The Barrister
I still can't really fathom why anyone would think it a good idea to listen to anything I think or say or write ever, much less think it has any redeeming qualities, nor want to give me a platform to signal boost the things I think and say out to a broader audience - for instance, everyone who listens to the Howard Simon Show on WGR550. BUT PEOPLE DO AND I AM AN EXPERT HUMBLEBRAGGER AS WELL AS LEGAL THINKER ta-daaaaaaaaaaa. Here we are.
Yesterday, Tom Brady's suspension was upheld by the hearing officer that heard his appeal under Article 46, Section 2 of the NFL/NFLPA Collective Bargaining Agreement, the document that generally defines the exclusive process by which a player may substantively appeal discipline assessed by the league. The hearing officer, as is obvious from everything you've already seen on the webs, was Commissioner Roger Goodell, esteemed douchebag and villain of any and all things. A man so entirely deplorable that a part of me wanted Donald Trump to buy the Bills - I KNOW! A means to an end, solely - so he could start throwing non-stop, outrageous, totally offensive and gratifying shade at Goodell's smug fucking face and give us Bills fans something to cheer for past Week 6, picking up the slack since we don't write here much anymore and thus aren't throwing as much of that shade as we ought. Goodell served as hearing officer, in his discretion, through the authority to do so under the CBA.
What was more awesome about what went down yesterday was that we learned Tom Brady, after having notice of the NFL's desire to inspect his cell phone and/or certain contents of the phone to the extent they were related to the NFL's request for communications concerning ball pressure and the like, destroyed his phone. Like, either the day he was interviewed by Ted Wells or the day before. I mean, Tom didn't actually do it. He had an assistant carry out his bidding as millionaires are want to do. He said he always destroyed his phones when he got a new one, which was pretty often because reasons and also the reality of his relationship with consumer goods closely resembling my relationship with hamburgers - the faster you blow through one, the faster you can feel good about getting a new one.
Except, nope. The phone BEFORE this one that he destroyed in March? He didn't destroy that. Because, errrr, shut up, Richard. I mean, he's totes being honest, guys, I mean look at his smile and his spiral and that wife. She is pretty and stuff.
No one is disputing that this is what went down. No one.
The NFL thought it mighty suspicious of him to destroy the phone on the day of the Wells interview, and then to come up with an excuse belied by the fact that he clearly didn't always destroy his phones, not always. Of course, when the NFL found it suspicious, I mean Goodell, a guy who couldn't love Brady more even if Tommy was made exclusively of the tears of Junior Seau's family. A guy who couldn't love the owner of Brady's football club more even if Robert Kraft was made exclusively of the kinetic energy created by the sanctimony of billionaires chastising what grown men do in between seasons of consistent head traumas. What I'm saying is that Goodell loves Junior Seau's family's tears and he LOVES billionaire sanctimony, but he loves Brady and Kraft more. These guys are bae, or something.
Dammit. I'm so white.
Anyway, this happened, an internet full of hot takes arose, and I couldn't help but enter the mix. I have a problem with entering the mix and not, you know, refraining. I also know a little something about something, certainly more than I can learn from a Jay Z song - though that didn't stop me from paraphrasing '99 Problems' on the NY Bar Exam's essay section - so I tweeted a bunch, like self-important members of the Buffalo Bloggerati are want to do. I hit some nerves, some people DM'd me calling me a fag (true story, there was one guy), and some people liked it. I don't get it either. My twitter feed is here. Some of the good bits are below.
I still can't really fathom why anyone would think it a good idea to listen to anything I think or say or write ever, much less think it has any redeeming qualities, nor want to give me a platform to signal boost the things I think and say out to a broader audience - for instance, everyone who listens to the Howard Simon Show on WGR550. BUT PEOPLE DO AND I AM AN EXPERT HUMBLEBRAGGER AS WELL AS LEGAL THINKER ta-daaaaaaaaaaa. Here we are.
Yesterday, Tom Brady's suspension was upheld by the hearing officer that heard his appeal under Article 46, Section 2 of the NFL/NFLPA Collective Bargaining Agreement, the document that generally defines the exclusive process by which a player may substantively appeal discipline assessed by the league. The hearing officer, as is obvious from everything you've already seen on the webs, was Commissioner Roger Goodell, esteemed douchebag and villain of any and all things. A man so entirely deplorable that a part of me wanted Donald Trump to buy the Bills - I KNOW! A means to an end, solely - so he could start throwing non-stop, outrageous, totally offensive and gratifying shade at Goodell's smug fucking face and give us Bills fans something to cheer for past Week 6, picking up the slack since we don't write here much anymore and thus aren't throwing as much of that shade as we ought. Goodell served as hearing officer, in his discretion, through the authority to do so under the CBA.
What was more awesome about what went down yesterday was that we learned Tom Brady, after having notice of the NFL's desire to inspect his cell phone and/or certain contents of the phone to the extent they were related to the NFL's request for communications concerning ball pressure and the like, destroyed his phone. Like, either the day he was interviewed by Ted Wells or the day before. I mean, Tom didn't actually do it. He had an assistant carry out his bidding as millionaires are want to do. He said he always destroyed his phones when he got a new one, which was pretty often because reasons and also the reality of his relationship with consumer goods closely resembling my relationship with hamburgers - the faster you blow through one, the faster you can feel good about getting a new one.
Except, nope. The phone BEFORE this one that he destroyed in March? He didn't destroy that. Because, errrr, shut up, Richard. I mean, he's totes being honest, guys, I mean look at his smile and his spiral and that wife. She is pretty and stuff.
No one is disputing that this is what went down. No one.
The NFL thought it mighty suspicious of him to destroy the phone on the day of the Wells interview, and then to come up with an excuse belied by the fact that he clearly didn't always destroy his phones, not always. Of course, when the NFL found it suspicious, I mean Goodell, a guy who couldn't love Brady more even if Tommy was made exclusively of the tears of Junior Seau's family. A guy who couldn't love the owner of Brady's football club more even if Robert Kraft was made exclusively of the kinetic energy created by the sanctimony of billionaires chastising what grown men do in between seasons of consistent head traumas. What I'm saying is that Goodell loves Junior Seau's family's tears and he LOVES billionaire sanctimony, but he loves Brady and Kraft more. These guys are bae, or something.
Dammit. I'm so white.
Anyway, this happened, an internet full of hot takes arose, and I couldn't help but enter the mix. I have a problem with entering the mix and not, you know, refraining. I also know a little something about something, certainly more than I can learn from a Jay Z song - though that didn't stop me from paraphrasing '99 Problems' on the NY Bar Exam's essay section - so I tweeted a bunch, like self-important members of the Buffalo Bloggerati are want to do. I hit some nerves, some people DM'd me calling me a fag (true story, there was one guy), and some people liked it. I don't get it either. My twitter feed is here. Some of the good bits are below.
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