As anyone who reads this blog knows, I love numbers. Random numbers. Stupid numbers.
LONDON - Every goose bump that February 3, 2002 raised on your arms, every hair that stood up on your neck, is still matched bump-for-bump, hair-for-hair by Tom Brady.
When the ball hit the ground, everything zoomed into focus. Suddenly, there were no more excuses. There was nothing left to say.
In the NFL, the line between victory and defeat is thinner than a goal post upright.