Tom Brady is the strongest man that ever lived.
He’s clever too.
Look at those sharp eyes, shining diadems upon a high cheek dobbed in black. The luster of his smoulder, slickened by the sweat of other men, emboldens the eye of the watcher. He inspires in a glance. His teammates move with him, organs, extensions of his will and love.
I love Tom Brady. I love his form. I love his mind. He is a man that lives for what he does. We aspire for the same, but hope is not the distillation of Brady’s life. He is a crystal of victory, a diamond that drives the point into the rock and shatters it. All that lives and breaths bends toward his star. He drives, hands before and aft as he wills the earth beneath him. How can a wrist so twisted with muscle perform such supple machinations? We cannot experience these things. We cannot know victory as Tom does.
Tom Brady is the heart that beats at the center of the United States of America. The dream is his, as is the family. When he stands upon the stage of victory, the wife and children are never far from his thoughts. They are often with him as he accepts the fruits of his work. Those lips, still wet from the battle cries of the open fields, do not stray far from his son’s. A man that is not afraid to kiss his aging children is a man that must be respected. Not only is he a paragon of the physical; Tom Brady is a man of value, of heritage. The adoring eyes of his wife would inspire envy if they did not already fill the soul with a longing for the more noble standard of manhood established by the king himself.
If victory were a sash worn upon the shoulder, Tom Brady would appear to us as an angel. His shining aura blinds as it illuminates. His opponents slide from his armor like slugs. The unrighteous are repelled by his visage while the feeble find in his gaze the will to move mountains. Blessed. Divine.
Once, when I was too young to understand the intricate dance of Football, a vision came to me. My spirit was whisked into the firmament where I was greeted by Tom Brady himself. He said, “Do not be afraid,” and told of me the truth that lies at the heart of universe. Clothed in robes of white and shining like an eagle, the impression of his honed musculature could be made out among the folds. His arms, gentle but infinitely capable, enfolded and warmed me, and I glanced openly at the fine, jet-fighter pectorals. Where his sturdy hips met, the outline of a turgid force made itself apparent, and I blushed. Tom Brady was unshaken by my stare, and he held me closer.
“Understand, son, that you do not move about the world. This Earth is but a canvas upon which the tread of your heels work to mold fissures of time and energy.”
I did not fully comprehend Brady’s words then, but he reassured me that all would be clear in time. All I had to do was believe in my self and promote the best in those around me.
The vision slipped away all too soon. My spirit returned to Earth long before my mind remembered its true state, and when my eyes finally fluttered open, the light of the dawn star was already flowing through the cracks in my shades.
Civilization will not forget Tom Brady. The Earth will not forget Tom Brady. We can only hope to attain even a fraction of his power in our short lives. God bless him and his children.
