Tom Brady Hands Out Ancient Chinese Secrets & Meghan Trainor Is No Longer All About That Bass

On Saturday morning, my dog Rocky started whining at 4 a.m.

There are two reasons why he might cry in the middle of the night: either he's bored or he really has to go to the bathroom. Just in case it's the second one, I usually relent and drag my ass out of bed to take him outside.

On this particular early morning, I stepped out in the backyard with him. I planned to go back to sleep for a couple more hours, and, to avoid any further interruptions, I wanted to make sure he did his business. He bounced out into the yard to his normal peeing spot when, suddenly, he took off like a bat out of hell. Or, rather, like a German Shepherd after something he wants to eat.

It was still dark outside, so all I could make out was a fluffy white tail, all splayed out in a defensive position.

Oh, shit.

I screamed for Rocky to come back to me, but it was too late. He already had the skunk cornered against our 6-foot tall privacy fence. And I could already smell the stench from where I stood on the edge of the porch. There went those two more hours of sleep I had planned.

Rocky's recall is usually pretty good. Then again, Rocky usually doesn't have Pepé Le Pew served up on a silver platter. So this time it took three or four very loud "ROCKY, COME!" commands (sorry, sleeping neighbors) before he showed the critter mercy and returned to the back door. Thankfully, he didn't hurt the skunk. In fact, I'm pretty sure he never touched it.

By now, the backyard smelled like a high school party, where every teenage kid brought the worst, most pungent weed you could possibly imagine.

I rushed to intercept Rocky before this 70-pound fur missile rolled skunk juice all over my couch. And that's when I witnessed a miracle: I dragged him into my kitchen and took a big whiff of his fur …it didn't smell. Somehow, this skunk managed to spray every inch of my backyard but somehow missed the giant predator it was supposed to be warding off in the first place.

I'm guessing the odds of that happening were somewhere around — say — 1.8%. 

But just like the Dallas Mavericks, I hit the lottery, baby. And I took my happy ass back to bed.

Let's do some Nightcaps.

The NFL Schedule Release Is Upon Us

The NFL drops its full 2025 schedule tomorrow. What should just be a simple announcement has turned into a full-blown production — complete with a primetime TV special. It's also basically the Super Bowl for creative departments. Every year, all 32 teams try to outdo each other by unveiling elaborate videos that lay out the upcoming regular season schedule in wild fashion.

I'd liken it to a gender reveal. In the olden days, a couple would review the ultrasound with their doctor, they'd find out the sex of their future bundle of joy, and then they'd just go home and paint the nursery blue or pink. Now, expectant parents have to throw a whole party centered around some exaggerated surprise reveal. 

Similarly, NFL teams could just drop a PDF listing their games for the upcoming season. That's all we really want. Instead, fans are forced to sit through five-minute-long cartoon animations or commercial reenactments featuring washed-up bowlers.

No offense, Pete Weber.

But just in case you can't wait for tomorrow night, the league has already announced its slate of international games. And there are seven of them this year. Seven!

Once again, Roger Goodell is loading players onto international flights like it’s a diplomatic mission, sending teams across oceans in the name of "growing the game." Which, let’s be honest, is Goodell-speak for "We found a few more people who haven’t given us their money yet."

Sao Paulo, Dublin, London, Berlin, Madrid… You could tell Roger the moon has a TV market, and by next season he'd have the Browns playing the Texans in zero gravity on Amazon Prime at 3 a.m. Eastern.

And while we're on the NFL…

Tom Brady Shares An Ancient Chinese Secret

Julian Edelman has gone gray at the ripe young age of just 38. A shocking development for him, but alas, Father Time eventually comes for us all… unless, of course, you’re Tom Brady. Or Salma Hayek.

Edelman's grays were first pointed out by Rob Gronkowski while the two former teammates were filming Dudes on Dudes (which sounds less like a podcast and more like a website that's blocked on your work computer).

Enter Tom Brady, who reportedly found the fountain of youth under a pile of avocados. Edelman says Brady told him to add some mystery Chinese powder to his smoothies, and if he sticks with it, his gray will turn brown again. It's been three years, though, according to Edelman, and no luck so far.

Now, I’m no scientist and far be it from me to be skeptical of my co-worker Tom's methods, but I'm not convinced his own anti-gray solution is entirely herbal.

Tom Brady is 47-years-old without a single gray hair. But who knows? Maybe he and blackest-of-all-black-beards Ryan Day know some ancient Chinese secret that we don't. 

And I'm guessing it's just how to pronounce "Just For Men" in Mandarin.

Meghan Trainor Sings About Her New Boobs

Ever since Meghan Trainor burst onto the scene with her thick girl anthem "All About That Bass," the pop singer has been waving the body positivity flag like the grand marshal of the "Big is Beautiful" parade. But fast-forward to 2025, and that bass is… noticeably smaller.

Meghan's reportedly lost about 60 pounds, and she’s flaunting it. Most recently at a show in Huntington Beach, she updated the lyrics to her breakout hit to include references to her new assets.

The original lyrics say, "It's pretty clear I ain't no size 2." She changed them to, "It's pretty clear I got some new boobs."

Listen, more power to her. She looks great. But it does highlight a very funny trend: all these celebrities are so yay-rah body positive… right up until they realize how much better life is when your thighs don’t try to start a campfire every time you walk to the fridge.

The same thing happened with Lizzo, who built an entire career off being fat and proud of it. Now, she's posting bikini pics left and right after dropping about 100 pounds.

To be clear, I'm not saying you have to be a supermodel to be confident in your own skin. And I'm certainly not shaming these celebrities for losing weight and getting healthy.

But maybe stop glorifying obesity to the masses while you're quietly booking plastic surgeons and shooting up Ozempic.

I'll try not to twist my ankle while I hop down from my soapbox.

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OutKick Nightcaps is a daily column set to run Monday through Friday at 4 p.m.

Follow me on X / Twitter at @TheAmberHarding or email me at Amber.Harding@OutKick.com.