Robert Kraft, Owner
New England Patriots
One Patriot Place
Foxborough, Massachusetts
U.S.A. 02035
Dear Mr. Kraft:
It is with deep regret that I write today to request that my association with the New England Patriots be downgraded from rabid, devoted fan to interested spectator. I do not think you will miss me. In terms of official merchandise, I have only a mini football and a branded cooler.
To my shame, as an educated, reasonably sane adult, I got too caught up this year in the team’s so-called “quest for perfection.” I was stung, you see, by the heartbreaking loss to the Indianapolis Colts in last year’s playoffs, and I took too seriously promises that I should “wait for next year.” When the team beat San Diego early in the regular season, in the midst of the “Spygate” controversy, I began to buy into the idea that fate had something special in store for us all. I suffered through all those gut wrenching, fourth quarter wins late in the year, but I was still unprepared for the cruelty of yesterday’s defeat. To win eighteen times in nineteen games is a fine achievement, but it does not justify the considerable emotional investment for which I can now claim absolutely no return. I have tried to play the “Pollyanna” game and look for something in the last six months that makes me “glad,” but I have come up empty.
Some people will call me a sore loser, but this is not so. I actually admire the New York Giants franchise a great deal, and I often root for them in NFC matches. In fact, my association with the Patriots goes back to my childhood, when the only American football I could see in Newfoundland was regional coverage from the NBC affiliate in Bangor, Maine. Those Patriots teams were usually awful, so I believe I earned my share of the successes the team had since 2002.
You see, during the wonderful run you had in 2001-02, I found in the story of a rag-tag collection of underdogs considerable encouragement in my own life. That team exemplified for me principles of selflessness and ingenuity that can be admired, universally. During the 2003-04 and 2004-05 seasons, it seemed almost that you could rely on the Patriots to win: I did not even need to follow along that closely.
But something did change last year. When the team was leading the AFC Championship 21-3 over the Colts, I left a restaurant in Calgary to drive home to Lethbridge. I arrived in time to see the end of the 38-34 loss. It was all I could do to even think about football for next couple of months; I went cold turkey, even eschewing my practice of easing off my high by watching the Arena League.
I will have to take some time to think about how I got drawn in so deeply this year. I do think Tom Brady is swell, and the idea that the team spent the necessary money to arm him with a better supporting cast was intriguing. I am also plenty tired of listening to how the 1972 Miami Dolphins, as unlikeable bunch of fellows as you will ever hear, are the greatest team of all time. The idea that a team could go undefeated in the era of the salary cap is a bit like the impending arrival of Halley’s Comet: something you might see once in your lifetime.
Well, Halley’s Comet was cancelled last night.
It is some indication of my charmed life that last night’s loss is something like “Number Six” on my “Personal Top Ten of Worst Things to Ever Happen to Me,” and I recognize that nothing actually happened to me other than developing a sick feeling in my stomach and having my blood pressure spike ten points. But it felt a little like finding out your best girl is stepping out on you or that there is no Santa Claus. Sporting events are supposed to be spectacles of vicarious experience. I can feel loss today instead of undergoing genuine tragedy, and I am thankful for that. It is the same reason why we go to horror movies, I suppose.
But I love football because I love the fundamentals of the game: the strategy. I like watching a long pass play; I like a long run. I am happiest when I can admire good playing regardless of the result. I envy the person who can appreciate what the Giants did last night. For the longest time, I told people that I just loved the game, that I had no team. I was always told that the highs were higher when you followed someone in particular, that the lows were more poignant. I bought into that, but I am feeling only the latter, today, and my heart is broken.
I’m done with all football for some time. I hope, eventually, to get back to my channel surfing on Sunday afternoons, seeking out good matchups. Inevitably, the Patriots will be involved in some of them, and I’ll be hoping for you to do well. But I also pledge never again to hang so much, personally, on the success of a collection of multimillionaires who, in reality, say nothing to me about my life, as Morrissey used to sing. After all, it’s not like I am Gisele Bundchen.
