7H Sunset

This morning's blogpost I'm typing while Linda is on the other side of the counter that divides kitchen space from dining space, making the shrimp remoulade we're taking to the holiday season EfM gathering this evening. I bought two kinds of shrimp. One is four pounds of more or less regular white or gray shrimp, soft shells, they were easy to peel. The other, two pounds of royal reds: I like their bright lobster coloring, texture and flavor, but they can be difficult to prepare, and two pounds usually works out to about a pound-and-a-quarter for appetizing presentation. Which is what happened with these: having eaten the unattractive three-quarter pound myself, I may or may not take the rest of the royal reds, pretty though they be. Or maybe I will, IDK, in fact IDK a damn thing, and I'm not the decision-maker anyway. It's just one of the appetizers, four pounds of regulars and a pound-plus of RReds may be too much. What do you think? I'll do whatever you say.

Strange things happen in church, don't they. For one thing, I am not quite normal myself. But what I have in mind is eccentrics in the crowd. Not this past Sunday but the Sunday before, Advent One, walking down the aisle in the closing procession, leaving after the main service, out of the corner of my eye I caught a military salute from a soldier in uniform. Okay, fatigues, but I think that's what they all wear anymore. And nothing casual, he was standing stiffly at attention. 

Well, military courtesy requires that a salute be returned, so without thought I returned his salute. Odd, saluting in church is not our custom, but okay, fine, and I'm not going further into it. Or maybe I will. If, as in the days when I was a boy growing up in church, we still carried the national flag in procession, I'd have understood it, but we don't, and he was not saluting a flag, he was saluting me. So I was either salute, or ignore (which would have been rude), or nod in acknowledgement (which, inside and uncovered would have been Navy style, or at least that's the way it used to be, IDK anymore, besides he was in Army not Navy fatigues); and caught off guard I returned his salute and instantly felt a little strange, out of place. But WTH, upon checking my ID at the gate, the guards at Tyndall salute me and I salute back and thank them, I'd never ignore their courtesy and kindness; also, it takes me back for a moment, doesn't it. 

Thirty years ago when Tass was a teen, instead of saluting me they winked at her and saluted her. Actually, in those days before Let's Remember 9/11, base security was more relaxed, and they waved us through on our windshield decal, saluting for an officer decal. Nowadays there's no decal, you come to a complete stop and everyone in the car shows their new style ID card with full life story coded into it. I'm ashamed, it probably even shows the D that I got in psychology that semester, I don't want a young USAF airman knowing that about me.

Late yesterday morning we drove out to PCB to visit Malinda at Breakfast Point, then to BBB to buy a gift, then home. Why am I writing that? Well, I'm sure as hell not ending my blog this morning having just told the world about getting a D in psychology, am I. Anyway, it was decades before you were even born, and it's none of your business, I'm sorry I mentioned it.

Fog outside earlier, now cleared right here, and clearing to the east. Still foggy on Shell "Island" and Courtney Point. Fog Season may be upon us at last. Because it brings reminders of New England mornings, I enjoy it. 

Breakfast, warmed up other half of yesterday morning's ham sandwich on ww toast with TJ's extraordinary cheese. Our regular day to day dishes are white with gold rims, that I ordered on eBay years ago, I have two different sets and patterns of that, both from Germany; not for the microwave. So warmed sandwich 20 seconds on Linda's good china received as wedding gifts over 62 years ago. I don't know who picked it out, not me, that's for sure, that's fer dang sure, she and her mother liked it and it won over my protest. It's some pattern* of Wedgewood blue rim with cattle skulls and fierce birds and serpents:

the snake tongues weave in and out of the cow skulls' hollow eyes. No, really. The consolation is that in the center of each plate there's a nice bouquet of flowers. May 1957 my buddy and I were standing at the window of a jewelry store on University Avenue in Gainesville looking at the various brides' china choices. Pointing to one, he said, "Look at that one, Weller, I wouldn't hit a hog in the butt with that", to which I confessed, "that's Linda's china pattern too", and he faded back and passed, "Well, it's not too bad". We each have our own individual silverware pattern too, one of these mornings maybe I'll go there.

Pics: top, last evening's sunset. Below, this morning's sunrise from 7H looking east toward Tyndall Bridge.

Closing with this from WSJ, not sure why, I'm not an NFL fan and for a while the Patriots were "too much", but I admire Brady anyway, even after SoftFootballGate. Brilliant, he's half my age, looks a quarter my age, and I hope he lives to twice my age. He's really got life "together".

* Wedgewood Blue Florentine

NFL

The Patriots Have a Tom Brady Problem

The 42-year-old quarterback struggled again during New England’s third loss in their last five games. Is this the end for the all-time great?

FOXBOROUGH, Mass.—The list of potential culprits in the New England Patriots’ loss to the Kansas City Chiefs on Sunday wasn’t short. The suspects included the referees whose blown calls nearly incited riots, the New England receivers who couldn’t get open, plus some guy on the other side of the field named Patrick Mahomes.

