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ONE: Earmuffs My Ass
Beware the noise, dear readers. It can get loud.
Deafening, in fact.
But while your instinct might tell you to turn down the volume or cover your ears, I would offer a different piece of advice: turn that shit up. Don't look for a quiet corner -- and certainly don't walk away -- because the second you think the noise will stop by avoidance, its already won.
Instead, walk to the middle of it, make it louder and you'll be granted the one thing said noise is attempting to take from you in the first place: clarity. And the moment you gain that, dear readers, you'll realize, regardless of volume, noise is simply a distraction from what's important.
After all, it's just noise.
TWO: Steinbeck Was Right
"The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry."
Damn skippy.
I try not to take anything too seriously, dear readers. And I mean anything. Inappropriate quips and off-color jokes are staples of my every day.
They've become reflex, really.
But, while I fully subscribe to that age old adage "life is too short" as my behavioral guiding principle in large part because I nearly lost mine following a single car accident on January 9th, 2004 -- actually, I nearly lost it twice according to my TICU peeps -- I find myself offended by the "now he has a trophy for each person he killed" jokes flying around the intertubes today.
And I never get offended.
I mean, seriously, if the wrongful death of two people can't calm sarcastic digital chatter, what can right?
Exactly.
My only hope is, with Ray Lewis' career ending and clouded in controversy, the NFL is courageous enough to use their moral compass when his Hall of Fame eligibility is debated.
But I'm betting they won't.
Or maybe I'm just being a pussy because Super Bowl Sunday happened to fall on my son Declan's 2nd birthday which allowed a drop of fleeting emotion to evoke a response from my otherwise black heart.
Ya, that's probably it.
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Quick Thinking
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-- The cream of the Super Bowl commercial crop starred none other than Leon Sandcastle.
-- Who kinda looks like an ugly Deion Sanders.
--
Did you see the story from earlier this week where Ron Jeremy drove
himself to the hospital after suffering a ruptured chest aneurysm?
-- No word yet on whether a blood flow diverting erection will be credited for his survival.
-- There's no truth to the rumor that Manti T'eo's fake dead girlfriend was responsible for the power outage in New Orleans last night.
-- To bad she didn't strike during the halftime show.
-- I wasn't ready for that jelly.
-- The only thing that will restore my faith in Patriot Nation next season is if they makes the move to sign free agent Ed Reed and provide their secondary some hard hitting, veteran leadership.
#rodneyharrison
-- Quote of the Week goes to my boy Jeremy Octavio for responding the following when his girlfriend suggested he buy a "Baby on Board" sticker for his car, "Might as well just find the one that says 'Game Over'."
-- No reset button for that one, brother.
-- Truth be told, there isn't a sticker in the world one can adhere to their vehicle to save them from all the idiots behind the wheel in New England.
-- Of course all New Englanders think they're great drivers.
-- And they certainly don't think they're all idiots.
-- One of us is right.
ONE: Moving On
It's been nearly two weeks and I still can't believe Patriots players and coaches aren't the ones being interviewed by everyone with a microphone and media badge preparing for Super Bowl XLVII.
Time to put the entire NFL season in my rear view.
TWO: Death of a Quarterback
It happened right in front of our eyes two short weeks ago, dear readers. It happened for all to see. It happened on the field of play. It happened in real time.
With one bitch move in the form of a spike high slide and another cowardly pass attempt on 4th-and-4 with an open field in front of you and one man to beat, Tom Brady -- the big game winning quarterback -- officially died.
And I'm not talking about the academy award winning kind of death you see in movies. I'm talking about the poorly acted, blank stare kind of death you see in B-movies. Shit, or even in teen dominated high school drama clubs. That's how bad it was.
Painful, really.
Ready or not, Tom, age, diminishing skills and lack of desire have arrived. Save Patriot Nation the future heartache, do the honorable thing, stop the madness and fall on your sword: retire. Please retire. Pretty please.
With sugar on top.
Because you're not just squandering championship chances, Tom. You're tarnishing what was once a winning legacy.
And slowly changing your name to Mr. Bundchen in the process.
