SougarLord Posted February 8, 2021 Posted February 8, 2021 The best scene in any good robbery movie is the moment in which the leader, usually a legal guy who is pushed by circumstances to crime, decides that he is going to strike one last blow and rallies the gang, taking the apparent one by one I withdraw his old colleagues. Last spring, Tom Brady, a 43-year-old man who should be in his native California drinking daiquiris but for some reason continues to win Super Bowls, caused an earthquake never seen in the NFL by leaving the New England Patriots, the team with him. who had dominated the league for 20 years, and signed for a Tampa Bay Buccaneers who hadn't even played the playoffs. With that step taken, he picked up the phone. On the other side answered Rob Gronkowski, the kind giant with the shattered back, the old crony with whom he won three titles in Boston and who had been retired for a year, from party to party in Florida. "Come". And Gronko went. He then called Antonio Brown, the best catcher of the past decade, but also a troublesome guy who, based on extra-sports scandals, seemed out of the NFL forever, in fact he was suspended until mid-year. But Brady had a plan: "Come." And Antonio went. Yesterday, before the break, Brady had given two touchdown passes to Gronkowski and another to Brown. Tampa went to the locker room winning 21-6 and the rest is history. Sorry, the rest is history. The Patriots and the Pittsburgh Steelers are the two teams with the most championships in their windows: six. After demolishing the favorites and reigning champions, the Kansas City Chiefs, 31-9, Tom Brady has already won seven. In a sport whose active life expectancy is short and in which everything is organized for maximum equality, Brady's case does not make sense. No sense. He's no longer competing with Peyton Manning, Joe Montana or Aaron Rodgers for being the best quarterback in history. No, his league is different. Michael Jordan's, Muhammad Ali's, Usain Bolt's. The one of the universal legends. In his path was Patrick Mahomes, the chosen one, the only one who allows us to imagine that Brady's atrocity is repeatable, at least that someone can approach. Don't feel sorry for him. He is 25 years old, already a ring and even in a game like this, in which he was under permanent siege by a magnificent defense that devoured his battered and catastrophic offensive line (the five gentlemen, let's say, broad who are in front quarterback to protect him), he dropped four or five passes that are physically impossible for a human. But in his three years as a starter, it's not entirely clear that Mahomes is. In this Super Bowl his magic came to nothing, surprisingly betrayed by his best partners, Travis Kelce and Tyreek Hill, two superstars whose hands were suddenly smeared with butter and dropped several simple balls that, perhaps, perhaps Who knows, they could have triggered a reaction. There was not. They will have more opportunities. Even on his worst day, Mahomes is a prodigy. The beating was such that it blurred the details. The excess of avoidable fouls (of making and whistling) in the first half, the pioneer Sarah Thomas being the first woman to referee a Super Bowl, the great second half of Leonard Fournette, another disinherited who joined the Brady band in looking for redemption and glory and found it handfuls. The break concert did not even detract from the spotlight. This time we did not enjoy the miracle of Prince, the barbarity of Beyoncé, the glitter of Jennifer Lopez and Shakira or the mythical drunken sharks of Katy Perry. Nothing, just an inconsequential performance by The Weeknd, reminding us that, in these dark times, every weekend is a bloody Monday. The last two quarters were a placid road to Tom Brady's coronation. The seventh ascension of the myth that made a pact with the devil and does not age. A king whose kingdom is no longer of this world. And next year it comes back. The [CENSORED] psycho is back. Greatness borders insanity and he is the greatest.
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