How do you score an interview with America’s most popular fetus?
I spent about 15 minutes trying to figure out that question and then I decided to just call Bridget Moynahan. I told her my name was Pete Carroll and I had a very intriguing offer for Moynahan and her fetus. Within seconds, I was on speaker with the fetus.
“Carroll…again?” was the first thing I heard. Somehow I managed to answer in stride. Then again, it wasn’t too surprising that Pete Carroll was on the recruiting trail for Tom Brady’s kid. I asked if he received the gift basket that Joboo sent along (paid for by the campaign of The Champ for schoolboard). “Of course I did. Basket with a peach and a bottle of whiskey, right?”
That was not the basket. But, no matter. I told the young lad that it was, however only after I procured an answer from him that led me to believe he was enjoying the whiskey. Then, it was time to get down to this interview.
What kind of question do you open with to a fetus? Damn, man, it’s a shame Pennsylvania voted Rick Santorum out of the senate. Didn’t vote for him myself. Sorry, dog, hope you make it to see the light of day. Do you think Tom is a jerk for bailing on Bridget and heading into the throes of passion with a model 10 years younger? That’s not a good lead and frankly I’m thinking could make the fetus turtle up and not talk to me about the answers I needed to get. Should I call it IT? Or just assume that Brady would only have a male, quarterbacking child? I went with the assumption.
So, I went with how’s life. Simple, wanted it to be somewhat of an icebreaker type
“Banged Scarlett Johansson already, how the hell you think life is? Pretty crazy.”
Well, I certainly could not let jealousy consume this interview. So, I asked him about NBA All-Star weekend. It was a panicked question without much relevancy, sure, but I didn’t know where to go. Frankly, I should have prepared more for the interview. Done the homework, gone to a few entertainment blogs and readied myself for this, but I was cocky. How damn hard could it be to interview a fetus.
Luckily, he told me that he had been in Vegas for the All-Star break.
“Went to Vegas this weekend. Killed a stripper. Blamed it on Pacman Jones. And let me ask you this…mr reporter man…SOOOOOO WHAT?”
Uh, it’s murder and what not right?
“Who the hell cares? At the end of the day, who are you going to believe? Pacman Jones or a fetus? Let me answer…you sure as HELL are not believing that dude. Look at this goddamned smile…well…look at Tom’s and then picture me rolling with that same smile. Think I killed anyone? Hell no.”
Blackjack, did you play any blackjack while in Vegas?
Of course he did. Thankfully this interview was over the phone, otherwise I’d be picking my ego up off of the floor after being slapped by a fetus. Hell of a story, but a tad embarrassing.
“Ask me this mr reporter…did I hit on 17? Let me answer…you’re goddamned right I did. You know why? Tom Brady picked up the tab and I did not give a damn.”
He spent an hour relaying me tales of his gambling weekend in Vegas. The best story that he told was how it was HIS idea to have Gilbert Arenas do the trampoline dunk.
As the fetus explained it, he was half in the bag and just jawing on Gilbert and the other East stars for getting completely dismantled by the West. Then out come the trampolines. Out come the Elvis impersonators. Out comes Gilbert’s mouth, Brady’s fetus says, Gilbert is flapping his gums a mile a minute. Talking about how he can do this, how he can do that off of the trampoline. Flip? Let’s see it. Through the legs? Let’s see it.
“Basically, I called him on it. Thought he was bullshitting us. Turns out Gil has got the trampoline skills. I have to give it up to him.”
So with Gilbert running his mouth, the fetus said put up or shut up. Said he would donate money to Gilbert’s charity if Gil did a dunk off the charity because, really, he did not think he had it in him. Finally, 100k was bandied about as the dollar amount to get Gilbert to do the dunk. Needless to say, dunk was performed and the fetus is out a hundred grand.
“Like it matters,” he told me. “Cash that check Tom!”
Finally, we got down to business. His impending football career. Who was recruiting him already? Ron Zook, we were told was a major player.
“Yeah, Zook was in it, but then he started making a move on Bridget. You want Tom Brady-Moynahan playing for the Florida Gators, you damn sure better watch your hands around my mother. Especially when you like the goddamned rugby punt as much as he does.”
I was a bit confused about the Florida Gators line, but then everything about Zook’s top Illinois recruiting class fell into place.
“Hell, I ain’t even playing football…the hell you think I can even play football for?”
Well, it’s just expected…look at the children of Phil Simms…why would Tom Brady father a child that would not wind up quarterbacking? It’s just the way these things work, pal. Better get used to it. Because from this day forward, you’re a quarterback and if you don’t live up to what your father accomplished with all those playoff wins and what not, well, you’re a failure. Sad realities, but get used to it.
“You’re not a sportsblog…are you?” he asked. I started to answer and did the whole pretend the phone call was breaking up thing and he just went back to rambling. “Because the last thing I want is to have it get out that I’m not playing no damn football. Do NOT let them SEC folks know that. The money they are sending is awesome. I just adopted a goddamned shark with that money. Like I need that shark. Spending money just to spend it, baby. I got duckets rolling in from Tom for 18 years.”
And damn, that was true. This kid did have money rolling in from Tom for 18 years. No worries, you know? So I said the hell with it and asked the hard hitting questions…when you going to have your first stint in rehab? Coked out of your mind and complaining about how your superstar father loves Charlie Weis more than he loves you. Whining about how he is never there for you and you replace him in your life with heroine in your veins. When will the first day come where you ask the world to take pity on you and your troubled story of moving from an amazing apartment in Manhattan to some huge home in San Diego or where the hell ever.
He was honest, he told me before his 13th birthday. And I believed him. And I felt a little sorry for him. Lucky little unfortunate fetus.
Either way, I just drafted him in NFL and NBA fantasy leagues.