The New England Patriots: A Love Story

The reason I started watching the Pats is a simple one. My father bet on the games. He would make bets at the bar, and then watch the games. I watched them too, because these were the days in which you had one TV for one house, and no way was your Dad going to let you watch Scooby Doo when the Pats were playing. Although let me be honest here, most games during this time were blacked out. Blacked out as in not enough fans came to Sullivan Stadium to watch the Pats play. Hard to imagine, I know. Also, I was in love with Patriot Pat. Dreamy.


My true fandom was not experienced until the magical 1985 Cinderella season wherein we started 0-3 and finished 11-5 but still 3rd in the AFC East. We beat the Jets, Raiders and Miami (all on the road) to reach Super Bowl XX against the Chicago Bears. This logo proved untrue.


Let us revisit the 12 year old me after that game:


This was a very painful year for my sports psyche as not only did the Pats have a humiliating loss (fine I said it), the Red Sox lost to the Mets in Game 7 of the World Series. Two words: Bill Buckner. I also turned 13 and still had no boobs. So yeah, it was a fucking hard year.

As time went on, there were lots of games and lots of coaches and lots of players. We even had a 1996 trip to the Super Bowl wherein we suffered a loss to the Packers. The only good thing about this time period is that I got boobs and I started drinking. As any true Boston sports fan knows, drinking helps ease the pain, that and swearing. Swearing is good.

Also Drew Bledsoe went crowd surfing at the Paradise during an Everclear concert (his favorite band). And that right there perfectly sums the 1990s.


The year 2000 began with the firing of Pete Carroll (thank fucking god) and the hiring of one Mr. Bill Belichick in scandal. Bill was the head coach of the Jets, but then resigned, to come to the Pats. Obviously, Mr. Belichick is smart. In the 2000 draft we drafted in the 6th round Thomas Edward Brady. We went on to finish last place in the AFC East. The following year, the Patriots were not expected to do much better. During the second game of the season, Drew Bledsoe was hurt and in came back up QB, Tom Brady. Although Tom lost that game, the Pats went on to finish the season 11-5 with Brady at the helm. We went on to beat the Raiders, Steelers and finally the St. Louis Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI on Adam Vinatieri’s final seconds field goal.



Chills. Anyhoo, the aughts were a fun time to be a Patriots fan. We won two more Super Bowls and then had an almost perfect season that was destroyed by one Mr. David Tyree. How the hell do you catch a ball off your helmet? Anyway, that was bad. Especially since I watched that game with my friend Grant, a Giants Fan. Yeah. Then there was this dude named Bernard Pollard whose main purpose in life is to maim Patriot Players - Tom Brady, Wes Welker and most recently Rob “GRONK!” Gronkowski.

But here we are a mere 5 days from another Super Bowl, Super Bowl XLVI. So that means 26 Super Bowls from my first Pats Superbowl (holy shit I am old). I am nervous, feeing a mixture of dread and happiness. Happiness that we somehow are having a great season with no secondary, dread because of the people named Hakeem Nicks, Mario Manningham and Victor Cruz. I am not going to jinx my team so the only predictions I am willing to make revolve around my beer consumption and cursing. (Over/Under: 5,258). But in the end, it always remains the same. I love me some Patriots football. Go Pats!

Finally!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Its on San Franciso 49ers, thank goodness our bye week falls Week 4 so that Bill Belichek has two full weeks to prepare for your onslaught. I shall cheer and drink beer, while possibly do irreparable harm to my marriage, because John is a 9ers fan, and well just let us say that all of our arguments (aside from that time I took a flight from sanity) have been about sports. The gauntlet, she has been thrown. I can't freaking wait for the season to start. Drooling on the floor.

Blah, Blah, Blah - PMS Ramblings

I do believe that a sufficient time has passed with regards to the Patriots loss in the Superbowl that I can now blog again. That evening at around 2:00 a.m. I woke up and just shook my head trying to figure out how it happened. And the worse part of it all? John repeatedly saying the following "At least Joe Montana never lost a Superbowl." Yeah, kill me.

And moving on, it has been three weeks and I still hate my hair. I am remedying this tomorrow with a hair cut. Alternatively I thought this morning I would just wear barrettes for the next 3 months, but whatever, to the hair cutter I go. I don't know if they will be able to fix the razor ravage mess that was once my flowing mane, but I surely hope so. At this point, I don't really care - I just don't want to look into a mirror and cringe saying "I fucking hate my fucking hair; I look like a crack addict." Mind you, I don't really, but that is the level of hate I have - similar to my hatred of the New York Yankees and now the New York Giants. I could go on about this, and I am sure John can attest, endlessly, but lessoned learned - if someone comes at me with a razor and states they are going "to give it a go." Well I am going to spit in their face, stomp on their feet, and hightail it out of there.

