SOnce upon a time, a site called The Black Table had a regular feature entitled Waxing Off, in which women gathered in an online roundtable to discuss issues of the day, and also to make fun of Will Leitch's shoes. And so we got to thinking: With so many great female sports bloggers out there, why not import the idea here? It's just crazy enough to work. So behold: The latest edition of Deadspin's Waxing Off. We found six terrific female writers who were willing to pen short pieces on this week's topic: Tom Brady. Is it OK to be happy that Tom Brady is injured? Do you pity the man, or just scoff? Is he to be openly mocked? We call it Bradyfreude ... but what do our Waxing Off writers call it? How is the Dreamboat thought of among writers of the female persuasion? Let's take a look. By the way, if you'd like to be part of the Waxing Off writing staff, email myself at Rick@Deadspin.com, or Mr. Daulerio at AJD@Deadspin.com.Holly Anderson: Brace yourselves: I'm a blue-bleeding Colts girl through and through, and I want Brady back. Boston as an entity makes itself remarkably easy to loathe. But a guy who manages to tear his ACL and MCL on a single play? That's just mean-spirited, Football Jesus. I'm lucky enough to follow a team for which the playoffs are a foregone conclusion, year after year. An AFC Championship Game appearance never seems too far out of reach. And playing our most despised rivals at anything less than their full strength is a prospect that holds no interest for me whatsoever. I hate that fucking team with the heat of a nova, but I want them at their best. It's better television. Call me a masochist, but it just wouldn't feel like January without the hated Pats standing between my boys in blue and a Super Bowl berth. Those meetings end badly for Indy more often than not, but this is a cherished rivalry, and anything that diminishes the stakes isn't something to be celebrated. This isn't to say the week's been entirely devoid of mirth: I've been shepherding a buddy of mine, an MIT alum and neophyte Pats fan, through the drafting of his very first fantasy team. To almost no one's surprise, his Massholery won out over reason, sense, and the advice of everyone around him, and in the first round, in our heavily RB-skewed league, he selected guess which quarterback. Ouch, brah. Holly is the associate editor of EDSBS, a contributing writer to Yahoo's new college football blog Dr. Saturday, and 1/15 of the PtF roster. ————- Metschick: Waiting room, doctor's office. Vince Young: Brady, Brady, Brady! I'm sick of listening to this famewhore whine about every little hangnail. Oh, boo, I twisted my knee! Jesus, as if people don't get hurt every day. Billy Wagner: Um, didn't your mommy come out and basically tell everyone to leave you alone? What the hell, are you three? Alex Smith: I don't see anything wrong with that. His mom makes good soup. Wagner: Alex, you jackass, that's McNabb's mom in those commercials! Young: Whatevs. Same diff. The point is that everyone thinks that the sun shines out of Brady's ass, and that we're in store for 7 years of famine now that he's not around! What about me?! Wagner: What about you? Have you even played a whole year? Smith: You know something, I get paid, and I haven't played... Young: Did Brady ever win the BCS Championship? Hmm? Was he even drafted in the first round?? Wagner: Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell cares?! He's won a shit ton of Super Bowls. He dates Giselle, for fuck's sake. Smith: Giselle? Never heard of her. Wagner: Where the hell is the doctor? Why am I stuck with Bush: the football version? Young: What's Reggie Bush got to do with this? By the way, did you know I turned down Kim Kardashian before she moved onto Reggie? Wagner: Sigh. I was told to be here at 10:30, why the hell do I have to listen to these two? I'm gonna read my latest issue of OK!, gotta catch up on The Hills. Smith: Oooh, I love me some Heidi. I hate that bitch, LC. She needs to live her own life. Wagner: Yes, suuuure. Young: Back to me, seriously, why is everyone piling on me? Have I not given enough to the people of America? Wagner: Look, Carrie, it's the way it is. Why do you care so much? Young: The money doesn't matter to me, the women just annoy me now — all I want is for the people to like me. Smith: I like you, Vince. Young: Alex, no one cares! Wagner: Vince, look, you gotta march to your own drummer. You gotta be a man. Smith: Didn't you cry on TV? At least Brady didn't cry at a press conference. Wagner: Shut up, Alex. Brady walks out of the doctor's office. Young, Wagner, Smith: Hiiiii, Brady! And, scene. Metschick can be found at Ladies... every Thursday, hoping to author a happy ending for the 2008 Mets. ————- Lisa Horne: Seeing Tom Brady hurt for the year is such a shame, isn't it? I mean after all, it's not like his stats weren't helped by some dweeby video assistant who has nuts the size of a gnat. It's not like the fucking Patriots deserve this horrible tragedy, is it? Matt Cassel, an NFL/CFB football virgin, gets his chance to score some skanky Beantown babes, now that Gisele's punch is out of commission. Who cares if he can't carry Brady's jock? Neither can Romo and Grossman, and they still get laid. I am so fucking sick of Boston. New England. Whatever. What kind of people name their area after a country who got their asses handed to them (well over 200 years ago) on a platter by some disgruntled tax-payers? The Red Sux are almost as obnoxious as the Damn Yankees fans, the Celtics' paid off the refs (is cheating a Boston thing?), and thank God the Boston Bruins are about as relevant to hockey as, well, shit, who gives a damn about a sport that is No. 1 in Canada, aka "The U.S. without guns." I have a case of Brady-fruede. It's the start of good things to come. Seeing pretty boy Brady on the sidelines is a start, but I want more. If the concession stands would lower the price of their $8 watered-down, pissy-tasting beer and Ocho Cinco could get traded to a team that only has the number 99 available, then this season