God Damn It Person of the Day - Me for not responding faster to Nick Mangold

You see what happened there?  This guy @NewFunPlague beat me by a matter of minutes.  He didn't even think of an interesting response, he just responded with "dibs".  I'm reeling from defeat over here.  I was so close!  Shouldn't this decision be based on more than who sees a blinking light on their phone first?!

Do you know how awesome having Nick Mangold follow me on twitter would have been?  That's basically half a step from the sideline.  I have to believe that if I respond faster here, and get Mangold following, I'm knocking back beers with Nick, Rex and the Lombardi trophy around this time next year at the latest. 

Flash forward to March 2012 and we're drinking at a hotel bar in Hawaii. Mangold wasn't allowed to go the pro-bowl back in February since he was playing in the Superbowl so he decided to plan a nice trip with some friends and teammates.  After a couple of rounds of drinks, we head to the beach with Rex to toss around a football.  Its a loose vibe, and we're joking about the fact that we once called Mark Sanchez's jewelry "effeminate" and now we're all wearing Superbowl rings.  As we share a good laugh, Sanchez emerges from the hotel and gives Rex a noogie for making fun of him.  We're thrilled to see the Superbowl MVP in the flesh, and he and I discuss how his ex-girlfriend Jaime-Lynn Sigler lived across the street from my friend Resnik growing up, and how small of a world it is.  Things are beginning to pick up like the volleyball scene from Top Gun, only without the homo-erotic undertones and excessive flexing. 

Rex suggests we grab a few people and get a game of beach football going. "Its never too early to prepare for next season" he suggests, "and I know for damn sure that Belichek is out there preparing."  All of a sudden, as if on cue, Hansel's theme song from Zoolander begins to blare over the speakers and around the corner comes Tom Brady.  He's wearing a special edition Christian Dior-designed silk Patriots jersey with Uggs moccassins and his hair is slicked back into a headband making him look sort of like Louis Scola.  Behind him are Devin Mcourty, Logan Mankins, and Wes Welker.  "Did someone say, Bélécheque?" Brady exclaims.  He's speaking in a french accent and I surmise it must be part of his whole "euro thing."

I look to Rex and I can see he's aching for a fight.  "I said it you pansy, and I see you brought that pipsqueak Welker with you," Rex yells.  "You're looking taller than usual Wes," he says, "are those lifts in your sneakers?"  I know Rex has wanted to personally beat the crap out of Wes Welker since the whole foot thing, and there are no cameras or league commissioners in sight.  Rex is chomping at the bit, consumed by the chance to defend his wife's honor with his fists.  "Eassyyyy Rex, easy," says Mangold as he holds him back.  Sensing the rising tension, I suggest we cool it down by taking out our anger on the field like true warriors.  Welker, Makins and McCourty agree but Brady says he can't play because "he has to go to a pottery class with his wife."

"I bet Peyton would play," retorts Rex.  He's struck a chord and Brady is visibly shaken, but he perks back up and indignantly declares, "that ad-whore doesn't hold a candle to me, give me the damn ball."  A legendary game of 4 on 4 ensues.  The Jets affiliated-team composed of an All-Pro center, an All-Pro QB, an overweight coach and myself, the civilian, is installed as 3 touchdown underdogs.  But out we come, possessed with the spirit of Joe Namath and the will of a blooming flower on the Alaskan tundra.  Bodies are flying everywhere and by now a small crowd has gathered to watch this torrid seaside battle.  Its a back and forth struggle, and with time running out, we have time for one final play. 

The ball is snapped, Sanchez fades back to throw, and he releases a tight spiral towards my outstretched hands.  It looks like I'm going to be tackled just short of the end zone, and Giselle lets out a cry of joy from the sidelines.  BUT WAIT A SEC! ITS A HOOK AND LADDER TO MANGOLD! TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN!  Champagne pops, confetti flies, and Brian May plays a live instrumental version of We Are The Champions as we celebrate.  Mangold turns to me and says, "Brian, imagine if I didn't follow you on Twitter that random night in March last year."  We jump up in joy and the screen freezes then fades into a Leroy Neiman painting like at the end of Rocky 3.

Now Nick - you see what you could be missing out on here?

I was so close and I got stuffed on 4th and goal from the one. God Damn It.