The Tom Brady roast was cruel, misogynistic and not very funny

Tom Brady must really need money, or attention, or proof that he’s a bro. He needed it bad enough to do that Netflix roast, in which he gallantly sacrificed the mothers of his children to clumsy third-rate comics, whose hammy punchlines fell like refrigerators hitting sidewalks, splatting Brady’s reputation for intelligence beneath them. By the time the three-hour vulgarian parade was over, there were two conclusions: Football players can’t do funny, only coarse, and Brady wasn’t the one who got roasted — he stuck his exes with that tab.