My equilbrium was shook to death when Bernard Pollard viciously attacked Brady's knee this past Sunday. I felt like an Etch-a-Sketch in Muhammad Ali's hands. I grew woozy when Brady hobbled off and the minutes creeped by, closing the window of hope. Sammy Morris was getting touch after touch, so I decided Maroney must be making the ultimate sacrifice and force feeding his adrenal gland to Brady in the locker room. This was the Patriots dynasty here, hanging in the balance. It's important to note that Brady is truly the next step in the evolutionary chart. I was under the impression that he can't be touched by mere mortals. At the very least, Brady was going to be coming down that tunnel eating a human arm, waving to the fans with it. I waited and waited but he remained absent. It was like when The Little Rascals prized go-cart "The Blur" was stolen by local neighborhood bullies Butch and Woim. The soap box derby race or "Superbowl" seemed to be all but over. Bernard Pollard stole our Blur. Anyone that knows anything knows that those little rascals built a rag-tag replacement, and even though it wasn't as pretty as it was before, they beat those bullies anyway. If there's one person that can build a Blur 2 in Matt Cassel and win this race it's Bill Belichick. It's just not going to be as smooth of a ride.
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