If you couldn't make out the dialog through the excellent YouTubing of the pictocube, the transcription is:
REPORTER: "Champ, Champ, Talk about your Beantown offense in the second half. They treated the boys from Big D like a couple of flapper girls who were a little loopy on the old gin and juice."
BELICHICK: "Next question."
Yes, I suppose Dallas' secondary did appear to have the heebie-jeebies from too much giggle water. Dreamboat fielded a similar question in the locker room:
REPORTER: "Champ, Champ, Champ, talk about the touchdown pass to Donte' Stallworth. It looked like you two were doing the Jitterbug while the Dallas secondary was doing the Charleston."
BRADY: "Is that right? I don’t know what the hell that means but, it was great route and it’s easy to throw it when he’s that wide open. Great question."
It seems Tom Terrific isn't up to speed on his '20s lingo. We at With Leather would have liked to see him come back with the following response:
"The Charleston, huh? That reminds me of the time my pal, who was a bell bottom from Baltimore, asked me if I would escort this bearcat with a well-built chassis he knew. 'And how!" I say, and I throw on my glad rags and navigate my flivver over to where she flops. But what do I find when I arrive, but a fire extinguisher with cheaters on the doorstep with this baby vamp. 'Aw, applesauce!' I think.
"The old bird called me dewdropper, but I told her to mind her potatoes. I knew then the speakeasy was out, so I took them to the petting pantry to see Jolson's new talkie. The doll had gams that were the berries, so I kept slipping hooch into the flat tire's phosphate until she was ossified, and me and the deb ankled it out of there to the nearest gin mill. The Lindy Hop was the cat's pajamas then, so after we got an edge from the coffin varnish, we hit floor. And let me tell you, that little hoofer got her wiggle on and the whole juice joint was chanting 'Get hot!'. After a few more slugs and smudges, it became clear this Jane was scouting for a sugar daddy because when I ran low on clams she told me the bank's closed.
"'Tell it to Sweeney' I say and pull out my hope chest, and this big six at the door, who was a harp I knew, asks me to butt him. I oblige and notice a chopper in his mitt. 'Everything's jake' I say, and he tells me the bulls are out, and, just then, the dicks bust in and the mick starts tapping 'em out with his Chicago typewriter. Well, I know my onions, so I 23-skidooed it. Anywho, I spent the rest of my kale on a quiff, and we played struggle buggy 'til dawn. What was your question?" -KD
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