Tom Brady has torn his ACL. He probably tore his medial meniscus and medial collateral ligament as well. I may or may not have chosen Sports Medicine as my career choice, and I unfortunately saw the injury in person from a stone throw away.
Potential breaking news update coming later, depending on how drunk I can get a certain someone and get them to open their mouth. If not, I’ll just post some hot cheerleader pics tomorrow.
Love,
DC
P.S./Update….I don’t care what anyone says, this injury is worse than a torn ACL.
The latest issue of Boston Magazine arrived at Don Chavez world headquarters this week with an interesting article on Tom Brady’s ball washer (here’s a picture of him with Wes Welker). The article fell somewhere in between pointless and the printer decided to give Boston Magazine a few extra pages to waste for free.
One thing that is noteworthy in the article is that Tom Brady now has an official website. That’s right, the golden boy can now add blogger to his resume.
Segue into this week’s Tale of the Tape featuring Tom Brady and Chris Cooley! Let’s not waste anymore time and get right to it.
It was only a matter of time before Gisele became one of us. That’s right, Tom Brady’s girlfriend is now blogging, albeit about going green. However, she does offer free kisses to her readers.
So let me be the first to welcome you to the blogosphere Gisele. If you would like to guest post on DonChavez.com you can email here. I’ll let you write about anything you want, as long as the post has nothing but pictures of you in lingerie or a bikini.
A reader sent in this picture of Wes Welker at a Kentucky Derby party, noting that he looked like he had consumed a few beverages. Good for him. It wasn’t really anything that I thought was blog worthy because he’s not drinking Goose straight from the bottle or anything like that.
Then out of the blue it hit me and this story got legs…or should I say tits? A few of you might remember the girl in the picture from a few months back. She was the girl who had a Super Bowl ring bearing the name Kraft wedged in between her plastic chesticles. Well I guess someone worked their way back into the circle of trust, or maybe they never left it?
Finally it’s here. No more pre-season bullshit. The NFL regular season is now officially off and running. More importantly though, the tailgating season is here.
I won’t lie, I skipped the two Patriots pre-season games this year. After all, if Tom Brady doesn’t have to put in a 100% effort into the pre-season games, then why should we tailgaters? I’ve been doing this long enough that I thought that I could just jump right into the swing of things without missing a beat.
So let’s recap the day. I planned ahead for fellow tailgaiter Dawg’s tardiness, and scheduled a 9 A.M. pick-up in downtown Boston. Just as I had figured, my ride arrived at 10 A.M.. Coming off a Red Sox massacre/bender, I wasn’t complaining about the delayed start though.
With a 11:30 A.M. arrival to lot P2 of Gillette Stadium we were well behind schedule, but Dawg made up for it with a new discovery. He had discovered that a local butcher shop had a new tailgatin menu available. Just tell them the number of people at the tailgate and for $14 per person, they supplied us with steak tips, hot dogs, turkey tips, sausage, hamburgers, potato salad, cheese, plates, forks, knives and whatever else you would need. The spread was amazing, until we went to fire up the grill. For whatever reason the propane powered grill wouldn’t fire up. It had been pre-tested a week before and worked fine, but for whatever reason the flame wouldn’t catch today.
Quick on my feet, I called into homebase and got the location of the other half of the now defunked Patriots’ Nation War Van crew. Luckily they weren’t far away, and we salvaged our tailgate by cooking on their grill. Even with the late departure, grill problems, and short 90 minute tailgate, I still give the pre-game a solid B grading.
I missed the opening kick off and made it to my seat just in time to see Tom Brady throw his first touchdown pass of the year. To sum up the game, the Patriots played like shit in the first half, and the defense came out with a vengeance in the second half. The short of it, as I’m sure you already know, is that the Patriots rallied to win by two points and failed to cover the spread against a horrible Buffalo team.
So back to the real action…
The post-game tailgate has always been my favorite part of football. Why bother to battle traffic when you can sit in the parking lot and consume a few more wobbly pops while munching on steak tips? On my way back to the truck, I happened upon a “You think you’re Tom Brady” fight. Just a little back story to this…everyone was sporting a Patriots jersey today. However, many fans were unaware that you are not allowed to wear the jersey of a former Patriots player who’s playing in the NFL. I saw several Milloy, Law, and Vinatieri jerseys that I wanted to set flames to. I don’t care if someone is a future hall of famer, you’re just not allowed to wear their jersey to a game if they are playing for another team in the NFL.
Back to the fight…
So evidently a couple of heroes were playing catch with a football in the parking lot after the game. One of the guys was wearing a Tom Brady jersey and aired one out right into the side of someone’s F-150. The owner of the truck (who was sporting a Lawyer Milloy jersey…see above) was not happy. No fists were thrown, but an argument ensued. The sound and video suck, but here is a sample of the argument.
