TAMPA, Fla. – Before we realize what just happened, then pinch ourselves for the hundredth time. But Tom Brady and the Bucs, in his first shot out of the box, are going home to Super Bowl LV.
They can carpool if they want. Nearly complete is a journey that has emphatically returned the Bucs to greatness behind their forever lion-hearted quarterback.
Yes, it really happened.
You know when we knew it? It wasn’t when the final score read 31-26 at Lambeau Field and Aaron Rodgers (you know, the other quarterback) and the top-seeded but gutless (a field goal?)
Green Bay Packers became more roadkill for this Bucs hell-frozen-over tour. It wasn’t when Bruce Arians himself said to hell with punting and Brady hit Scotty Miller for that miracle touchdown just before halftime, though that came close.
It wasn’t when Arians stood on the field, even before he knew next up was Patrick Mahomes and the defending Super Bowl champion Chiefs, and said, “We’re coming home and we’re coming home to win!”
You know when we knew what it meant, to the Bucs, the everyone in Tampa Bay?
It was when Brady searched for and found his oldest son, 13-year-old Jack, in the stands. He walked over to the rail and asked security if Jack could come down. They met at the railing. Brady climbed up and hugged his boy.
“Love you, kiddo,” he said. “How ‘bout that?”
Soon, Brady the deliverer would be back to his normal self, talking about teamwork and process and getting good prep work in, all we’ve come to expect from him, our untouchable, distant star in the sky.
“Bring some other people up!” he demanded of TV lingered on him on the stage after the Bucs had been presented with the Halas Trophy as NFC champions, about the only prize that had eluded Brady in his 21- year career.
But it was that scene at the rail, a father and son, that brought it home. Because that’s what sports teams can do to cities. They fill it with child-like wonder. Fathers hug sone. Mothers his daughters. Families hug families. They set off fireworks ibn my neighborhood. That’s what happens. We all become family, the Bucs distant relatives.
How ‘bout that?
Never has sports seemed to have mattered more than now, during this COVID age. But this is the best of our sports triumvirate.
Remember, the Lightning won the Stanley Cup, but far from home, in the Canada bubble. The Rays made it to the World Series, but in the Texas bubble.
But this is the best. The Bucs have always been Tampa Bay’s team, pure and simple.
Never mind that they have been derelict in their duty since winning the Bowl in 2002, or downright criminal in their neglect since last making the playoffs in 2007. It has been 13 long seasons.
Also never mind that, when you come down to it, they have essentially purchased a ticket into the big game, with Brady’s two years, 25 million per. Go Bucks.
Do any of you care right about now?
It’s about Brady’s touchdown passes, and Shaq Barrett’s defensive MVP throwback game, and JP-P, and Jordan Whitehead’s forced fumbles, and Sean Murphy-Bunting’s picks, and B.A. daring, and GM Jason Licht, from dead man walking to a master rebuilder, to that offensive line, to a team that has won seven in a row since it was 7-5, its last loss coming in late November against … the Chiefs. From there to here.
Tom Brady and the Bucs are in the Super Bowl. And so are his distant relatives. That means you, folks.
There’s no place like home.
How ‘bout that?