I thought I heard a noise outside and walked over to the back door that leads out to the yard. The light hanging above the deck lit up the lawn down to the edge of the trees. I squinted as I looked through the glass. I saw nothing.
I went back and sat down just in time to see Tom Brady hitting Brandon Tate for the big play of the game. What a great play. As I rewound the tape to watch the TD again, I thought I heard a slight tapping on the glass of the door. I put the tape on pause and walked back over to the door. There was a figure in the window.
"Who's there?" I said, not quite registering that someone was actually there in the middle of the night. "Let me see your face."
The figure took a slight step back into the light so I could see him.
It was Randy Moss. Or was it a late trick-or-treater in a Moss mask? I took a step closer to the door. It was not a mask. It was him.
"Randy?" I asked, not quite registering that Randy Moss was standing at my back door in the middle of the night.
"Hey. Tim, right?" Randy asked, looking to each side to see if anyone was watching.
"Right, Tim. That's me," I assured him. "How did you know my name? What are you doing here?"
"Can I come in?" Moss asked. I reached for the key hanging on the nail and opened the door.
"Come in. Ya. Come in," I said as he walked past me. "Grab a seat on the couch."
 |
BILL AND RANDY: All good things ... |
"Can I get you a beer?" I asked. "Are you hungry?"
"You got any Corona?" Randy said. I nodded and headed up the stairs to grab a couple of beers and some chips and salsa like I was getting it for one of my tailgating friends. I was getting beers and a snack for Randy Moss, who was sitting in my basement at one in the morning. What's so unusual about that?
I handed Randy his beer and he took a long swig and then exhaled. He looked over at the TV to see the tape paused on Tate catching the ball.
"That kid's gonna be good," Randy said, somewhat wistfully. I nodded again. I hit play and Randy and I watched Tate race 65 yards for the touchdown.
"Great play by Tommy boy," Moss said. "He looked good tonight."
I nodded again and looked at Randy. He burst into tears and grabbed a pillow, burying his face.
"Randy," I said. "What's going on? What are you doing here? How did you know I lived here?"
Randy picked his head up from the pillow, sniffling and trying to pull himself together.
"I just didn't want to leave and go back to Minnesota," Moss said. "Coach told me to get on the bus to the airport and I just couldn't. So I just took off and ran into the woods behind the stadium. I just couldn't leave here. I love it here, man. I love New England and everything about it. My time here was the happiest of my life."
"But what are you doing here?" I said, adding the emphasis. "My house is about eight miles from the stadium. You walked the whole way? Why?"
Randy said he knew where I lived because of the fact that I had renamed my fantasy football team Moss Racing after he had purchased an auto racing team a few years ago. He got a Google alert about the name and had checked out my family's football website to see if he should get a cease-and-desist order.
"I was honored, brother," Randy said, his eyes tearing up again. "You not only named your team after me but you used my picture as your team logo. That was quite a tribute. So I did a check on you, saw you had a Pats blog and saw all the nice things you wrote about me. You get it. Straight out."
I nodded again. Randy was right. I do get it. He just wanted to play for the Patriots for the rest of his career. Was that such a sin? And when he realized that Belichick was not feeling the same way anymore, well, he was hurt.
"I had done everything for them, Tim," he went on. "Everything. I loved them. Bill. Tommy boy. Big Vince. Even that little white guy who has played so great."
"Woodhead?" I asked.
"Ya. Woodhead," Randy said. "He so small and cool."
I asked him what he was gonna do.
"Well, when I was hugging Tommy boy after the game, he said to me, 'I miss you, man. I wish we could get back together,' so that got me thinking," Randy said. "Why don't I just stay here and play with the Patriots again? I belong with the Patriots."
"You do," I said. "You're perfect together."
"So would it be OK if I crashed in your basement for a few days?" Randy said, sniffling a little more. "I just need a place to stay till I can talk to Bill and figure things out. I know we can work this out. This whole thing just got out of hand. I said some things I didn't mean. If he had just said he wanted me for the rest of my career, none of this would have ever happened. None of it. Oh, if I could only turn back the clock to before the season started."
I told Randy he could stay on my couch as long as he needed. I advised him it might be too late to work things out with Belichick and that he needed to be prepared for that. He nodded and put his head down on the pillow as he watched the tape of the game play.
""Hey. It'll be OK," I said. "We can even go visit Patriot Place whenever you want. We can go to the movies, or walk through the Pats' hall of fame to see the pictures of you, or get bottomless fries at Red Robin. Maybe we'll even run into Bill or Tom."
I got up and covered Randy with a blanket.
"I just want things to be good again," he said as he pulled the blanket up under his chin.
"I know, Randy," I said. "Me too. Me too."
