Farewell, Tom
Okay… I think I’m ready to write about him now. I’ve come to terms with things as they are and have stopped longing for more. I’m ready to move on.
But before I do, let me just share with you about the events of this past weekend, so you’ll understand how I’ve come to this place.
It started on Thursday. There was a little episode involving me, a nurse, a needle, and an armchair. I had to have some blood tested because we’re changing our life insurance. And the experience went a little something like this:
I fast for four hours before blood is to be taken. Nurse comes to the house to collect. I feel… a little nervous. Nurse makes pleasant conversation while poking needle into my arm. I break into a cold sweat—and 
my world starts getting small. Nurse notices blood draining from my face. I am directed to the aforementioned armchair. Nurse tells me to “Fight through it.” I request juice, knowing it will help me “fight.” Nurse refuses juice. I think unkind thoughts about the nurse. Nurse acquiesces to my second request for juice. My blood pressure finally starts climbing again after the juice works it’s magic.
Now those of you who read my “Quirked” post are laughing right now because you know how proud I was of overcoming this kind of reaction. But in my defense, I did have to fast before this bloodletting—and being able to eat and drink before the procedure is a key part of my survival strategy.
So why do I share this embarrassing experience? Well, let’s take a little rabbit trail to a kid named Alden.
Alden is a member of our church youth group. And I got to know him well during our summer trip to Colorado Challenge. Now I like Alden, I really do: I think God could do some cool things with this kid. But here’s the thing: He taunts me. He calls me old. He’s given me the nickname “Grandma.” And so, for obvious reasons, I have a score to settle.
(Incidentally, Alden hates it when I mention him on this blog. So…if you will look to your right, you will see that I have given him his very own category here. Sorry Alden. Payback. What can I say?)
With that as background, you will understand why I decided to play Fantasy Football this year. (That’s right, just take a minute to pick yourself off the floor and wipe the shock off your face.) As many of you know, I’m not exactly a football guru. I hear “safety” and I think of child-proofing the house. A “sack” is something I throw groceries into. Football has never made it to the inner circle of things I actually care about.
But when some of my fellow youth group leaders approached me about this year’s Fantasy Football League, they found my weak spot. They were looking for extra players and jokingly invited me to play. But the joking became serious when one of them said, “It could be a chance to beat Alden.” That got my attention: A wicked gleam sparked in my eye and I never looked back.
And that’s how I found myself sitting around the kitchen table last week with a group of youth group guys, drafting my first Fantasy Football team. Now you need to understand: I may have only a rudimentary understanding of the game. And I know next to nothing about any NFL players. (Did you know Joe Montana doesn’t even play anymore?) But I am in this league to win. I will not be the girl who’s an easy win for the other teams.
So I did a little research. I watched a pre-season game or two. I had Brian pause the TiVo and point out the various positions on the field. (Incidentally, I still don’t understand what the heck a tight end does.) I’m serious, folks. I knew all those hours honing my research skills at the Calvin library would pay off some day.
And that’s why, come draft time, I knew who to pick. With the top running backs already taken, I used my first round pick to snag the prize quarterback. “I’m taking Tom Brady,” I said with confidence. (And some of you already know this is going to turn into a tear-jerker.)
Well, the draft was actually more fun than I expected. And guess who’s team put the first fantasy points on her league’s board when the games began? Mine! I was off to the races… Ready to conquer the Fantasy Football world.
Until Sunday afternoon. (Que dramatic music here.) When I sat down to watch some football with Brian. My running back, Michael Turner, was off to an explosive start, and I felt some strange feelings as I watched the game: Feelings of . . . dare I say it? . . . enjoyment, interest. This Fantasy Football thing was transforming my view of the game—knocking down the impenetrable walls that had stifled my inner football fanfor so many years.
And just as I began to delight in this newfound football experience, the announcer casually mentioned the “Tom Brady” injury. There would be “more news at halftime,” and “it was such a shame to see this all-star quarterback taken out in just the first quarter of the game.” (Dramatic music swells.)
What? My quarterback? Injured? How could it be? As the games continued and the news began to creep out, the prognosis looked grim: It could be a torn ACL. Possibly a season-ending injury.
I went to church on Sunday night with a heavy heart. The gray skies fit my solemn mood as I checked ESPN for news of Brady’s injury the following Monday afternoon. A press conference at 3 pm revealed the results of his MRI: He will need knee surgery. His season is over. (Dramatic music fades to the sound of weeping and gnashing of teeth.)
And this brings us back around to my experience with the nurse. Because that feeling I had while she took my blood—the world fading into black as I broke into a cold sweat and had to lie down? That’s kind of what it felt like to lose Tom Brady. And the nurses words, “Fight through it” have become an echo through my pain.
So now I stand here. The sweet promises of Tom Brady have become nothing more than a dream. And I am ready to let him go. Farewell, Tom. Our time together was too short, and our glory too small. But I must bid you adieu.
(Que the theme from “Rocky” here.)
But I will not give up. I will not let this beat me down. I will move forward. To fight. To win another day.
Editor’s Note: If you are a member of the 2008 EDGE Fantasy Football League, you are not allowed to make any more snide comments about my quarterback. He is no longer “mine.” I have dropped him to waivers. It is officially over between us.