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Where is Tom Brady’s Jersey?
The world watches and waits in silence, and on everyone’s lips is this question - where is Tom Brady’s jersey? The Pope leads prayers for it as America’s version of the Shroud of Turin. The Queen has put James Bond on the case. French Prime Minister Francois Hollande and his cabinet are in secret session behind closed doors at the Moulin Rouge. Russian President Vladimir Putin has taken off his own shirt in a show of solidarity and geriatric pecs. President Trump said the jersey can stay if it has a current visa or if it bears his daughter Ivanka’s made-in-China designer label. Prime Minister Trudeau has promised it sanctuary in Canada. Texas Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick, impatient with the Texas Rangers, has ordered the Texas Navy to set every Lake Travis party boat asail, manned with the fierce, seafaring warriors of the University of Texas Glee Club.
The United Nations has established a Where is Tom Brady’s Jersey Central Clearing House Command, and on those rare occasions when the UN is not clearing house with taxpayers’ dollars has established this pattern of reports about the possible locations of the jersey:
Riding in the white Bronco with O.J.
Sipping margaritas with Elvis on the beach in Cancun.
Hiding in a Where’s Waldo? picture.
Trying to escape to Canada in a false beard.
Still in the TSA security line at Newark International Airport.
Got beaten up by Charles Oakley and is in hospital.
Is on a secret mission for the C.I.A.
Eloped with an Atlanta Falcons jersey.
Is undergoing a trans-something surgical change and will soon appear on an Oprah special as a Yosemite Sam tee-shirt.
Standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, asking people if they are saved.
Is being held ransom in a Nordstrom’s window for the thoughtcrime of Trump-by-association.
Is trying to slip through Gestapo and Milice roadblocks with Errol Flynn and Ronald Reagan in order to contact the French Resistance and escape back to its RAF squadron laundry in England.
Is seeking enlightenment with the Dalai Lama and Franklin Graham.
Is doing therapy after spitting into a DNA cup and learning that its fibers are not 100% cotton.
Elizabeth Warren is reading it aloud in a bold demonstration of defiance, speaking power to truth, and, like, stuff.
Has found a new career as Kim Jong-Il’s cute nightshirt.
Slipped out for a celebratory glass of champagne at the Lone Star Grill, and was mistaken for a bar towel. When last seen it was draped around a keg of light beer. Not pretty.
Is swimming to Cuba.
And so, citizens of the world, keep your eyes open. Watch the skies. A jersey is a terrible thing to waste. Let us stand as one, hold hands, share a Coca-Cola, begin a dialogue, establish a makeshift shrine, think outside the bag, reinvent the wheel, cut to the chase, throw despair under the bus and caution to the wind, seek the light at the end of the tunnel, write a mission statement, connect the dots, stand and deliver, shift the paradigm, generate a win-win situation, transform society, reach the youth where they are, make a difference, give 1001 percent, if you love something set it free, livestream the roses, embrace spare change, avoid in-between-meal snacks, embrace your inner sophomore, and give it up for the safe return of Tom Brady’s shirt.
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