Tonight, the New England Patriots football team will square off against the Philadelphia Eagles in Minneapolis, Minnesota to contest Super Bowl LII. I have rooted for New England since 1987, and I have seen beautiful and horrid Super Bowls. I believe myself a faithful fan, but I don’t know how much of the game I’ll watch. After all, the Patriots already owe me for three Super Bowl victories. Maybe if I don’t watch, they can add another.
Playing Priorities
It all began in 2002, in the tiny hamlet of Providence, Rhode Island. A college senior, wanting to help his new girlfriend (and get a kiss), missed the final quarter of Super Bowl XXXVI. I had been photocopying a friend’s physics workbook for said girlfriend, who needed to study for a Monday test.
Coming back, I felt good about my sacrifice, like my priorities were in the right place (get a kiss!). Suddenly, cheers erupted in the nearest dorm, and a stupefied, drunken male burst out into my path. He stumbled forward, wrapped me in a fierce bear hug, and exclaimed, “They fuckin’ won!”
Thus began my dubious superpower: When I ignore them and remain a faithful fan, the Super Bowl Patriots become Rocky, Cinderella, and the 300 Spartans.
Power Up
When you focus on kung fu, when you concentrate, you stink. – Master Shifu (Dustin Hoffman), Kung Fu Panda
The Patriots are 3-0 in the Super Bowl when I don’t watch significant portions of the game, and 2-3 when I stay glued to the screen in agony for the entire contest. In effect, my eyes work like reverse home field advantage. On weak nights, I even blame myself for 18-1, though everyone knows the Manning family sacrificed a pet cat to Beelzebub for that triumph.
Still, after two excruciating defeats by the New York (Cat-Killing) Giants, 2015 me knew better than to watch New England take on the favored Seattle Seahawks. Seattle had won the year before, and they possessed the same brutalizing defense that had worked so well for the Giants. Plus, Seattle had former Patriots coach Pete Carroll, who had a history of keeping them out of the Super Bowl. (Elephants never forget, elephants never forgive, yo.) I couldn’t risk having XLIX on my TV.
Instead, I spent time with my family, keeping my mental energy positive even as I occasionally updated ESPN.com’s Gamecast. Near the end, certain they had lost, I turned on the TV to at least admit to the final score… and saw Malcolm Butler getting interviewed about a game-winning interception. Clearly, my feigned apathy had forced Pete to infamously call for a goal-line pass over unleashing Beast Mode. You’re welcome, Bill Simmons.
Similarly, last year, 21-3 was enough to keep me away from the TV, while the Atlanta Falcons roughed my Patriots up again. Then, 28-12 happened. I felt something in the cosmos, an inkling that I had rightly avoided adding to the dark emotions of the first three quarters. Suddenly, I felt the comeback. So, I kept black the screen, waited for the one score deficit. Then I clicked on just in time to will Julian Edelman to make that holy-fockin’-shit grab (Boston accent required). I even promised to run around the block in my shorts and tee shirt when they won the overtime coin toss. Again, you’re welcome.
Faithful Fan
Tonight, well, I feel decidedly nervous about this one. The Eagles play strong, skilled, and with a Philly-sized chip on their shoulders. Even with their starting quarterback injured, they have found ways to win. And the Eagles have the sort of strengths that can exploit the Patriots’ weaknesses. Check out Robert Mays and Bill Barnwell’s excellent previews, if you want better-informed previews.
All told, it sounds like I should sit out Super Bowl LII and unleash the magic of the faithful fan. You know, for the Patriots’ sake.
Listen, I know I sound fair-weather, front-running, and part of the bandwagon. More than one fan has been excommunicated because of those crimes. But I stuck with the team through Tony Eason, Zeke Mowatt, Rod Rust, and Drew Bledsoe. I cheered on Matt Cassel after Bernard Karmell Pollard derailed the 2008 revenge train. But I am also human. I succumb to fear and doubt. The New England Super Bowl Patriots don’t need me biting my nails, yelling at the TV screen, and piling more negative mental energy onto them. They just require that I relax, crack open a Sam Adams, turn on the Dropkick Murphys, and stay a faithful fan.