Usually at this time, I provide my annual Super Bow Viewing Guide (for Super Bowl Parties of Six or More).
Ain’t gonna happen.
I cannot do this anymore.
I cannot sit here and watch the New England Patriots – the Mongol Empire of the 21st century – win week after week, year after year.
I am moving someplace so remote – the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, maybe? – someplace where no one has ever heard of Rex Burkhead, someplace where I can be free of Robert Kraft and his French cuffs, Bill Belichick and his hoodie and Tom Brady and his perfect woe-is-me-because-no-one-thinks-we’re-good life.
No more Tuckgate, Spygate and Deflategate.
I have given my entire adult sporting time on Earth over to the National Football League, and I have been tragically rewarded with the specter of that haughty billionaire owner high-fiving every triumphant moment with his acolyte scion, Jonathan “Donald Jr.” Kraft.
My goodness, I have prioritized the NFL over several of my conjugal relationships, and for what? To see the evil Patriots get every call, every replay review, every ball bounce their way?
I am sickened beyond words, and I am giving you these words only because I am contractually obligated to do so.
If I had a choice between living the rest of my days in an unheated, un-air-conditioned 1973 VW Beetle with six rabid weasels in a Marie Callender’s parking lot next to a toxic waste dump at the foot of an active volcano OR watching the Patriots again beat the Jets, 38-3, I’d say, “Fahrvergnügen.”
The Patriots and their fans are so loathsome, I wish we could brexit New England.
If the Patriots played ISIS for charity, my suspicion is no money would be raised.
Suddenly, people in Los Angeles are Rams fans, not because they follow the Rams, but because the Rams are playing the Patriots in Super Bowl LIII.
(Column Intermission: Do I think the Rams can win the game? Of course I think they can win, but every bone in my body doesn’t agree with me. Their best chance would be if it were all scripted, like a movie. Better yet, just give us a remake of “Heaven Can Wait.”)
Let me direct my final gasps of breath and wrath on Tom Brady.
Is Brady the greatest quarterback ever? Five years ago he was in the conversation. Now he is the conversation. So I will concede his place in NFL history if he will get the heck out of Dodge, crawl back to his supermodel spouse and stop tormenting us on the day of rest every autumn and winter.
Brady is so unbeatable, when he had acne as a teenager, he sued Clearasil – and won.
Note: OK, that didn’t happen, but I am using creative license here to punctuate the inarguable, indisputable and incontrovertible point about his charmed, fairytale existence.
Brady is literally untouchable; he goes entire games without a defender putting a hand on him. And if you are fortunate enough to break past the New England offensive line and actually touch him, you likely will be penalized for touching him.
If Brady spits on the field and you step on his spit, you are flagged for a personal foul.
I bumped into Brady at the supermarket the other day, and security immediately removed me.
How blessed is this guy? Take away the tuck rule and Pete Carroll’s don’t-run-Marshawn Lynch brain fart and the Falcons’ unspeakable collapse leading by 25 points in the third quarter, and Brady would have only two Super Bowl titles, not five. Plus he’s only in this Super Bowl because the Chiefs’ Dee Ford lined up in the neutral zone.
The NFL, by the way, is investigating the possibility that a laser was flashed at Brady during the fourth quarter of the AFC championship game. A laser? A laser is not going to stop Brady. You know what might stop him? Fried food.
Give him a few mozzarella sticks and maybe he’ll DROP DEAD at midfield, untouched.
(Send me a telegram care of Western Union in the Bonneville Salt Flats if that happens.)
Ask The Slouch
Q. Is your obvious disdain for the Patriots a response to the many years of failure of the sports teams while you matriculated as a Terrapin at Maryland? (Mort Faller; Potomac, Md.)
A. I never matriculated in College Park as a Terrapin – I was a Runnin’ Rebel; well, more of a Walkin’ (Often Slouchin’) Rebel.
Q. If the Rams win the Super Bowl, will they vote the NFC championship game officials a full share or a partial share? (Stephen Pappas; White Plains, N.Y.)
A. As a rule – to Robert Kraft’s credit – the Patriots always give AFC championship game officials a full share.
Q. If Toni, aka She Is The One (And Then Some), rooted for the Patriots, would that be a deal breaker for you? (Teri Bloom; Austin, Tex.)
A. Uh, perhaps you do not fully understand the dynamic of our marital union: If I told Toni something was a deal breaker, she’d be out the door between “deal” and “breaker.”
Q. If the Patriots lose the overtime coin toss, is the play automatically reviewed and overturned to give them the ball? (Rich Tucker; Washington, D.C.)
A. Pay the man, Shirley.
You, too, can enter the $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway. Just email email@example.com and, if your question is used, you win $1.25 in cash!
Subscribe to the sports newsletter
Get the day’s top sports headlines and breaking news delivered to your inbox by subscribing here.