I did not want to write about this story because you immediately lose something when you tell it. I would love to casually bring up this up in conversation like it was no big deal but I’ve waited a week and I’m not good at holding things in unless they’re feelings of sadness.

But, I’m going to tell you the story. It happened last week in San Francisco and I’m a little bit famous. I’m not getting a hot tub endorsement or anything like that but I’m a little famous in the sense that I bet I could get into a few exclusive parties. Probably just dinner parties but like a really, really elite dinner party.

So it’s 2:30 PM and I’m on a couch medisleeping in California. Medisleeping is when you you put on meditation music to meditate but 100% know you’re going to just fall asleep. It’s my term and my term alone and I’ve excelled at this spiritual practice. My morning flight back to Boston had got cancelled due to snow and I was a little winded from walking those San Franciscan hills during the day. I was staying at a friend of a friend’s apartment and she was gone. Then I heard the buzzer from outside the apartment complex. The place had been lively the past few days because of Super Bowl parties so I figured it was another Cali bro locked out. Then I heard a male’s voice that I recognized. I sat up from the couch, looked out the open window, and made eye-contact with New England Patriot wide receiver Julian Edelman.

“SORRY!” he yelled because he somehow realized that I had been medisleeping. In retrospect, this is horrible that he saw me like this on our first date encounter but maybe he does a little medisleeping himself and maybe it’s why he’s so good at catching footballs. I just realized there’s probably some relationship between my mid-day naps and not being a professional athlete. Whatever. He said ‘sorry’ to me and this was when I met my new best friend.

I sprawl from the couch so I can go open the door for Jules. Should I call him ‘Jules’? I don’t think so. It’s a pretty soft nickname and I don’t like when Brady calls him that. Anyways, I get down the stairs and someone has let him in at this point. It’s the kid who lives below where I’m staying and I’m told they’re childhood friends. The crew is as follows: Edelman, attractive blonde, a heavy-set mexican, and the guy who lives downstairs. Edelman apologized again because:

a.) he’s a really nice guy.


b.) I look fucking scary when my naps are shorter than an hour.

I text the girl that I’m staying with that Edelman is downstairs and she tells me she’ll be right back all casual like it’s no big deal. She knows him through his sister and I saw his sister downstairs at a party a few days prior. She’s a smokeshow for those wondering and if you’re also wondering if I talked to her at the party…I definitely did not. I nursed a red bull the whole time wondering if my polo shirt was really the right choice. I looked like someone’s dad with my shirt tucked in and I’m pretty certain that’s why nobody approached me and asked me why I was drinking straight red bull.

Anyways, because I’m a genius, I came up with an effective, sneaky plan. Not even sure Belichick would’ve had this in the playbook but I’m a savy veteran from the suburbs.  I decide to take my Kindle outside onto the roof deck. You’re probably thinking Nooooooooo, don’t pull out the neuroscience book on addiction again, Scott. Not again!!!! Not with an NFL star around!!!

See, I knew any high-roller activity would have to happen on the roof deck. And there’s nothing more pathetic than a scene where Julian Edelman is chillin’ on the deck and I come up saying “HEY GUYS. MIND IF I HANG OUT?” So, the solution to that is to ALREADY BE ON THE DECK so he’s crashing my party. Granted, my party was just me reading a book but I owned the territory.

Sooooo, 10 minutes later he comes up with bottles of booze, a bunch of snacks, and some drinking glasses. Realizing he’s invaded my book brigade, he introduces himself:

“Hi. I’m Julian.”

“Scott” (shakes hand).

No shit I know your name but maybe you don’t think I do, I thought My flaming neon T-hoodie sweatshirt must have been sending mixed signals to Julian. On one hand, I looked to be in my thirties, but the t-hoodie is from American Eagle so maybe he thought I was a bearded high school student.  It was all rather mysterious for him and the fact that I was reading a book on a roof may have been a sign I knew zero about football. IN REALITY, the ONLY reason I’m in San Francisco is because I THOUGHT the Patriots were going to the Super Bowl but we (you, ahem–Julian) couldn’t get any offense going. But that’s besides the point. Let’s make up and party.

This majestic introduction led to three hours of roof deck activity with me, Edelman, my friend, the blonde and the heavy kid. That’s it, folks. The heavy kid looked Mexican and my girlfriend is Mexican so Julian and I have a lot in common. Edelman’s new girlfriend is pretty nice and you can Google her if you want because he’s appeared with her recently on the red carpet. She seemed completely disinterested in the fact that he played pro football and I can see how that may be attractive. Nobody wants a super-fan as a girlfriend. Hell, my girlfriend doesn’t even acknowledge this blog so I understand what it’s like to be so famous and not recognized. The girlfriend is not from America and loves Vladimir Putin. Edelman laughed about this and I hope the US and Russia don’t go to war because it could lead to their breakup. These jokes also led to the story of when Putin stole Robert Kraft’s Super Bowl ring. That’s actually all true. I think she’s a real communist. They met at a wedding and any more information on that may get me killed.

