I really do not like the New England Patriots.
Actually, let me rephrase that... I don't dislike the Patriots as a team or as individual athletes, for the most part. But I despise their quarterback, Tom Brady. And, as a result of this Brady distaste, I root against the Patriots almost any time they play. Sure, Brady has already secured his place in the Hall of Fame, but I'd rather he finish his time in the league on a sour note -- one so sour as not winning any playoff games in the last four seasons -- even if it means the rest of his team suffers as a result.
Sorry guys. Just the way it is.
I can handle trash talking so long as you're not just willing to stand by it, but act on it.
As a result of Cromartie's trash talking, I became a temporary Jets fan.
Did I think they could actually win? No, not really. But I was willing to hope against hope. Anything to remove the Patriots from the playoff picture.
I wanted it so badly, I made the following bet with myself as the game was in progress and broadcast it on Twitter...
I couldn't be happier.
But fulfilling my gamble is proving to be a bit of a prickly affair. I've visited a half dozen sporting goods and hat shops in the area and called another half dozen and none, I repeat NONE, carry Jets hats of any sort. All I could find was a vintage Joe Namath jersey and, I'm sorry, but bets with myself top out at no more than $30, not $125 as the jersey was priced.
I've even visited a couple resale and antique shops in hopes of finding something... anything... that has a NY Jets logo on it. Bupkis.
So, I think you all may have to settle for a Photoshop job. Sad that it has to be this way, but what can I do? Sure, I could order one online. But, by the time it finally arrives, the Steelers will have dispatched the Jets and it would be a moot point. Why try to fulfill that bet so late? There has to be some timeliness to it, right?
But I am still going to write a poem. Here goes...
Oh Antonio, of the surname Cromartie.
You and the Jets beat the Pats, I say you party!
Prior to the game, you slung some serious smack.
When asked if you regret it, you said "hell no, Jack."
You stood by your insults with great resolve and poise.
Then you took the Pats offense and made them your toys.
Brady's first I-N-T in how many passes?
Whatever it was, you made them look like asses.
A cadre of Yugos facing off against tanks.
For this and much more, I have to offer my thanks.
I never said it was going to be a good poem.
Katie wanted to add her own little rhyme...
There once was a man named Cromartie,
With a fi-fi-fiddle-dee-dee.
He dominated the football field,
While Brady just wanted to pee.
Her poem is much better, even if it was, er, inspired by a certain TV show.