Chicks, I’ll admit it. I found myself catching the vapors last night. And not just because Tom Brady looked like he might slit his wrist with a Gillette razor if a receiver dropped another pass. It was that fellow, nay, that warrior on the Jets sideline, distracting me in all his slimmer, yet still fleshy glory. It was that tan hunk of man known to the masses as Rex Ryan.
Who knew that underneath those hundreds of pounds of flesh and swagger, lie a pretty handsome dude? Sure he revealed his new figure months ago, but there was something about seeing him on the sidelines, full of rage and sadness that he coached the Jets, that got me all hot and bothered. Just look at him!
Almost makes me wish he had a weird tattoo of me in a Drew Brees jersey on his upper right thigh. (You know you want one, you sick, sexy bastard!) Had he walked to the opposing sideline and kicked that whining Tom Brady square in the sack, I swear I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.
Maybe his brother Rob will get the urge to shed the pounds, too. Nola Chick could use the extra eye-candy on Sundays.***
***Note: This post was written under the influence of a prescription drug cocktail.