So, Catherine comes back (the girl I’m staying with and my Super Bowl tradition partner) and she immediately is just “in” the group. I’m still on the sidelines reading my book like a psychopath but really just listening in. I hid my phone under my leg because I had this crazy fear that if I was texting someone, he’d assume it was about him and ask to see the phone. I’d oblige and give him my phone because I’m a sheep and wouldn’t be able to say, No, I’m actually a grown man and older than you so yeah I’m texting my sister that you’re in front of me but whatever, I’m cool, leave me alone, just kidding, take it all. Here’s my phone. 

Gradually, with the wings from my red bull, I joined the group and put the book down for good. When Julian found out that I was a Patriots fan and that we had come to watch them play he said, “Sorry, I couldn’t help ya’ll with that.” I didn’t say anything back because he should be sorry. Hours passed and somehow we got on the topic of seafood and he said New England seafood was overrated. I thought that was blasphemous and immediately had to tell him I could mail him a lobster from Maine but that it would cost him $150. He sort of ignored my suggestion so maybe he has money issues.

The drinking continued and it somehow came up that I lost my hat that said “Catalina” on it. He said, “Catalina Wine Mixer?” and I took the opportunity to humblebrag about how Catalina is a beautiful place that he should see. “Have you heard of it?” I asked. He responded by saying “Yeah…I’m from California.” It was a little embarrassing and it was like if someone asked me if I had ever heard of the exotic place they call Cape Cod. It was a solid point for #11 and I wished he had been so sneaky against Denver.

It was getting closer to 7PM which was the time I told myself I had to leave for the airport to catch my red-eye. I had bought my boss’s son a Superbowl 50 ball earlier because my boss said he was a huge fan of everything football. On Friday, I texted her saying that I may see Edelman even though it was just a way to tell her that he had been in a one mile radius of me. She was very excited that I had become so famous but the fact was that I was now hanging out with him and had a real chance to score an autograph for the boy.

The girl I was with asked to take a picture of all of them and I offered to take the picture but Endelman’s lady-friend took the picture because maybe she didn’t trust me. Either way, I kind of respect the move. While this was happening, I was planning on how to ask for the autograph for the boy without ruining the  night. I had flashbacks to 6th grade when I was at the movies with Anne ****** and I spent the whole movie trying to plot when I’d go in for the kiss. It never happened and I still regret that moment. A man can’t live with two regrets like that.

At some point, and this is where this blog becomes the certifiable stuff of sports talk radio,  someone brought up how Brady responded to the booing at the Super Bowl. If you don’t know, or didn’t watch, they called out all the Super Bowl MVPs and when Brady came out they booed the hell out of him. The booing was busch league. Then Edelman gets out his phone and reads a text from Tom mother-bleeping Brady. His face got all serious and all the rumors that Edelman would kill someone for Brady seemed to materialize. He said that he [Brady] took it VERY personally and then read the text:

Everyone fucking hates us. Let’s win it all next year.

My penis moved a little bit and by a little bit, I mean a lot. I have met and taken a picture with Tom Brady before so add that to this second-hand text conversation and I’d say I’m pretty best friends close with two New England Patriots.

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So it’s dark at this point and we are sitting in a circle playing some version of caps that Edelman’s girlfriend introduced which again, I think had Communist origins. I wasn’t drinking because I didn’t want to end up in rehab before my flight so I was holding my phone’s flashlight so everyone could see. It was a little bit like being the ball-girl at a tennis match and somewhat demeaning but when they couldn’t find a cap, I shined a light on it and found the cap. Edelman and the crew starting chanting “MVP” and for a fleeting second, I think I was the Super Bowl 50 MVP.

I resigned to the fact that asking for the autograph during a drinking game was friendship suicide so I went downstairs to pack my luggage. As I was finishing up, I heard someone in the bathroom. It was the Communist and my genius kicked back into gear. I grabbed a black sharpie and the ball and catapulted back into my high school drama days. The script became clear to me in an instant:

“So…ah, I’m not sure he would be offended but I’m a teacher…and I have this student who would really love an autogra..”

She cut me off and told me that he of course wouldn’t mind signing it. I knew it would work but had a backup plan of saying the boy had some rare disease. Bottom line is that I nailed the part. She took it to him, he signed it, and I was on my way to the airport.

I’ve left out any other incriminating information about these three hours plus I don’t think Roger Goddell reads this blog so I think I’m safe. If I end up dead sometime after this, assume it’s Putin-related. The group was going out to dinner right after I left for the airport and the selfish part of me wonders what dinner would have been like. I’d probably order a salad or something and ruin everything and he’d tell Tom and they’d all have a good chuckle about their new ginger friend.


**** Original post appearing on Barstool Sports was edited due to some personal information exposed.