As a sports fan, there’s nothing more perversely gratifying than when a fraud is exposed. Kobe is charged with rape. Eugene Robinson gets arrested for soliciting a prostitute on the night before the Super Bowl, shortly after receiving the Bart Starr award for high moral character. Other times, entire organizations are exposed for the frauds that they are. As a Patriots fan, you can’t help but be giddy over the fact that the Indianapolis Colts screwed the pooch once again in a big game.
From whining General Manager Bill Polian, to head coach Tony Dungy, to Peyton, to the drunken Canadian kicker, the Ponies were punched in the mouth by a team that plays its games outside, not under a teflon roof.
I woke up at 8:00 on Sunday morning and logged onto the National Weather Service’s site. Winter storm warning in effect for Southeastern Massachusetts, starting at 4:00 PM. All week, the forecast had read “0% chance of precipitation.” Now, Bob Kraft was apparently deep in the bowels of Gillette Stadium banging away at his weather machine.
I’d sold my tickets to a buddy earlier in the week. I figured that I’d get rid of my tickets and watch the game with some of my friends over a few beers. But not now. As much as I wanted to cut and run to make a profit, I couldn’t bring myself to do it on game day. I posted on Craig’s List, saying I needed two tickets. Looking that desperate on the morning of the game isn’t likely to get you any deals, but I was determined to get tickets before noon. Shortly after posting I had several offers in my inbox. I got two standing room tickets for $125 each. Not bad.
I called my buddy and told him we were going to the game. We met the guy with the tickets in a Chili’s parking lot on the North Shore. I threw on three sweatshirts and the Brady throwback jersey and we headed for Foxboro. We were on short notice, so there was no real tailgating grub, save for a few bags of chips and a case of Anheuser Busch’s finest. We pulled into the parking lot around two and I stepped out of the car, cracking my first beer. It was cold. (The beer and the temperature). Not last-year-against-the-Dolphins cold, but still in testicular retreat territory. We decided that we were going to keep our skirts on and stay in the car. So we drank ourselves warm until about 3:30, listening to Rumford, Maine’s finest Gary Tanguay on the Pat’s pregame on ‘BCN.
Around 3:45 we saw what looked like snow flurries on the windshield. By the time we left for the stadium at 4:00, it was full blown snow. We got inside the stadium and searched the field for #93. No luck. Seymour wasn’t playing. Did it really matter? The blade crowd was fired up for this one. Chants of “cut that meat!” and “Hoo-sier daddy?” rang down on the Colts as they took the field. I had my digital camera rolling as Crazy Train hit and the Pats took the field, as a team, as has been their custom since their first Super Bowl win.
Say what you want about awful 80s power rock, I get goosebumps each time the Patriot Nation video runs right before kick off and the first strains of “For Those About to Rock We Salute You” plays. I guess, if there’s one place that this is acceptable, it’s at a football game.
As we were waiting for the kick, my buddy remarked to me over the din: “remember the last time we were here? We were on suicide watch.” It was the day after Game 3 of the ALCS. Everyone in the stadium was depressed about the Sox. I spent the afternoon saying to anyone who would listen: “You know, we get a win tonight and we’ve got Pedro in 5 and Schill in 6…” But I digress, now it was time to bookend the World Series trophy with another Lombardi trophy.
We spent the better part of the first quarter trying to find a place to sit. We were summarily booted from seats three different times. I’m of the opinion that if you’re not in your seat by the start of the game, you should lose it. We finally found some seats at the start of the second quarter and remained there for the duration of the game. There’s really a science to keeping seats that aren’t yours. You’ve got to look like you know what you’re doing. I’m also partial to the Jedi Mind trick on any potential usurpers. “You don’t need to see any ticket stubs.” “We don’t need to see any ticket stubs.”
The greatest offense ever went punt, punt, punt, punt, fumble before the idiot kicker made a chip shot to end the half. The highlight of the half was the Colts trying to run a trick play where Peyton walked down the line as if to audible.
Tedy Bruschi, the most overlooked defensive player in all of football made a ridiculous strip of the ball that resulted in the requisite chorus of “Bruuuuus!” from the Gillette faithful. (Along with the token “I was saying Boo-urns!” comment from my buddy). Has there ever been a name more suited to a player and a region? If his name were Tedy Lopez he wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.
The second half was nothing more than a carnival atmosphere as the Pats put together back-to-back touchdown drives of 88 and 94 yards. Tommy Touchdown hit David Givens for the first one and took the second one in himself after being set up by a 27 yard Dillon run on 3rd and 9 that took it down to the one.