Tom Brady puzzled why Scottie Scheffler would prioritize family over golf career

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“For instance, I think part of being a great father is being a great example of doing what it takes to take care of your family. I chose to do it by playing football. My dedication to the sport, the hours of practice, the moments when I was laser focused—those were times when I believe I was doing the best possible thing for my family and my kids, by prioritizing my profession and teaching, by example, what it takes to be really good at your job, what it takes to follow through on commitments, what it takes to be a great teammate; and showing them, also by example, that work is a big part of all of our lives.”

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“Scottie said he’d rather be a better father and husband than a good golfer. And my question is: why are those mutually exclusive?”

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“The Comeback”

Tom Brady had never felt old before. Not really. Not in the way that word sat like a rusted nail in the bones of other men. But when he looked up at the scoreboard—Falcons 28, Patriots 3—he felt something closing in.

He wasn’t thinking about the clock or the defense or the improbable odds. He was thinking about his wife, and his kids, and the sound of their voices—so painfully distant, even with them just a few rows behind the bench.

The thought came like a whisper:
You could have it all. The win. The immortality. The story they’ll tell for a hundred years.
All it costs is them.

He didn’t know where the thought came from. Maybe it was just his mind cracking under the weight of defeat. Maybe it was something else, something colder and much older. But when the next snap came, his hands moved like they weren’t his own.

The comeback started small. A first down here. A touchdown there. But with each miracle drive, Brady felt it—a thread snapping between him and the people he loved.

Gisele smiled at him from the stands. Or at least, he thought she did. Her face seemed a little less clear, like a photograph smudged by fingers.
When he kissed his son after the game, would the boy still know him?

Every time the crowd roared, he felt his chest tighten with fear.
Every perfect pass meant something else slipping away.

The Patriots tied it. Then they won. The confetti rained down like the end of the world. He should have been happy. He should have been crying, screaming, laughing. But all he felt was dread, and all he saw was Gisele’s face turning slightly, like she didn’t recognize him.

The Years After

He won another Super Bowl. Then another. Then an MVP. Everyone called him the GOAT. Everyone told him he had more left in the tank than anyone had a right to.

But at home, there were long silences at the dinner table. He’d walk into a room and feel like a stranger in his own house. He could barely recall the last time he’d held his daughter and felt her warm little hand press against his cheek.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night convinced that tonight would be the night it happened. That he’d roll over and Gisele would be gone, the bed cold, the kids’ rooms empty, their voices erased.
Every day that they were still there felt borrowed.

Tampa

Leaving New England felt like stepping closer to the edge of the deal. Maybe Belichick was part of the curse. Maybe staying meant he’d lose them faster.

But he kept winning. He kept smiling for cameras, hoisting trophies, kissing his kids in public. Yet every kiss felt lighter, like there was less of them to hold onto.

During the boat parade in Tampa, as he tossed the Lombardi Trophy from one boat to another, he thought—is this the last time I see her smile at me like that? Is this where it all vanishes?
The joy of victory was poisoned. Every ring he added to his hand felt heavier.

The Final Season

By the time the divorce came, it felt almost merciful. She was still alive. The kids were still here. But it wasn’t the same. They looked at him like they were watching a man who’d already left this world.

He played on, thinking if he just stopped winning, maybe he could buy it back. Maybe the deal wasn’t permanent.

But one night, alone in a quiet stadium after a meaningless preseason game, he realized he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t playing for the team anymore. He was playing for the deal.
And it wasn’t done with him.

The End

He took a knee on the last snap of his career. No one was in the stands. No cameras, no coaches, just an empty stadium.

The air changed.
It was cold.
The lights flickered.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of the stadium, he heard footsteps—hoofbeats, slow and deliberate. He turned to see a figure standing at the edge of the field. No face. No eyes. Just something watching, waiting.

Tom dropped his helmet and stepped toward it.
“Is it over?” he asked, his voice trembling like a rookie again.

The figure didn’t answer. It only raised a hand and pointed upward.

Tom looked up. The roof split open, the sky wide and black, and a beam of light swallowed him. His last thought before it took him was of his kids' faces—clear and bright one final time—before the light erased everything.

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Brady is spot on. Great to see someone extolling the virtues of hard-work and commitment. This is the mindset that made America great.

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