The Devil Collects

Dear Mr. Brady,

As per our agreement, I am collecting on my end of the contract we signed on September 23, 2001. You remember that day don’t you? It’s the day that I sent that crazy Jets’ linebacker crashing into Drew Bledsoe nearly killing him. You became the likeable everyman soon after that, and you thought everything was going well I’m sure. No one quite knew what to make of you as the Patriots headed to the playoffs and I could feel your dissatisfaction. And since I am semi-honorable, I gave you a chance to get out of the deal when I injured you in the divisional round of the playoffs and let Drew Bledsoe start in the AFC championship game. All you had to do was sit out of that Super Bowl and you could’ve gone back to your old life as a career backup. But you wanted to play so I made that happen. Your fate was sealed on that day, Mr. Brady.

Just like you wanted, I gave you five full seasons free from interference from that day forward. You managed to grab another couple of rings, a few MVP awards and a hot actress all on your own. But all good things must come to an end, especially when you make a deal with me. I told you when we made the deal that I would collect your soul in my own special way. I’m sure you thought I exacted my price when Bridget Moynahan ended up knocked up while you were not so secretly sleeping with “butter face” Giselle (seriously Tom, you can do better than that, especially when you are on borrowed time). But no, that was just more of a fun little joke on my part. Despite reports to the contrary, I do have a pretty wicked sense of humor.

Perhaps when that whole Spygate thing started and I tarnished your team’s legacy you thought that your end of the bargain had finally been fulfilled. Sadly for you though, Spygate actually had almost nothing to do with you. That was my collection from your coach. What? How else do you think a guy who got run out of Cleveland after two miserable seasons got to be known as a genius?

Maybe you thought David Tyree’s helmet catch was my doing, but that was the work of my good friend Karma. See, when you throw for 50 touchdowns in one year by passing on 4th down while you are up by 30 against a two win team, it’s not good for karma. And if you do it enough, Karma eventually becomes very angry and is fortunately very creative in exacting its revenge. I mean, could there be any other possible explanation for a 4th string wide receiver catching a ball against his helmet on 4th down all while being pummeled by the most violent safety of this generation? Karma really can be a bitch.

But I had my own fun with you that game. I made sure your foot was hurt so you lost just enough mobility to prevent you from being able to get away from those crazy Giant pass-rushers. I also made sure your linemen forgot how to block at some key moments. I know you aren’t stupid Mr. Brady, so maybe you knew that I had a hand in that. Maybe that’s why you sat out the entire pre-season this year, fearful of what I might do to you. But you had to know that as soon as the season started you’d be on that field, and so would I. I was going to wait another game just to give you some false hope. But when I saw that you weren’t listed on the injury report for the first time in your entire CAREER, I couldn’t pass up this wonderful chance at irony.

The hit by Bernard Pollard wasn’t a cheap shot, but then you know that already. Pollard thinks that you were screaming in pain because he hit you too hard, but we both know better. You would’ve shaken that hit off it wasn’t for me, and I’m sure you knew that. All it takes a little mental snipping of some scissors, and pop goes your Achilles tendon. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to mess with your season (after all, I have your soul for all of eternity) so that is why there was some doubt as to the seriousness of the injury on Monday morning, and some hope that you would be back before the end of the season. Thousands of Patriot fans, millions of frontrunners, CBS, and ESPN were praying that would be the case, but amidst those prayers I heard two voices that sealed your fate. One was from Bridget Moynahan who was hoping you would die, but even I thought that was a little extreme, especially since knocking her up was partly my doing.

The other one was from Matt Cassel, you know your backup QB? He just wanted a chance. What you thought you and Coach Belicheat were the only ones that had me on speed dial? Mr. Cassel kind of reminds me of you from a few years ago, so we’ll see what kind of deal he wants to cut with me. Who knows, you may be back sooner than expected. But if Mr. Cassel offers me a sweet enough deal, well, we all know what happened to Drew Bledsoe don’t we?

Your friend and partner in eternity,

The Devil


P.S. I hope you don’t mind, but I used you as a reference when Aaron Rodgers, Sarah Palin, and Michael Phelps came to me earlier this summer. My credibility took a little hit when I failed with Rex Grossman. Even my skills couldn’t help that guy.