Go Out There and Sling It

Ever heard of Tom Brady, Jr.?

Owns a piece of the Raiders and some baseball card stores? 

Well, before all that glitz and glamour, the kid played football.

But it didn't start all sunshines and rainbows.

First, he had to get drafted.

So draft day came, and he sat with his parents at home and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It got so bad he had to go take a walk, his parents by his side, as they tried to soothe and console their pride and joy.

Ever proud, though not so joyful. Because their son was at his lowest.

And then the call came. Pick 199! Half-dozen QBs taken before him.

And his father's reaction?

"We were jubilant."

Maybe things would have turned out better for Tom if he'd have been drafted higher.

I mean, minority owner? C'mon. Card shops? Who would pay for cardboard?

What sticks with me here is I've always admired his parents.

In a day and age, now and then, where many would be heartbroken or outraged, his parents were jubilant.

What a magical word.

Jubilant.

I want you to use that word today to describe something you feel.

And I want you to mean it.

To Tom Brady, Sr.

My hero.