February 2002. What a f#<k!ng year 2001 was. Lotsa sh!t happened, both on the world's stage and within my own life.
Another year without cable and not much opportunity to follow the Pats up here in Alaska. Then, someone recommended that I make sure I find a way to pay attention to this kid named Brady. Holy cr@p, they'd made the Super Bowl again, relatively soon after that bowl cluster-f#<k against Green Bay where Parcells was saying sayonara in the two weeks leading up to the game...
One of my coworkers/buddies, a fellow Masshole, was off on drill with the Guard, so I wasn't able to watch it with him. My cousin was very interested in watching and, on my way up to his place, this song came on the radio. After two previously humiliating Super Bowls, I was hoping it would be prophetic that the Pats get knocked down but get up again.
To this day, all I can say is holy f#<k! So many years of being one of the NFL's whipping boys and what a dream, what touch of magic at the end of so much sh!t. Guess I'm still looking to touch that magic again through them all these years later...
Anyhow, if all is going well with flights, etc, I'm on my way about now—along with my octogenarian dad, my older brother, my nephew (my sister's boy), and my best friend from growing up all those years on The Cape—to a holy pilgrimage to Gillette Stadium to watch the Pats play the Saints. Been the better part of thirty years since I last saw a ball game with my dad.
So, I'll leave you with this song and continue to hope that no matter how often the Pats/us get knocked down, we/they get back up again!
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