster and far more athletic 15-year old than myself to change bodies with.

Brady's 40th birthday gave the gridiron cognoscenti an opportunity to revisit his career on and off the field. We could relive Brady's hair styles, fun facts, his embarrassing combine photo and his running through molasses 40-yard dash, or his 40 longest TD passes. The recency sheen on Gisele's concerns for her husband's health reflected the brightest light on Brady's exercise and nutrition regimen, and his controversial "body coach," Alex Guerrero.

Are Brady's longevity and health coincidental to his diet (I, for one, will never give up eggplant parmesan) and his focus on flexibility and muscle pliability in his workouts? Do his magical sleep-therapy pajamas actually work? I don't know but I will say I was happy to hear Gronk was going to the TB12 Therapy Center to rehab and that he was (mostly) adopting Brady's dietary plan. Up until that moment I felt a lot more confident in Brady's ability to play five more years that I was in Gronk's ability to stay on the field.

Imagine New England extends Brandin Cooks. Imagine Cooks and Gronk playing with Brady for the next 3-5 years.

The Boston Herald recently posted an article titled "It's just not smart to doubt Tom Brady at this point." Indeed, Brady may well be a doubt vampire; a creature that finds sustenance in the questions about his integrity, the diminishing of his abilities that comes with the phrase "system quarterback," the Elvis-level sneer in "dink and dunk" (chicks dig the long ball), the dismissal of everything he's accomplished in the accusations of cheating. Doubt vampire. It would explain a lot.

To paraphrase, reports of Brady's pigskin demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or wishful thinking. Mocking Tom Terrific's aspirations to play into his mid-40s ignores the salient fact that it's Tom Brady they're talking about. 199. For individuals like Tom Brady, there's always another challenge. First QB to win 5 Super Bowls would probably be enough for most. But that leaves first QB in his 40s to win a Super Bowl on the table. I think there are some NFL owners who secretly hope the Patriots go 19-0-0 in 2017, hoping Brady would then retire.

"Tom," they will implore, "if you retire you can spend more time with your wife and kids, go to a nice Italian restaurant and have the eggplant parmesan (trust me, it's delicious), run for president or start a religion. Relax. Sleep in. Put on some dad weight. Join the PGA Tour and win the Masters. You can finally admit your real dad is Jor-El. Tom, please. Don't make us come up with another lie so the Commissioner can suspend you for 8 games this time. You've done it all. You're the GOAT. There, we said it. Not Peyton. Not Joe. It's you. Greatest of all time. Retire."

But that would leave the threepeat on the table.