Imaginary Missives on Tom Brady’s Injury
We’re starting to accept the fact that Tom Brady isn’t playing football this year. That, “It was all a dream” stage didn’t last too long, but while we were in our metaphorical fantasy land, we thought of some correspondence involving the actors in this real-life drama.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Holy sh—t, I’m the new Tom Brady. (Sorry for swearing.)
Well, no, not really. I’m just Matt Cassel, the guy who’s had more experience holding a clipboard than a football. I haven’t started a game since high school. I don’t have the supermodel girlfriend or big endorsement deals. Now stores are stocking my jersey and my teammates are saying nice things about me.
But what if I can’t do it? The journalists and bloggers here can be ruthless. I guess I’d have more time to worry about it, but Coach Belichick keeps making me watch more film. In fact, he’s coming for me now. I’d better go.
Love,
Matt
***
Dear Mom and Dad,
Everything is going to be OK. I mean, God doesn’t value football, right? And at least it wasn’t the total Friday Night Lights scenario. I can still move my limbs. After the surgery, I’ll probably be able to play again. And I can still help Gisele decorate our places.
I just feel so bad. Even though it’s not my fault, I let my coach down. I let my team down. I let the fans down. I just hope Cassel was paying attention the past few years.
Well, I’m going to do my prehab exercises and thumb through The Four Agreements again.
Love,
Tommy
***
Dear Dan Shaughnessy,
Man, are you seriously blaming me for Brady’s injury? Yeah, Kevin Faulk came to my show. But I didn’t force him to bring weed in with him (allegedly), so don’t say it’s my fault Brady’s done for the year. Fool.
Yours,
Lil Wayne
***
Dear Thomas,
Ain’t karma a bitch? Hope your skinny supermodel friend can carry all John’s stuff when you come to pick him up for your next visit.
Sincerely,
Bridget
***
Dear Mama and Paizinho,
My little quarterbum is down for the year. Now he can truly be my cabana boy! Once the doutores clear him to travel, we’ll come visit.
Well, I’m off to hire someone to care for him as he recovers.
Amor sempre,
Gisele xoxo
***
Dear Dad,
I wish you were here with me. What the hell am I going to do now? I guess I’ll have to recycle the old chestnuts—It is what it is; We’re moving on. Now I’ve got to find Cassel and make him watch more tape.
Your son,
Bill
***
Dear God,
Am I happy I diversified.
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