The New Manchurian Candidate

I wouldn't call the story that Russian interests hacked the US presidential election in an effort to get Donald Trump elected "news" or a "revelation" unless you weren't paying attention. If it was Russia's intent to undermine confidence in the US election then certainly they would've gone after both candidates. They didn't. They attacked Hillary Clinton, not Donald Trump.

For whatever reason, the American people would prefer to believe Hillary Clinton is running a child sex ring out of the basement of a pizzaria than a real estate mogul is entangled with Russian oligarchs despite the lack of evidence in the case of the former and the well reported facts in the case of the latter.

It's hard not to think that we deserve everything we're about to get.

Just Hit AB AB Up on the Destiny Controller

With the Raiders loss to the Chiefs Thursday night, the Patriots now control their playoff destiny.

But didn't they always? Don't we all control our own destiny? I mean, outside of the extinction level event scenarios like the Yellowstone supervolcano blowing the entire state of Wyoming into the atmosphere or an asteroid the size of Texas leaving a Texas-sized hole where Texas used to be.

Otherwise, we're good, am I right?

Coffee and Pgskin Contemplation

Sunday morning. A cup of coffee. Some contemplation.

The Sky Is Falling

We're going to miss him. Let's get that out of the way. Your team doesn't lose one of the 10 best players in the league and not have it hurt. We've all been hearing or reading how Gronk's absence affects Brady's numbers, and by extension, the Patriots offense. The local pigskin pundits and bobbleheads have adopted the role of stern church deacons, necks bulging, warning us of the pigskin Armageddon about to befall the kingdoms to the east of the Connecticut River. The national pigskin pundits and bobbleheads ghoulishly repeat the prognosis on Gronkowski while arguing over whether this makes the Raiders the new favorite to represent the AFC in the Super Bowl. 

Fantastic Pigskins And Where To Find Them

So, Bill Belichick is the head master of a Pigskin Hogwarts. And yes, okay, he came from the House of Slytherin. Geez, just one Voldemort an an entire house gets a bad name. Anyway, I'd say Belichick is more Snape than He Who Shall Not Be Named. Whatever. Be a hater.

Meanwhile, Belichick must occasionally play Quidditch against mere muggles. 

No surprise this game wasn't flexed to prime time.

I Feel Good

Tom Brady. Again. For the 200th time.

As scary and as indelible as that moment was, as LeGarrette Blount reversed field and Brady turned upfield, willingly if ineptly placing himself in harm's way, just the act of playing through the pain - and pulling out the win - could be even bigger in the long run. An end of the second act moment. A this might be something that could be something kind of moment. Yeah. I feel good. So good.

I know I shouldn't be so optimistic but I really do think we had a moment there. Brady gutting out the win on a gammy leg. The recently re-minted Captain leading by example. I'm definitely sensing a moment in the narrative here. The cold-blooded game-winner to Malcolm Mitchell seemed almost effortless despite the somewhere in the neighborhood presence of the ghost of Darrelle Revis. That was a moment, too. Still. Tom Brady running interference as LeGarrette Blount reversed field. Brady blocked like a man running through a field of rabid badgers. (No badgers were harmed in the running of that play.) It was horrifying. I held my breath. Somehow, Brady avoided all the badgers, er, Jets. On a gammy leg.  

I suppose Derek Carr may have had that moment, too, what with his comeback following the nausea-inducing dislocated little finger on his throwing hand. (Just saying I believe Brady would've recovered the fumbled snap had it been his and not Carr's little finger smashed sideways. I wouldn't have. I would not. I would've snapped. A stress-induced madness brought on by a searing, blinding pain. Total personality dissolution, if only for a few fleeting yet harrowing moments. All I would've been able to think is... FINGER! But that's me. Brady would've not only picked up the fumble but he probably would've then thrown a TD pass. Maybe not. I'll admit it; that's crazy talk. Probably. That finger was way gnarly. Okay, let's leave it that Brady would've recovered the fumble.) Carr pulled out another 4th quarter win for the Raiders, using a glove from Stark Industries to finish the game (after his finger was un-dislocated).

It's the expectation of fame. The responsibility of celebrity. Win the locker room and you win in the 4th quarter. It's the pigskin subtext for some straight up Joseph Campbell with a Carl Jung chaser. Brady. Carr. Parallel storylines that Einstein himself would tell you are destined to collide. It's hero time. Big damn hero time. Big damn pigskin hero time.

Brady, though. He's owned the Patriots locker room for a long time now. There are guys on the roster who literally grew up watching Tom Brady win Super Bowls and be otherwise awesome all the time. Now they're in the same locker room, on the same practice field, playing games with him.

It's got to be surreal to be Malcolm Mitchell or Joe Thuney or any of the 20-somethings on the roster. Hey, Malcolm Mitchell! Tom Brady just called you clutch, dude. What's that like?

I just let myself think about SB51 and it felt good.

Why Is It Always Snakes?

There's a moment in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when Indy says, "Snakes… Why is it always… snakes."

That's how I feel about Jets games.