Tom Petty’s words never proved more prescient as he encompassed the very feeling that would hours later engulf all of New England.
It was a night for history, the media monster maintained. A pursuit of perfection. The champagne was on ice. The riot squad was out en force. The panegyric was written (in The Globe’s case it was available for pre-order on Amazon). Even Dan Shaughnessy could not envision disaster. But it was not to be.
There were no smiles. There was no champagne. No guttural roar. And no celebratory kiss. There was only a blank stare at the floor, and a lecture from my girlfriend about how I was not a member of the team and that this had no tangible effect on my life. Nervous elation plunged straight into darkness. This must be what it is like to walk into a living room and find Chris Hansen.
I searched for logic in my explanation and found none. I blamed Belichick for having the audacity to change hoodies. I blamed Gisele for being a Brazilian Yoko Ono. I thought of Eli Manning’s favorite show, and asked whether I had entered the Bizarro World. There was no rationalization that accounted for the best regular season team to play in a Super Bowl to be staved off by arguably the worst.
There were many accomplishments for the Patriots this year, some of them great. They are the only team to go 16-0 in the regular season. They had perhaps the best offense in NFL History. Tom Brady and Randy Moss set historic records. They were a profoundly lucky throw and an absurd catch away from perfection.
However, there is only one word that can describe the season, failure. The stated goal of every team at the beginning of NFL Training Camp is to win the Super Bowl. It is that simple. It is what the Patriots’ dynasty was built upon. It is where legends are made. It was where Tom Brady became Tom Brady. You can have the finest beurre blanc sauce and thick succulent slabs of bacon, but if the scallops are off you’re still going to get sick.
This season was not enjoyable. The beginning was fun. The blowouts were a blast. We saw perhaps the best football that has ever been played. But, the dynamic soon shifted. The Pats were no longer vintage Mike Tyson pummeling people with ease. We were Muhammad Ali fending off George Foreman week after week. Philadelphia, Baltimore, the Giants. Everyone threw the kitchen sink at us. We had to grind out playoff victories. It was no longer about winning. It was about surviving.
For the fans and indeed for the players, the goal became not losing, which is when it becomes trouble. Winning the Super Bowl for the Patriots was not going to be joy, but relief. Relief from the Brobdingnagian burden heaped upon them by the Mercury Morris-fueled media at every turn. Lions fans could innocently hope for mediocrity. Patriots fans had to claw tenaciously at the unattainable, only to lose grip at the peak and fall into a 72′ Dolphins infested cavern.
The major issue being debated is whether this tarnishes the legacy. The answer is no. You are defined by your accomplishments, not your failure. No one will go back and ask Shakespeare why Measure for Measure sucked. Assuming Tom Brady’s Super Bowl winning days are over, he will be in the Hall of Fame. Ditto for Belichick. Does anyone ask Elway about the three Super Bowls he lost? How often does Parcells’ 1996 Super Bowl loss with the Patriots get brought up?
There is the “specter” (pun intended) of a certain Senator from Pennsylvania and his one man crusade to forfeit a Super Bowl victory to the Eagles. But. in the grand scheme of things, it will be about as important as the steroid scandals were to the 1970’s Steelers. Translation, not at all.
In truth, my girlfriend was right. The Patriots’ loss has no tangible effect on my life (Aside from the oncoming fusion of Peyton and Eli Manning’s combined commercial power into an unchained behemoth known as Uber-Manning that will eventually throw off the chains of television’s oppression and destroy us all).
I should be satiated on sweet victory wine, having not seen my football or baseball teams lose since Mid-October. So, just this once, I will be beneficent.
Congratulations, Giants Fans. Patience is a virtue, and one which you have displayed proudly this season with your unyielding support of Tom Coughlin and Eli Manning. Congratulations to you, sweat-browed stallion, with a heart (and many chains) of gold. Congratulations to you as well, lugubrious lass, who serenades us all with the dulcit tones of your Long Island accent. And, most of all, congratulations to you, New York-based media personality. No one would dare accuse you of bandwagon jumping or reading the players’ names off a cue card.
To everyone in New York, a hearty congratulations, your humility and grace is an example for us all.
