This is my dream. This is my prayer.
Late next week we learn that the reason there has been such an extensive investigation is because the balls were planted in a hair-brained scheme concocted by a drug-addled Jim Irsay after a long weekend chasing the dragon with a Vietnamese prostitute. Brady and Belichick are completely exonerated but are radio silent leading up to the game, trying to regain their focus during the media firestorm. The NFL enjoys a publicity arc the WWE had only in its wildest dreams. Commercial rates for the Super Bowl approach $10 million per 30 seconds. The high point of the pregame broadcast comes when 150 reporters cram into a 20 by 20 room to witness the pregame ball testing with experts to comment on the scuffing and wear of the balls and speculating about the rituals that quarterbacks go through to prepare these sacred game balls. There is Brady worship enough to make the longtime Pats fan wince; Gruden may have to change his trousers; every time Collinsworth calls Brady "a class act" you have to take a drink. During the game, the Patriots roll out completely new looks; I'm thinking a hybrid wildcat with Edelman and Blount in the backfield with Brady. Gronk used primarily in a decoy/enforcer role to contain Chancellor and Thomas while Wright and Lafell own the flats. We have not seen the last Nate Solder touchdown. On defense: Collins, Hightower, Jones and Nink shut down the read option like mind-readers. Branch, Siliga and Vince meld to become an impenetrable wall of meat for Lynch to grind against. Pats win by 28 going away. After the game, amidst all the confetti and hoopla, the Patriots make no comments, walk off the field and deny media contact, requesting the trophy be mailed to them at Patriots Place. Robert Kraft stands alone on the podium with his good buddy Roger Goodell.
Please Lord, if you are a just and loving God, make it so.
