Julian Edelman has crossed the bar, all metaphors being unequal. We do not refer to your local drinking emporium.
Well, Alfred Lord Tennyson might better understand the NFL injury reports and could explain why we feel bereft. We hope Jules will continue to make waves, but after a broken bone in his foot, he may be hobbling into the media sunset, leaving us sea sick.
Players with season-stopping injuries tend to disappear into the Valhalla where putting out to sea in flames is the norm. In the NFL your worst injury tends to shanghai the victim—at least in the world of Bill Belichick. Gone, baby, gone.
We might take some solace that foretopman Wes Welker could have signed with the Patriots—if he had waited a week longer before jumping ship with the Rams.
We think only of poor Tom Brady—bereft without his lifejacket. We never considered Julian a “Mae West,” but he was keeping Tom afloat on third downs.
Now we face twilight and evening bell—and after that the dark!
Danny Amendola expects to step into the breach. We must trust again in the great Pilot of the ship to find another replacement from his kit and caboodle of replacement parts.
The tide keeps moving, despite the loss of Dion Lewis and now Julian Edelman. Makeshift sails now power the offensive line since Nate Solder crossed that bar weeks ago.
The season is only half over—and the boundless deep still ahead may be filled with icebergs, as well as Scylla and Charybdis, not to mention Rex Ryan.
When the call comes, Patriots go into the foamy brine, leaving the rest of us in sad farewell. Edelman was our life saver, not just some candy-ass cabin boy.
There is but a glimmer of hope that Edelman could return for playoffs and Super Bowl, yet solitary Tom Brady expects the flood will bear him far, far into the playoffs–but without his crew.