I love the Patriots, and you are a pussy

I love the New England Patriots.

Let me say that again: I love the New England Patriots.

I love them even more now that being a Pats fan has become so unpopular. It's nice to know who your real friends are.

You're pissed that Bill Belichick broke the rules and videotaped the Jets. You're pissed that they rang up 52 points against the Redskins, and 149 points in their last three games alone. You're pissed that they leave their first string players on the field long after the games are effectively over, aggressively throwing the ball down the field on a never ending quest for touchdowns, pursuing points the way crackheads pursue little white rocks.

You like Peyton Manning better than Tom Brady. Peyton's commercials make you laugh. He's polite and respectful, and he's far too humble to take credit for his many accomplishments, instead crediting his teammates and coaches for the Colts' success. He even has the decency to be as ugly as a bassett hound, and to avoid dating underwear models, just to remind us that he's a regular guy, just like we are.

He's nothing like that bastard Brady, who clearly was not satisfied with merely winning three Super Bowls before the age of 30. No, Brady had to be good looking too! He insists on banging Hollywood actresses and Victoria Secret models, and getting his mug on the cover of GQ. Tom Brady is the kid in high school who outscored the geeks on the SATs, and then fucked his way through the cheerleading squad while the dorks were home studying.

Yes, Brady says all the right things. He deflects the praise, like Peyton does. He credits the coaches, and his teammates, like Manning. But you watch Brady. You see that twinkle in his eyes and that sly smile, and you know he does not believe what he's saying. You know he thinks he's the best thing to happen to football since instant replay, and you hate him for it.

You praised the Pats after their three championships. You had to. But you've always secretly looked for a reason to hate them and their golden boy QB. And lo and behold, along comes Cameragate.

You don't care that every other team probably did it. You don't care that the NFL commissioner himself admitted that the videotaping had no outcome on the one game in question. You saw the opening and you continue to pound away at it, even now, months later, after the punishments have been handed down and the league has moved on, and after the Patriots have run a train on everyone in their path since then--without the aid of videocameras.

You continue to call Bill Belichick a cheat. You continue to question past victories, including the Super Bowls, even though 100,000,000 people worldwide watched them and you still have zero evidence against the team. But you don't care, because you hate the Patriots and you always have.

So you watch the Patriots unblinkingly. You stalk them, searching for a weakness, because a weakness means that all is not lost. Every week, you manage to convince yourself that this game will be different, that this defense will be the one to finally slow the Patriots down, that the Pats will get complacent, that there's no way they can keep up the onslaught for an entire season without a single letdown.

You'll conjure up statistics to prove your point. You'll criticize past opponents, implying that real teams would have given the Patriots a harder time. But you know it's all nonsense.

You have always feared the Patriots, but you fear them more this year. This year feels different, and has since the preseason. They win Super Bowls with who-dats and other teams' castoffs; what will they do now that they are loaded with more talent than they ever have been?

You know what they will do. They will brutalize their opponents, humiliate them in their own stadiums, score touchdown after touchdown as the stands empty and the announcers whack off over the latest record that Tom Brady has shattered.

You whimper that the Patriots are classless, that they run up the score unnecessarily. You petulantly warn us that karma is a bitch, that their victims will remember and retaliate someday. You wonder aloud when someone will take a cheap shot at Brady, or Moss, and then secretly wish it to happen.

Of course, it never occurs to you that the Patriots were on the losing end more than any team they are crushing today. It was the Patriots who went 1-15 in 1990, 2-14 in 1992, and 5-11 in 2000. You forget that, not so long ago, one team after another visited the Patriots' slapdash, high school-caliber stadium, pounded them into submission, and left town laughing. You're witnessing karma now. You just fail to realize it.

If there is hope for you, it lies in the Colts. Eight weeks into the season, it is obvious: If the Pats don't lose to Indy, they will go 16-0. You can't bear to think of the headlines, the saturation coverage this feat would receive. So you obsess over the game, drown yourself in analysis, seizing upon any nugget which hints that the Colts will win, ignoring the tsunami of evidence that tells you you're wrong. You will hang your hat on last year's three-point victory over New England in the AFC championship game, impressing yourself with how Manning moved his team down the field, conveniently forgetting that he did so against special teams players and bench idiots, and that he did not fare nearly as well against the first string. Yes, the Colts won fair and square, but unless the Patriots defense takes a half off, there is no reason to expect a repeat performance. And you know it.

This is a violent game. Men get paralyzed playing it. Players grow old and wind up in wheelchairs, their bodies irretrievably ravaged and broken. It is a hard, unforgiving game, and should be played that way. Teams should try to score when they have the ball, and should do so aggressively, no matter how big the lead is. Mercy is for girls' softball. If it were any other team, you might agree, but you don't.

Keep hating the Patriots. Keep throwing things at the television and cursing as they gang-rape one team after another. Keep picking the Colts and telling yourself that they can hang with the Patriots, and when Brady is on the sideline, clowning with his teammates late in the game with a 24-point lead, turn off your TV and stop torturing yourself.

Of course, I'll keep watching.