And moving on (again), this Thursday is the blessed day of St. Valentine. Not that I am celebrating, as I have a child who is just about 14 months with green snot flowing out of his nose, and that is the day I am suppose to be visited with the women's curse. Nothing says Happy Valentines, like cramps, Advil popping and the craving of pasta. I have been torturing John about it though to comedic results. The other evening when telling him that February 14 means he has to woo me, he responded with the following "Wooooooooooo." "Woooooooooooo." (ghost effect, please). And there I had it, my present.

And moving on (for the last time), I have been fighting against the scourge of fat. I attribute this to the motivation of Hawaii in 4 weeks. Which is great, but also, I got a pedometer. Nothing will tell you how sorry and inactive your fat ass is than this miracle of an invention. My goal of 10,000 steps a day has been going well - combined with running (which I started this weekend), Subway, and staying within my weight watchers points, I can say that when trying on my old size today at the Gap I was thisclosetohappiness. However, I really need to get new bras. I am still wearing my use as a parachute in case of airplane emergency ones because I am cheap and don't want to dole out the money for a new bra if my old bras may fit again. Why pay for interim bras? Why people? Oh wait, maybe because my boobs are like oranges in a cantaloupe size containers that shift and move causing great humiliation in the form of off kilter nipples. So to Nordstrom's this weekend I will go to be molested.

So to sum up - (1) the Patriots lost the Superbowl, (2) tomorrow hopefully the hell that is my hair will end, (3) Valentines Day is for suckers, (4) weight loss is going well and (5) my boobs should be contestants on Dance Wars with Carrie and Bruno. That is all.

A Patriots Poem

Well, as promised, here is my poem that is an ode to the New England Patriots who will face the Chargers in the AFC Championship Game. My God, how awesome were the football games yesterday? Two of the best games of the year. Playoff Football!!! I love it. And here is my inner dork revealed . . .

The 2007 New England Patriots
A Tale Told In Rhyme

This season began with a draft day surprise,
The Pats traded for Moss, can't believe my eyes!
A 3 million contract and a 3rd round pick?
If you're not a Pats fan, this must make you sick.

Game One a win against the Mangina Jets.
Belichick cheating? Shall we discuss, oh lets!
Did nothing too bad, but fined and dismissed.
Now all say together: Bill Belichick's pissed!!

Next up the Chargers, in a playoff rematch,
Is every Brady throw a touchdown catch?
The defense was outstanding in halting LT,
How was that on your Visio HDTV?

Next to come were the Bills, Bengals and Browns
But nothing could stop the Patriots touchdowns.
Ocho Cinco manhandled, Lee Evans too,
And Romeo, oh Romeo, what could you do?

The next game was against the Cowboys and Romo,
Could the Patriots stop the menace named TO?
Of course they did, a fan always believes
Brady was hot and threw for five TDs.

AFC East rival the Dolphins then Skins
Forgive me father, for these football sins
Decimation is the only word to describe
Combined score: 101 to 35.

Next was the test of the Indianapolis Colts
The Pats losing at the half, oh my it revolts.
A comeback with win, the Pats don't disgrace,
Whoopee, look at that, it’s the Manning face.

A match with the Buffalo Bills yet again,
Destruction the result - 56 to 10.
The Eagles with Freeley surprise us all.
The game was close, but Pats do not fall.

The Ravens, the Steelers, the Jets and Miami
If this were a game show, then bring on the whammy.
Undefeated with only one game to win
Here come's New York, and Tom Coughlin's G-men.

The game was closer than anyone thought
Eli Manning will win? Oh god, I think not.
Moss and Brady combine for the records and win,
Is that quiet I hear, 72 Dolphin?

A perfect season had, but three more to go.
Welcome to the Belichick Tom Brady show.
So in conclusion, let us remove our hats,
God bless the game of football and of course the Pats.

I read this during halftime, and I do have to say that it went over well. Now if only I can get a job writing rhymes about things. I don't know who to sacrifice for this, but I am willing. Dr. Cassandra Suess has a ring, does it not?

Why is it . . .

that a Subway sandwich in all its brilliant glory ends rather too quickly for my poor lust filled heart, err stomach? And yes, before you ask I am becoming the female version of Jared - who if you don't know had a porn video operation in college. This information did not surprise me in the least, because honestly, that guy looks a little bit molesterish, does he not? Also, this weekend is the Pats first game of the playoffs and in honor of them I will be composing a poem to be read at halftime in my living room. Be there or be the sorta of person who does not draft a poem in honor of her favorite sports in her favorite sport a/k/a not a geek. Since I have yet to compose said poem, I don't have a title, but I am thinking that it will be in the vein of Ulysses or The Odyssey. Yeah, you heard me. Go Pahwts!