He is the only man in America invited to a high school senior prom and the State of the Union address, all in one vertiginous 12 months. He is only 26.

Last week, New England Patriots owner Bob Kraft caught him alone long enough to ask, "What are you doing Tuesday? The president wants you at the State of the Union."

To which Tom Brady replied, "Which president?"

Brady's short brown hair is stylishly skewed. "Professionally highlighted" according to a recent magazine feature. He's secure enough in his masculinity, he carries a purse he says is "a European handbag." He is being compared to Joe Montana, the greatest Super Bowl quarterback of all time. He has a Pepsodent smile.

Last year, Tom Brady flew in Donald Trump's jet to judge the Miss America pageant. He dated Tara Reid. Often, he would return from an evening out to find marriage proposals affixed to his front door. Thong underwear graced the yard.

"Women want to be with him, and men want to be him," Patriots tight end Christian Fauria told the Boston Globe.

You've got it all, Tom Brady.

In a Super Bowl so devoid of candlepower its participants couldn't light a broom closet - name three Carolina Panthers, win fabulous prizes - the Patriots quarterback has center stage to himself. He can take it or leave it.

"That's the crazy part," Brady says. "I aspire for great things on the field. There's such a fine line between being a success on the field and being in the spotlight off it. You're either comfortable with it or you're not."

Or you're somewhere in between, which is where Brady is now. Accommodating fame. And giving it a wide berth.

Fame messes with your life. It scrambles your head. I once told ex-Red Deion Sanders I'd like to be him, for one day. I'd welcome his athletic gifts and the attention they bestowed. Who wouldn't want to score from first base on a single to center field? Who wouldn't want everyone knowing his name?

After 24 hours, I'd tire of the phoniness, the lechery and the demands. I'd want me back.

Two years ago, Tom Brady went from benchwarmer to Super Bowl MVP. Just like that. He was 24. Think of how unsettled your life was at 24, then multiply it by the number of women who propositioned Brady in the year after he won the Super Bowl.

A man could become confused.

Tom Brady is more like Tom Sawyer than Tom Cruise. As a Michigan freshman, he was fourth string. As a senior, he battled Drew Henson for playing time. "You'd have a bad practice Wednesday and lose sleep Wednesday night," is how Brady describes it. The Patriots drafted him in the sixth round, 199th overall. Eighteen months later, he was the best player in the ultimate game.

It took Brady a year to figure himself out. To remember who he was while at the same time make peace with who he'd become. Brady had a game face and a fame face. While he learned to make the distinction, the Patriots slipped to 9-7. It still perplexes him.

"You want to live a normal life. Go to the movies, to dinner, have fun like every other 26-year-old," Brady says. "Now, trying to figure out how to get to the mall to get some T-shirts is difficult.

"When people ask me for my autograph, I say, 'Why?' I'm kinda more the guy sitting in the back of the room making jokes."

Brady's a good QB. Popular NFL thinking now is, you don't need a great quarterback to win it all. You just need him not to mess things up. That's Brady. He's smart. He sees the field well. He's nimble in the pocket. He leads. He has a great head coach and a smart general manager. The Patriots are 39-12 with him starting. He looks to be 40-12 by 10 Sunday night.

"It defines your playing career," Brady said of winning Super Bowls. "It defines your legacy."

Maybe, just maybe, it also allows you to be who you really are. For Tom Brady, that is the hope.

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E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com

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