... really.
It was a few years into Brady's career with the Jets, and he was struggling to live up to his billing as a first-round pick. If you recall at the time Brady was drafted, then Browns coach Bill Belichick was so ticked off that the Jets took him ahead of Cleveland in the 1995 draft that he threw a phone against the wall and promptly traded down with the 49ers. But Brady turned out to be less than anyone expected. At least as a pass catcher. 
Anyway, I had written a sidebar the day before about Brady actually having a decent game. I believe it was the Jets' 24-14 win over the Patriots in the 1998 season, when he had five catches, two of which were touchdowns. In the sidebar, I'd written innocuously that Brady had "decent speed."
The next day in the locker room, Brady comes over to me and challenges me on the comment.
"Who said I had only decent speed?" he said.
"Huh?" I said, stunned that he would choose those two words.
"Who said?"
"Well, scouts did when you were coming into the draft."
"Oh, yeah, what scouts?"
I'm like, what is this guy thinking?
"I don't know. Scouts."
So then Brady says, "You think you're fast? Huh? Huh?"
"What?"
"You think you're fast? C'mon, let's go outside right now and race."
"You've got to be kidding me."
In my head, I'm thinking, if I go outside and race him, and if he pulls a hammy, what the hell is Bill Parcells going to do? To Brady AND to me?
"No, let's go out and race, right now."
I'd been a pretty fine receiver in my day, having once caught seven touchdown passes in a game of 5-on-5 two-hand touch at Ralph Field in White Plains back when I was 12. So I figured, what the heck.
"Kyle," I said, "what exactly do you think you're going to prove by beating a sportswriter in a race?"
He didn't give an answer, except to keep insisting we race. Finally, I took enough umbrage and agreed.
"You wanna race?" I said. "Let's go."
So we walk out of the locker room at Weeb Ewbank Hall and onto the practice field. We decide on 40 yards from a standing start. Again, I'm thinking about what happens if Brady pulls a muscle or gets hurt some other way. But it's too late now.
"On your mark, get set, go!"
We stay even for about 20 yards, and then he starts nosing ahead. At 30 yards, I'm two yards behind, and at the finish, he wins by four yards. He turns to me and says, "Not bad. Not bad. You've got some quicks ... Let's race again."
And we raced once more. This time, he beat me by six yards.
We then walked into the locker room, him with a smile on his face, and me breathing a sigh of relief that Parcells wouldn't find out. I don't think he ever did.
The best part came in the days and weeks afterward. Brady and I talked all the time and found a way to cross the bridge that sportswriter and athlete rarely cross.
P.S. Brady wound up with Belichick after all. In the off-season, Belichick signed Brady, one of the league's best blocking tight ends, as a free agent after the Jaguars let him go.
Comments (2)
You should have pulled his shirt at the starting line.
Or pulled a Seinfeld and started when we heard the engine backfire.