In case you couldn’t decipher what was said, here are a couple of key phrases that I heard…
“You know what? I’ll give you a hamburger, steak tips and two hot dogs okay?”
“You think you’re Tom Brady over there”
“You’re not Tom Brady. Don’t throw your fucking football in the parking lot alright!”
Now if you have really good vision, you can see the hands of the guy in the blue shirt (middle of the screen) who suggested the food resolution. If you look carefully, you can see that he is wearing a pair of receivers gloves. I shit you not. This guy was playing catch with “Tom Brady” five minutes later sporting a pair of Neumann’s in the parking lot. He topped it off with a gold chain and Italian horn and a sleeveless t-shirt. It was about 80 degrees out, so I began to wonder if he switches to the winterized gloves around January.
Back at the tailgate, we began to argue over who was more in the wrong. The guy wearing the receiver’s gloves, or the guy wearing the Lawyer Milloy jersey. The consensus said that the glove guy should be banned.
About thirty minutes later, another fight began to fester. Only this time, it was a guy and a girl, and she had an easy 50 pounds on him. They squared up, and he gave her the option to pick the starting position. Her choice was a lethal headlock, and in no less than five seconds, she clipped the back of his leg with her knee and dropped him to the ground. Drunk and helpless, a group of five guys (from her tailgate) decided to pig pile on him. The result? A broken rib. I spoke to him afterwards and realized that he had no clue as to what had just happened. I would love to be around tomorrow morning when the booze wears off and pride starts fucking with him. I got my ass kicked by a girl?
On to the main event…
The tailgate started to split up as two people went home, and Dawg went to bring his car over to the grilling site. Myself, Dicky, Antman, and Pitch were minding our own business when a guy and a girl stumbled into our territory looking to bum a cigarette. Antman was down to his last smoke and declined an offer and they continued on their way. They were maybe 100 feet away when Antman decided that one of us should throw a burnt hot dog at them. Without even thinking I picked it up off the table, launched it, and turned my back. GASP, SILENCE, LAUGHTER. It was a direct hit off the guy’s head.
The guy, we’ll refer to him as Asswipe from herein, was bullshit. He stormed back to our huddle, and started removing articles of clothing. We laughed in his face. For whatever reason, he knew that I had thrown it. Either he figured that Antman couldn’t reach him, or Antman had pointed a finger at me.
Usually, when I’ve been drinking all day at a tailgate, I’m willing to throw down with anybody. For whatever reason I had a conscience today and apologized to Asswipe and told him to forget about it. He was at BEST 5′ 5″ 150 pounds, ten inches and ninety pounds smaller than me.
“Put your beer down and let’s go right now!” Asswipe yelled.
“Look, just calm down. It was an accident, just forget about it.” I said.
“Come on let’s go. Right now.”
I just laughed at him, this didn’t help the situtation. All I wanted to do was make him part of the pavement, but I knew if I did that I would lose my seats. At this point, Cuntbag decided that she wanted to get involved.
“My uncle is the head state trooper here. I’m going to get him and he’s going to arrest you.” she said.
“Arrest me? Arrest me for what? Please, go get him. I want my name in the Boston Globe saying that I was arrested for assault with a hot dog! Seriously, you sound like an ass. Just get out of here.” I said.
“Oh ya?” she said.
It happened in slow motion. She reached for my bowl of potato salad and chucked it at my face. I was torn between grabbing her wrist so she couldn’t throw it or running so she couldn’t reach me with it. Translation: I was torn between setting myself up for an assault complaint or looking like a pussy by running away from a girl armed with spuds and mayo. I decided to turn and duck. Splat. All over the right side of my face.
“Okay, we’re even.” I said as I wiped the potato salad off of my face.
Evidently Asswipe and Cuntbag didn’t consider us even though. How could they think otherwise? Afterall, in my book one cooked hotdog off the head is less than a bowl of potato salad to the face.
Asswipe and Cuntbag quickly grew into a group of at least a dozen guys. I still kept my cool and told everyone that there is no problem and that everybody should just forget about it.
Asswipe then decides to take a swing at me and I block it and calmly tell him to forget about the whole thing and move on. Now he’s really pissed because I made him look like my bitch in front of Cuntbag and his boyz, and decides that he wants to run his mouth at me. As a whole, the group was actually very reasonable. Like myself, they knew that if a fight broke out, it meant that none of us would ever be allowed to have season tickets again.
It took a while, but I convinced my group that we should just pack up our camp and take off. The traffic had cleared and if we stayed making Asswipe a permenant part of the asphalt in Parking Lot P2 was inevitable. Asswipe decided to get one last shot in and little leagued a hot dog at me…not even close. As Dawg and I pulled out of the parking lot, I had something that I needed to say.
“Hey, you’ve got to promise me one thing Dawg.” I said.
