Pats 21, Jets 16. Ahhhhh. I needed that.
Among the best part of a Patriots victory for me and Kellie, though, is the postgame press conference by #12. He'll come up to the stand of microphones and a crush of reporters, still slightly damp from his shower, usually turned out in a suit or a natty sweater from someplace like Structure, as always sporting that little dimple in his chin, and if we're lucky, he'll flash that Smile With a Capital S.
You know, I really don't know why more girls don't watch sports. Why it's considered a "butch" thing to do, something masculine and unladylike. First off, the idea that girls aren't competitive is a crock of bull (Just watch The Bachelor and you'll see what I mean). But second, and perhaps more importantly, male athletes are beautiful. They are poetry in motion. They are huge, rippling, muscular slabs of man-meat. They have arms the size of your head. They have butts you could bounce a quarter off of. I hate to be getting too graphic here, but how can you look at these modern-day Adonises, provided you are heterosexual, and not become just a little bit interested in what you're watching? Even if it's a sporting event?
And there's no game that emphasizes brute strength and alpha-male behavior that remain, for all our civilized 21st century ways, just plain sexy, more than football. Football players also wear the tightest pants. Coincidence? I think not. But despite the high standards of pulchritude set by his colleagues, when all is said and done, the Lifetime Achievement Award for Sex Appeal in Football goes to Tom Brady, hands down.
It's more than his impossibly high cheekbones or his square jaw or his piercing blue eyes or his ridiculously kissable lips (though all of the above are factors, and lovely). Tom Brady, on and off the field, comports himself with a level of dignity as astonishing as his looks, and that much more precious for its rarity in professional sports. He's calm, cool, collected, and unfailingly, unshakably polite. He answers questions from the media with the kind of poise (and, often evasiveness) worthy of a White House Press Secretary. If this doesn't impress you, consider the alternatives: he could buy into his own hype and become a complete boozing, product-hawking, womanizing boor, but he remains a modest, private and mature person. He could be Brad Pitt in a football uniform (and anyway, he kinda is) but if it weren't for his class, Tommy would be just another pretty face.
Tonight after beating the Jets--always a feel-good occasion for those of us in New England--he showed up looking stunning as usual in a black suit, crisp white shirt and a subdued tie. Despite the fact that any mortal would be sorely tempted to gloat about their eleventh straight win or fantasize openly about the very real potential for victory in the playoffs, Brady gave brief, modest answers. He probably had some incredibly swanky, exclusive club to dash off to, but he looked his interrogators directly in the eye.
And I'm sure his answers to questions were well-considered, savvy and professional as usual. But, as usual, I'll have to read the interview transcript tomorrow to know--since, as usual, I must admit that I didn't comprehend a word he said.
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