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TOM BRADY SHOULD
HAVE TALKED TO ME |
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It's hard enough to say it, and even harder to see it in
writing. But yes, I turned 70 last week.
70? Old people are 70. I couldn't possibly be that old. The
best line I heard about turning 70 is that if 60 is the new 40, then 70 is
the new WHAT THE F***!!!"
That's exactly how I feel. It's so weird to be 70 years old.
How did that happen? I vividly remember my 40th birthday, and it wasn't
long ago. But then again, two of my four children are now in their early
40's. Yikes!!
Oh, well. I decided I was going to enter my 70's with a bang,
not a whimper. I wanted a party---a big party. I figured it was pretty
likely I'd miss my funeral, so why not see all your friends and family in
one place before it's too late?
Made sense to me. But I also didn't want people thinking they
had to say nice things about me, like I hope they would do at my funeral.
Since I'd still be alive, I decided I wanted a roast.
My wife and I sent out a Save the Date months ago and then
invitations followed, announcing the party and the roast. In the meantime,
Tom Brady got roasted on Netflix.
If you haven't seen it, don't. It was extremely uncomfortable
to watch. A few funny lines by some professional comedians, but
disgustingly brutal. Brady apparently got paid $30 million to be the butt
of jokes, and afterwards he said he made a big mistake by agreeing to do
it.
I wasn't getting $30 million. In fact, I was paying for
everyone's drinks and dinner. What's wrong with that picture?
But it was my idea, and the invitations were out, so I
couldn't back out. The only decisions left to be made were to decide who
would get to be my roasters. There was a long line of applicants eager to
trash me.
"Do you think I should go first or last?" asked my
wife when I told her I wanted a roast.
"I may be stupid, but I'm not that stupid," I
replied. "Spouses are ineligible. I can take it from absolutely
anyone except you."
"But I know you better than anyone," she
whined. "What about all the material I've compiled over the
years? What a waste!"
"I guarantee you it would not go well. You can welcome
everyone and then sit down and nod knowingly as I get beat up on. That's
all I can handle."
She grudgingly agreed. I then hand-picked a few friends,
along with my sons, my daughters and my son-in-laws to have the privilege
of roasting me. I gave them a time limit (generally ignored) and only one
other instruction, inspired by Tom Brady.
"You have to say at least one nice thing about me,"
I told them all.
The party and roast was last Saturday night. My daughters
cited numerous examples of my sexism, my sons detailed how I ruined their
high school athletic careers with my coaching and persistent presence, my
friends gave examples of me cheating at golf, lousy writing, broken-down
body, feeble mind, and numerous other failings. It was pretty funny.
However, as they were instructed, they all ended with
something nice to say, which prompted me to give them all a big hug. Tom
Brady should have been so wise.
Even better, I got the last word. After the last roaster was
finished, I stood up and gave my prepared remarks. I trashed each and
every one of them with a quick retort. And I had no obligation to say one
nice thing.
I spared my kids, though. I didn't want to give them anything
to talk about in case they ever went into therapy.
Friends and son-in-laws were fair game, however.
Especially son-in-laws. I happily told them that I would try and stop
calling my mediocre shots on the golf course a "son-in-law
shot."
"You know, not what I had in mind, but good
enough."
Just like me, they took it well. None of us got paid $30
million, but it was still a good night. My 70's were off to a good start. |
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