Then there was Tom Brady.

Prognosticating Brady’s demise has been a football sideshow for the better part of a decade. Cries of his downfall turned out to be a farce for so long that he became quite literally unprecedented: Brady has thrown more NFL passes as a 42-year-old than every other player his age—combined. He’s not just any 42-year-old. He’s the reigning Super Bowl champion quarterback.

But as the Patriots fell to the Chiefs 23-16 here on their home field, the numbers were unmistakable: Brady is playing as poorly as he ever has.

On the season, Brady is averaging his fewest yards per pass attempt since 2002, when most of his teammates were in elementary school and passing across the league was far less efficient. Over the last 10 games, he has a 78.9 passer rating, which ranks 25th out of 27 qualified passers. His yards per attempt, in that span, are dead last among those 27 quarterbacks.

The greatest irony may be that the same genius that allowed Brady to survive longer than any quarterback in NFL history may be underpinning his downfall. Brady, in large part, has stayed unimaginably healthy not due to a diet regimen of coconut chips, but because of how he styled his game. He throws short passes and gets rid of the ball quickly to stymie the incoming pass rush, which happens to compensate for the diminishments that come with age—decreased arm strength and durability.

But the same trends that prompt him to avoid hits are also integral to his problems: Brady has thrown away more passes than any quarterback in the NFL this season.

The result of all this: the Patriots have lost three of their last five games since an 8-0 start. Each came to phenom quarterbacks—Lamar Jackson, then Deshaun Watson and now Mahomes—while Brady has struggled, signaling the generational shift at hand.

But on Sunday, they weren’t beaten by Mahomes. The transcendent young quarterback was limited to a mediocre performance by New England’s transcendent defense, which can take most of the credit for the team’s 10-3 start. The Patriots lost because they didn’t score enough points, even in a game when they pulled out every trick to support their moribund offense.

On their opening touchdown drive, which was prolonged by two third-down penalties by Kansas City, Brady’s touchdown pass came on a flea-flicker that fooled the Chiefs defense so badly that Brady’s underthrown pass to Julian Edelman was still completed for the score.

“Those were good plays,” Brady said of the trick plays. “I wish we could have made a few more of the other ones, too.”

On the next possession, the Patriots failed to move the ball after intercepting Mahomes. The trick play was their lone score of the first half, which included a blocked field goal, a failed fourth-down conversion and a Brady interception. The half ended with another stalled drive that produced a smattering of boos inside Gillette Stadium.

“You hear cheers,” Brady said, “you hear boos.”

But the Patriots weren’t done in the second half. They blocked a punt, and two running plays later had their second touchdown to bring the game to 23-13. They forced a fumble on the next drive, leading to a field goal that would have been a touchdown if not for a blown call.

And as the fourth quarter began, Patriots fans repeatedly chanted “Brady! Brady! Brady!” They weren’t celebrating his performance as much as they were exhorting him to channel his performances of old.

For a moment, he provided a glimpse of that. On New England’s last possession, which was keyed by a 35-yard halfback pass by James White earlier in the drive, Brady scrambled for 17 yards on 4th-and-6—his longest run since 2014. He pumped his fists, screamed and looked like he was 37 years old again. But after getting the ball to the Kansas City 5-yard-line, the drive fell short when Brady’s fourth-down pass to Edelman was tipped away in the end zone. The Chiefs finished the game in victory formation.

Brady may be entering the Peyton Manning-swan-song stage of his career, when the former Indianapolis and Denver quarterback’s play disintegrated but the Broncos won the Super Bowl anyway on the back of a sublime defense. But Manning’s decline was so jarring because it was so precipitous—in one season, he went from being one of the NFL’s best quarterbacks to one of its worst. Brady’s has been more subtle.

For three consecutive years now, Brady’s yards per attempt has declined, from 9.3 in 2016 to 6.1—a fall of 34.4%. Those dips, though, have been papered over by a simple fact more important than any statistic: the Patriots continued to win.

It was less than a year ago that Brady stuffed similar questions back in his doubters’ Boston cream pie holes—and it was against Kansas City. The Chiefs were the future of the NFL, and everyone knew it. Mahomes was the best player in football, their offense was football sci-fi and nothing would change that.

But when the Patriots won that AFC Championship shootout and, two weeks later, had to pick confetti out of their hair for the sixth time, the message was unmistakable: Tom Brady and the Patriots were still the present.

This iteration of the Patriots is suddenly looking different. Brady is surrounded by perhaps the weakest skill-position talent of his career—his trusty tight end Rob Gronkowski retired at 30 years old—and soon he could face a similar decision. Brady is scheduled to become a free agent after the season, and for the first time there are legitimate questions about what will happen next.

Still, the Patriots are a lock to make the playoffs and likely to even receive a bye. Which gives Brady a clear way to quiet his doubters one more time: bathing in confetti once again.


Write to Andrew Beaton at andrew.beaton@wsj.com