There are three certainties in life.
Robert Deutsch-USA TODAY Sports
Tom Brady is inevitability. He is your mortality. He is an unstoppable force powered by kale suppositories and air that has been purified in a ritual conducted by a disgraced financier who is posing as a shaman and now lives in his pool house. He is a football grim reaper whose instrument of death is a right arm wrapped in organic Kinesio tape available on his web site for $99.99 a roll.
It’s time to stop fighting and let the darkness wash over us. There will once again be no stopping the New England Patriots. We are fools to think otherwise. It could be 28-3 or 20-10 and Brady could have 12 stitches in his throwing hand or a spear through his head and he will still lead a comeback that makes you long for the sweet embrace of death.
Let us accept our fate two weeks before the Patriots win another Super Bowl in Minnesota. Let us agree not to feel even a flicker of hope if the Philadelphia Eagles hold a second-half lead or even a two-possession lead. Let us never again delude ourselves into believing the idea that Brady will lose. Let us begin the process of numbing ourselves so the pain of seeing Brady’s stupid grin as he raises another Vince Lombardi Trophy is lessened.
Consider all the moments from the Patriots’ 24-20 AFC Championship win that would have been the season finale for mortal quarterbacks.
Like how the QB was missing his favorite target, Rob Gronkowski, for the entire second half of the game. It didn't matter. Third-and-18, Brady completed a pass to some guy who could have easily been replaced with the least sober fan at Gillette Stadium for a first down. Every receiver on the roster is part of a $1 bet between Robert Kraft and Donald Trump to see if anything can stop Brady. Spoiler alert: nothing can.
Facing the league’s No. 1 pass defense—although, after these past two weeks, are we sure that was ever true?—Brady gouged the Jaguars secondary for two fourth-quarter touchdowns aided by a 15-minute halftime nap in his magic pajamas.
With Myles Jack about to return a fumble for a touchdown that would have sealed a win for the Jaguars, Brady used telekinetic powers to make an official blow the play dead before Jack could put the Jaguars ahead by 17 points. This was only possible because Brady shampooed with an especially powerful wheatgrass smoothie sold to him for $11,000 by a man in a toga living inside a station wagon who calls himself The Relic and was just hired as a nutritionist at the TB12 Sports Therapy Center.
No matter how bleak the situation, Brady finds a way. It’s as admirable as it is sickening. He’s the virus we can’t kill. Every time we have the vaccine that can save mankind, the virus mutates into something even more deadly and destroys everything in its path. No amount of wishing and praying and Tom Coughlin can stop it. This is now a certainty.
Brady is an empty-headed assassin, a vacuous football savant. He is the Derek Zoolander of the NFL, the very best at what he does largely because of those traits. Bill Belichick has transformed Brady from second-string Michigan quarterback to the greatest of all time by filling that cavernous Homer Simpson brain with so much football knowledge it can only process defensive schemes and receiver routes. Because of this, Brady believes water prevents sunburns and carbohydrates cause concussions, but that tradeoff is the foundation of a dynasty.
But maybe despite all of this, you still want to believe in Nick Foles. You’re still spending the next two weeks talking yourself into the Eagles because of how their defense stifled Case Keenum? You’re going to call a sports talk radio station to put forth a theory that LeGarrette Blount still has access to Patriots playbooks, and that’s the edge the Eagles need?
Death, taxes, and the Patriots are the three things you can’t cheat, and the Patriots know all about cheating.
That’s how badly I died when the Patriots beat the Jags—I’m now prepared to consider the Patriots’ cheating commendable. They are so good at it! Brady has mastered it and since when do we not tip our caps to generational talents in their given fields? If you had one football game to win right now, do you pick a great quarterback or a great quarterback that’s great at cheating? I hope when Brady retires we uncover even more cheating so we can celebrate it. He deserves credit for all of it.
There’s been talk this season about the NFL maybe not being a quarterback league anymore. After all, this postseason featured quite a few quarterbacks considered game managers or too young for this much success this quickly or ripe to be replaced by Colin Kaepernick in August. The team, they say, is just as important, if not more important, than the quarterback in 2018.
Those people are lying to you. Those people are lying to themselves. They are filling you with the same false hope that has left Jacksonville in shambles. This is why people spent Sunday talking themselves into Blake Bortles at Gillette Stadium. Hope against the Patriots is a sickness.
Brady is just a man, you’re probably thinking. Brady is but a mortal, and if Eli Manning can vanquish him, he can be vanquished by anyone.
There is truth to that. One man and one man alone has the power to destroy Brady. A man with an unrivaled ability to take talented quarterbacks and reduce them to rubble. A man who can break down a quarterback into such a fine powder that you are left wondering if that quarterback even belongs in the league.
And that man is Jeff Fisher.
Unfortunately, Fisher isn’t the coach of the Patriots, so he can’t do anything to prevent Brady from winning another Super Bowl. Congrats on a sixth ring and your inevitable celebration at Mar-a-Lago, dick.