could actually have some promise. My Schadenfreude's trifecta would be complete: no Brady, cheaper beer, and Ocho Cinco wearing Noventa Nieve. Lisa Horne is a college football writer for FOXSports.com and a senior writer for Bleacher Report. She has been published or quoted on numerous websites including ESPN, SI, and MSN. She believes in going deep on 2nd-and-1, giving credence to the phrase, "chicks dig the long ball." ————- Tara Crawford: I remember the exact moment I went from a mostly apathetic distaste for Tom Brady to active hatred. It was during this year's Super Bowl: they were between plays, and there was Brady, standing yards away from the rest of his team, perfectly positioned so that the camera only a few feet away on the sideline could catch his image projected in the background as he posted (hands dramatically on hips) in the foreground. "What a fame-whoring douchebag," I muttered. (And I say "muttered" because I was at a Super Bowl party hosted by a fervent Pats fan who would have slit my throat with a tortilla chip had she heard me.) So I wasn't too sorry to see unassuming Eli Manning shove the Pats' perfect season where the New England sun don't shine. But I still cringed when I heard about his injury. I've blown out my knee (old baton twirling injury – no, seriously) and I can tell you that it is no fun. Maybe it's the twinge of pain the story caused in my own knee causing me to be more sympathetic than I normally would, but I can't take too much pleasure in his suffering, even if he does have a supermodel to care for him while he recovers. In general I'm not a big fan of injury-related schadenfreude. The wrong injury can end a guy's career, which affects his family and the rest of his life. Professional athletes can be difficult figures for whom to sympathize – they make millions of dollars to play a game, they date models and drive fancy cars, etc. At the end of the day, though, this is still a guy's job. But seeing some mouthy jackass suffer a crushing defeat served up by an opponent that comes out of nowhere on a platter of his own hubris? That never gets old. I'd much rather see a healthy jerk take a competitive beating than have to feel sympathy for a guy I don't like because his livelihood is screwed. Tara Crawford is an aspiring writer currently working as a production artist. She has been a die-hard fan of the New York Mets since her father took her to her first game in 1989, which they lost 14-4. When not rooting on her team she can be found whittling away her hours online and/or indulging mildly manic obsessions with Anderson Cooper, Tim Gunn, and "Lost." ————- Mallori Merandino: Dear Tom: I just wanted to send my condolences for the loss of your season. I know this happened a week ago, but between taking care of your baby and trying to get my career back; I don't have much time for Sportscenter. Though I would never wish ill upon you, I can't say I wasn't a little bit (oh, hell, ridiculously) happy you're injured. You left me while I was pregnant with your child, for Gisele, and nobody even thought twice about it! Do you know how frustrating that was?! I'm sitting home, dumped, getting fat and re-configuring my career, and you're being thrown endorsements and magazine covers? You just kept winning, and setting records, and being adored. You ruined my life and yours was just getting better and better. It fucking sucked. Until the other day. Until I turned on the TV and watched as Bernard Pollard just took you out. I Tivo'd it. I just watch it over, and over, and over again. It never gets old, Tom, never. It's probably not right of me to think this way, but I don't care. You deserve it. I want your career to end, just like you ended mine. Seriously, before you knocked me up I was on Maxim's Hot 100 list, and had roles in movies people actually saw. Now? The last thing I did was Noise. Did you see it? No? That?s because nobody did. I couldn't even bring myself to sit through it. Tom, I hate that you've made me this negative. I was a happy girl before I met you. But it's over. Now that you've been fucked over, I can go on my way and put you behind me. Oh, but if you don't use some of this free time to see your son, I swear I'm going to teach him to call Eli Manning "daddy." Sincerely, Bridget Mallori currently works in the nonprofit world of DC, and spends half her day reading about the numerous failings of (all) area sports teams. The other half, you can find her blogging on MeMyselfAndHi. ————- Jessica Milcetich: I've got to admit I feel a little bad for Tom Brady. Is that wrong of me? I'm not anything close to being a Patriots fan, but a very small part of me feels bad for him. It sucks when an athlete goes down with an injury, even if it's the quarterback of one of the most hated (or loved depending where you're from) teams in the country. The Patriots without Brady aren't the real deal. I'm not saying they won't be good or even win some games. For all I know, Matt Cassel might have a breakout season and surprise everyone. But that's not the point. The point is any team that beats the Patriots without Brady at the helm gets some cheapened form of victory. Sure, they can put a check in the wins column, but celebrating a victory over a Patriots team without Brady just isn't the same. So laughing at Brady or throwing a big we-just-beat-the-Pats party is probably not a good move. What is totally appropriate is laughing at everyone who picked Brady in your fantasy draft, especially the people the picked him in the first few rounds. Those people are either really big risk takers or just plain stupid. There were rumors flying all preseason that something wasn't quite right with Brady so someone needs to please tell me why anyone would waste an early fantasy pick on him. I keep coming back to the conclusion they just mustn't be that smart. So laugh all you want at those people, but cut poor Tom a break. He didn't ask to blow out his knee and become the laughing stock of bitter sports fans. Jess Milcetich's words can be found at Run-Girl-Run and Yorkblog.