Tom Brady sat facing his locker, his head down and draped in a white towel, staring at the space between his cleats. He was in full uniform. He was in full thought. There were the plays that hadn’t been made. There were the opportunities not seized. There was the Super Bowl that had slipped away, 21-17 to the New York Giants. Again, the Giants. Again.
It was 10:04 p.m. The minutes ticked by and Brady didn’t move. Across the Patriots’ locker room there was dejection and depression, hushed whispers and thousand-yard stares. This is the pain of almost having everything. This was the hurt of winding up with nothing. All the money these guys make, all the glory they receive, it does nothing in times like this, the losing locker room after the biggest of games.
Nobody was taking it quite like Brady though. Others slipped out of their uniforms or headed to the media interview area in full dress. Some shuffled off to the showers or patted each other on the back. Not Brady. He just kept staring at the floor. His longtime physical therapist, Alex Guerrero, sat in an empty locker next to him and tried to offer words of comfort. They had no impact. Brady never moved.