"So, how are the kids?" Tom asked Peyton, awkwardly clearing his throat. To say he was surprised was... an understatement.
"You know I'm not here to talk Fisher Price."
"So...what are you here to talk about?"
"I'm your new coach," Peyton declared.
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Tom is at the practice field at his normal time. His new "coach" is standing at the 45 line.
"I've been waiting here for 15 minutes," Peyton dryly says, looking expectantly at Tom. "Drop and give me 50."
"No, I'm drinking my latte."
"Your what?"
"Latte," Tom snapped.
"What the hell is in that concoction? Vanilla? Soy?" Peyton snarked.
Tom's ear turned pink. "You know what? I don't need this. I'm the best quarterback playing on the best team in the NFL."
"Please," Peyton scoffed.
"So what? I'm not good? Mr. Forehead?"
Peyton rolled his eyes. "Of course you're good. But without me, you'll never be better."
Tom stared at the ground before slapping the latte into Peyton's hands and dropping to ground for his push-ups.
Peyton took a long sip of the latte. He liked it.
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As a way to "perk up" the Patriots, the coach made them send each other valentines. Usually they were terrible. Like a card with a picture of a squirrel saying "you're my nut" and a penis drawn on the back. Because, you know, they're football players. If they don't draw dicks on valentine cards and don't catch 40 yard passes, they aren't football players. Tom wasn't expecting anything. Maybe a sticky note that said "catch my balls" with a heart on the side. He wasn't expecting to get caramel and an actual card. He opened it slowly. In smooth handwriting it said "the word of the day is billet doux. Look it up"
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Tom looked around the locker room. Amendola was slapping everyone's asses as he went around handing out his cards.
join us next time for the next thrilling installment.
