I'll Miss You Pal

Sometimes, I surprise myself.

As a society, we probably always surprise ourselves. People are probably surprised that they like a certain movie, song, or book. I remember my friend Shaun was surprised when he liked Collective Soul's "Heaven Let Your Light Shine Down." As a classic rock freak (it surprises me we are good friends), he heard the song on the radio when it was brand new and he figured it was some tune from the early 70s. When he found out that it was from the then present day of 1994, he surprised himself by liking it. Molly and Mike do this with movies all the time. In particular, they do it with movies I have seen and liked. They assume they will NOT like it (or maybe they don't want to like it) because I liked it so much, but then they do. You can all probably think of a 1001 examples of something you thought you wouldn't like and then did.

But has the opposite ever happened?

Have you ever HATED something so much, wished for its' demise so strongly, rooted so hard AGAINST said thing, wanted something so terrible to happen to someone? Have you wanted their careers, lives, 15 minutes of fame, and general being to get blowed up? What am I saying? Of course you have. In fact, a few of you who read this probably root against me.

Now, I- being one of the angrier people in the land- probably wish this a little more often than most of you. Over the years I have wished awful things to happen to Dane Cook, Zach Braff, Fred Durst, George W. Bush, Pacino and De Niro, Curt Schilling, Trot Nixon, Troy Aikman, Donald Rumsfeld, and Roger Clemens.

Needless to say, be it a bum shoulder, the horrific buzz of Righteous Kill, a resignation, a string of straight to DVD movies, a 29% approval rating, the end of a musical genre, a .220 batting average with 7000 men left on base, or a "misremembering," I have pretty much got what I wanted in each and every case.

And strangley, when bad karma eventually strikes these cretins, I feel extremely... Unfulfilled.

I'm not sure what type of person this makes me. Maybe it makes me an idiot for caring/hating/expending so much energy on people that will- eventually- lose their spot in peoples hearts. Maybe it makes me an overly angry person. Maybe it makes me a person who should hate less. Maybe it makes me a hypocrite. Maybe it makes me a person who lacks passion. I'd like to think it makes me this really, great, forgiving guy. But we all know that is pretty unlikely.

What I do know is that, in my old age, I'm hating a lot less these days. How do I know this? Why, because in all honesty, Tom Brady out for the year actually makes me feel a bit badly for him. Really, I should be reveling in the glory of a lost season for the Patsies. But I'm not. And there's a very specific reason for this.

Remember in Swingers (I know Molly and Matt, it looks old and boy is that fashion dated) when Mikey's friend Rob was describing the loss of an ex? He said this...

"You know how it is, man. It's like... You wake up every day, it hurts a little bit less, then you wake up one day and it doesn't hurt at all. And the funny thing is... This is kinda weird, but it's like... You almost miss that pain, for the same reason that you miss her. Because you... you lived with it for so long."

Well, I'll miss the pain. I'll miss the pain of hating Tom Brady.

Just like I miss the pain of hating Curt Schilling. I mean, Schilling is now just a fat, old guy with a blog and a mullet (did I just describe me?). Granted, he's a rich fat, old guy with a blog and a mullet. But all in all, he's just really... A regular old dude. Like the ones who work at Fidelity or ride in the elevator next to you. And unless said guy has committed some horrible fashion crime like wearing pleated pants, what is their to hate about a regular old dude?

And for the next five, horrific months that are football season, Tom Brady will just be a regular old dude. Well, as regular as an Esquire cover boy, super model dating, perfectly dressed, multi city condo owning, rich prick (ah, the hate is not ALL gone) can be.

But seriously, for the next year, he won't be the record breaking, super bowl MVP, guy whose life I'm totally jealous off, dude that I'm used to him being. He'll be invisible. He'll be invisible as... Curt Schilling. And, with the exception of his stupid Manny comments, when was the last time you hated Mr. 38pitches? And in his invisibility, he won't be hateable at all because he'll just be a really dreamy dude, wearing perfect suits, hanging out in SoHo and slaying the world's hottest girl (why do I hate him again?).

And who- other than really jealous dudes not comfortable with their own sexuality- hates that dude?

This whole "knee injury" (Shaugnessey's line about what the Pats would call a quadruple bypass surgery was awesome) should make me happy. But it doesn't. Because I'll miss the pain. I'll miss the pain that Tommy Boy has caused me.

In the end, the injury still makes me happy, but not because it happened to Tommy Boy. It makes me happy because now maybe the Patriots will suck and everyone will see that Belichick is the worthless douche that he really is (although WEEi's foursome of Big O, DeOssie, Fred, and Pete tell me he is the second coming of Gandhi). It makes really happy because the goons that are Patriot Nation are in full melt down mode. And then it makes me really, REALLY happy because now maybe people will see- as the Patriots muddle through 14-10 games against The Dolphins- that the NFL really IS garbage and that the only thing that saves it are Fantasy Leagues and gambling.

But strangely, I'll miss Tommy Boy. I'll miss peeking at the Sportscenter Ticker to stew at his 31-40 for 346 yards and four touchdowns line. I'll miss hating how goddamn good he looks in a simple zip up hoodie at his post game press conferences. I'll miss envying his pocket squares and perfect coiffe as he strolls off the bus for a road game. I'll miss wanting to punch him right in the stupid chin dimple when I see him show up with Gisele at some black tie gala.

So healy quickly Tommy. I need you. I'm a shell of a man without my ire and you have brought me so much over the years.

Come back soon, Bud. Until then, have fun in SoHo.