Dear God, it's the end of May, and that means that the dawn of my fourth decade of life is just barreling towards me like some sort of weird barrel based weapon. Time sucks because it's always time to do something. It's time to get up, it's time to go to work, it's time for your state approved execution...blah blah blah. There's never any time for anything besides all the shit we don't want to happen. Time is literally the harbinger of my doom, your doom, and the doom of all carbon based life forms. Watches and clocks are morbid ways of checking the time that you have left and also when that meeting starts. Time rolls on and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.
I once believed that if I just stayed in bed all day then that day would never occur and time would stop. That's how I lost my first job.
In three months time I'll be thirty years old and it's time to highlight some positives of that because I'm already depressed and we're not even there yet. I'm like Queen Elizabeth to hamsters, goldfish, most insects, and celebrity marriages. I'm a true testament of time in the very sense that it hasn't killed me yet, dammit, and it's time we get going.
The Miami Dolphins have inked Ryan Tannehill, my little Fuzzby, to a big contract that will keep him in South Florida and potentially pay him ninety six muellllllliiiioooon buckaroos. Several of my friends have come up to me and asked me what I thought about this and every single time my mind kept going back to the Vietnam War for some reason but I think I'm ready to settle down and talk about it now.
It's dumb. It's a dumb move. Just because it's after the divorce and you run through a bunch of scumbags for a number of years doesn't mean you have to marry the first guy that's wearing slacks and has his hair combed. You can probably, gee I don't know, LET HIM PROVE HIS WORTH FIRST!
Ryan's a great guy and I'm sure he's nice to children, old people, and dogs. He could even go on to mesh so well with the tools the Dolphins have provided him this offseason and just wreck shit. He could lead his team to the playoffs and be in title contention come the end of the year. He could be an MVP candidate and hoist up the Lombardi trophy in South Florida for the first time in longer than I've lived on this planet...but...it's all hope and hope is absolutely dog shit in professional football. If you are signing people to your team in the NFL based on hope then you better prepare yourself for a good old fashioned cry session in your bathroom while pretending to take a shower because that's where you are headed.
We now live in a world where Andrew Luck, who has been further into the playoffs each year he's been in the league, and Russell Wilson, who has won a Super Bowl and been to two, and were both drafted the same year as Ryan Tannehill and yet they remain on their rookie contracts. And Robert Griffin Part III! He was there too!
It's weird. It's gotta be a great tool for when the time comes that I become a parent because every Sunday I'm cheering him on but in my head I'm praying to whoever answers that he just doesn't completely blow it. But for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, in wins or in complete mediocrity each and every season, I am now stricken with a Fuzzby for the next FIVE freakin' years.
That's a lot of time. And if every season that I've witnessed is some sort of barometer for how the next five will go...let's just say I'm not quitting the blog any time soon.
And now...NOW...it's finally time that I make my way to you, Mr. Thomas Gladys Brady, you cheating son of a bitch! (His middle name comes from his father's favorite lunch lady in school)
When the time comes that I'm dead and gone from this Earth and you are too, and so are our children, and so on and so forth...but yet the SP remains for some reason...the time capsule of the NFL would be the period of time that the New England Patriots decided, "Hell, we aren't winning, maybe we should start cheating?" And that would be for the last thirteen or so years.
It was all an elaborate set up, from top to bottom, and it was undeniably brilliant but it was also the worst thing to happen to American sports. Bill Belichick was a horrible failure as a head coach but as soon as he landed in New England he had one bad year and then was the best ever. Tom Brady knitted wool caps for the rest of the Michigan Wolverines and wasn't drafted until the sixth round, pick 199, meaning that one hundred and ninety-eight people were considered better than him by people that spend their entire lives by evaluating talent and potential and yet now he is considered the best ever?! How in the holy Hell did they accomplish this amazing feat?! BY CHEATING! The whole time. We caught them with Spygate. We have now caught them with Deflategate. How many other gates did they get past us? I'm now struck with a myriad of questions, questions like, 'Did they lose some games on purpose to not look suspicious?', 'Did the Tuck Rule start the flood and they started wondering how far they could press the stupidity of the rules of the NFL?', and 'Isn't this the fitting answer as to why Tom Brady, the most popular NFL player, and Gisele Bundchen, the most popular super model, never did a reality show?' It's because he didn't want to be caught!
The thing that I don't get, the thing that bothers me, is how did the whole operation get exposed over a few underinflated footballs? Incriminating texts between two lackeys, Brady's denial, Kraft's infuriation, Belichick's inevitable betrayal...it's not adding up for me. Thanks to all the lawyers and media Deflategate has become a joke. One of the guys that Brady had taking the air out of footballs called himself 'The Deflator' and now Brady's lawyer is saying that he called himself that because he was trying to lose weight. Riiiiiight. I think I can remember that being the pinnacle of the pyramid in the Jenny Craig plan to lose weight. You start out as The Defiler, next is The Diarrheal, then The Defenestrator, and finally, The Deflator.
I think it's time that Brady answers for his crimes. Belichick has left him to the pyre. Kraft puffed up his chest and then slowly backed away. Brady is all alone now.
It's also time for this post to wrap up. Hopefully, in time, we'll know the full story but if I were you I wouldn't hold my breath. The NFL is very good at being dumb or they're very good at playing dumb. I'm not sure which is worst.
