Epic Carnival: FROM THE GREAT WHITE NORTH: REAL-LIFE CUSH LASH

Friday, February 1, 2008

FROM THE GREAT WHITE NORTH: REAL-LIFE CUSH LASH

by E. Spencer Kyte, Bugs and Cranks

Remember in Jerry Maguire when, the night before draft, prized prospect and first overall lock Frank Cushman responded to his little brother pointing out yet picture of Cush on the big screen in Times Square that he was suffering from "Cush-lash" and all he wanted to do was play football? You remember that right? Cush was The Fat Kid from Stand By Me? The lucky prick who is now somehow married to Rebecca Romijn?

Well, it's just shy of 60 hours until kickoff and I'm here to tell you I've got Cush Lash courtesy of Tom Brady. I suppose the more correct statement is that I have Brady-lash courtesy of the media, but either way, you must know what I mean.

Everywhere I turn, they're talking Tommy Boy. In fact, they've been talking Tommy Boy all season long, but that was fine, as there were a bunch of other stories besides Tom Brady. Now that we're down to the last two teams and Tommy Boy is the poster child for the favourites (if not the whole league), it's Non-Stop Tom Tom and I think I'm going to be sick.

I'm convinced that in the next couple of days leading up to kickoff, at one point I'll be sitting watching something on TSN and it'll be interrupted for a Special Report that tells me Tom Brady has a 1/8 inch hangnail on the pinky finger of his non-throwing hand. Then, 47 talking head will begin to dissect what this means for the Patriots and their chances on Sunday.

It's like this past summer when a shot of Brady was snapped with him sporting a Yankees cap. The whole of the Greater New England Area went absolutely batshit crazy that their beloved Tommy would wear anything but a Sox hat...

And if All Tom, All The Time hasn't been a crappy enough display by the MSM, don't forget about the furor raised when Plaxico Burress stated that he thought his team would win. Imagine, a guy believing in himself and his teammates. The real story would have been if someone asked Plaxico what he thought the final score would be and he said "47-24 Patriots."

Thankfully, I live in the frozen white northern wasteland known as Canada, which means that my sports channels have hockey to obsess over right now, so my Tom-lash has a good chance of easing a little bit over the next couple of days. Sure, it'll flare up on Sunday, but after that, I've got a solid six months to kick back and only hear about him once every couple of weeks, like the next time he knocks up one mega-hottie but decides to leave her for an uber-hottie instead...

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