It started long before "Deflate-gate", but that episode of alleged cheating by the New England Patriots -- reportedly playing with under-inflated footballs during the AFC Championship game to give the quarterback better grip -- only magnifies the hate.
Of course, most of the ire is born out of jealousy. Tom Brady is a Hall of Fame-bound quarterback with Hollywood good looks, a supermodel wife and three Super Bowl rings. I'm sure he wears your scorn as tacit recognition of his gridiron brilliance. Still, there's something about him that sticks in people's craw.
One of his defensive opponents once declared; "I don't like him. He don't like me. I don't like his hair!"
Other teams believe the refs coddle Brady. The so-called "Tuck Rule" was used at a critical moment of a playoff game in his favor.
Compounding the problem is Brady's coach. Bill Belichick is a football savant, who never smiles and when he does speak, barely opens his mouth. He's got a bit of history of using whatever means necessary to gain an advantage on his opponents.
But at the core of Brady hating is every boyhood insecurity we mere mortals still carry with us into our psychiatrist's office. We all grew up with a Tom Brady. While you were pining away for that cute girl, he was the handsome jock being fawned over by the object of your affection.
He was like Eddie Haskell, the sneaky friend of Beaver Cleaver's older brother; "Wally, if your dumb brother tags along, I'm gonna -- oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Cleaver. I was just telling Wallace how pleasant it would be for Theodore to accompany us to the movies."
He was your accomplice in childhood pranks who was never around when the cops showed up. Your mother was convinced he was best behaved of all your friends. He was voted most likely to succeed.
And deep down inside, you secretly wished that one day, all that hubris would lead to the air being sucked right out of his balls!