Depression

I am still in complete and total shock.

What happened?

Did the undefeated, 18-0 New England Patriots actually get outplayed by the New York Giants?

Unfortunately, it looks as if it did indeed happen.

This loss is the perfect microcosm of why I love sports so much.

This loss is also the perfect microcosm of why I hate sports so much.

We’re going on day two of “eighteen and one” and I have yet to accept the loss. I am still feeling the sick sensation in the pit of my stomach, going over each agonizing missed opportunity. That last drive for instance, when Eli Manning “out-Bradied” Tom Brady, I keep hoping that if I re-imagine each scenario enough, the outcome will change. Asante Samuel hauls in that interception, the game is more than likely over. The Patriots finish the sack of Eli, the game is more than likely over. Rodney Harrison somehow wrestles that pass away from David Tyree (or Tyree just drops it) the game is more than likely over. So many opportunities, so many disappointments.

I think that I would feel better if the final score was 117-14, Giants. At least in this scenario, I would be able to gradually accept the fact that the dream is indeed over. Instead, I will now have to suffer for the next two weeks, going over every conceivable nuance in my mind, trying to will the Patriots to the win that will never be.

The sick part of all of this is that I somehow partly feel responsible. Like many folks, I too had drank the Kool-Aid: “if the Patriots were going to lose, they would have done so already;” “give Belichick two weeks to prepare for a team he has faced once this season and it’s game over;” “Tom Brady lose a Super Bowl? Please.” The fact of the matter is that though I painstakingly attempted avoid this over the past couple of weeks, I had a confidence that began to seep over into arrogance. In the back of my mind, I had worried about the Giants, but I always worry about the competition my favorite teams face. On the surface, I played everything out perfectly. I opted not to partake in the myriad number of polls asking the “who is gonna win?” question. I coyly portrayed the “aw shucks, I hope the Pats win” fan, knocking on wood any time I made a bold statement about the game.

Yet, in the back of my mind, I just knew the Patriots were gonna to win. Maybe they would be tested, though my arrogant mindset doubted it, but I still thought the win was in the bag. And taking all of this in, I never actually put New England in harm’s way until the weekend of the Super Bowl.

It all started with my dissection of the Pau Gasol trade. As a sports fan, I have never really been terribly lucky. I don’t want to even insinuate that I have it as bad as a lot of fans do, but aside from the 1999-2002 Lakers, my sporting fortunes have been rather ordinary.* The fact that such a life-altering trade took place before the big game should have set forth a lot of red flags. Was I really going to experience two separate cases of ecstasy in the same weekend? I was supremely confident that I was. So the downfall began.

I took the tumble down to yet another level when I decided to take this silly little sports column a bit too seriously. I had the audacity to make a Super Bowl pick. I actually made two! One worst-case scenario and one “logical” pick—both of which were Patriots victories. Who was going to read this? Only people who already knew what my prediction would be. Yet after much deliberation, I decided to go through with my forecast for the game: the arrogance had come to a head. The seeds for a loss were planted and the deed was done.

The worst part about all of this is that in a bit of blissful ignorance, I headed into the game with a level of optimism I had never experienced: the Lakers were back in the title hunt for the first time in four years and my second favorite football team was about to put an exclamation point on the first ever 19-0 season against one of my least favorite teams. Life was good. If only I knew what I was in for.

As if it were scripted to play out like a classic tragedy, my night went from angelic to hellish in the span of four hours. I was keyed up for kick-off—I knew that this was going to be New England’s night. However, the first sign of trouble came on the very first drive. Eli and co. were able to sustain a drive that clocked at just under ten minutes. But the defense stiffened up, holding the G-Men to a field goal; everything seemed to be okay again. So much so that when the Patriots were driving for their first score, I hoped that Brady would throw the touchdown to bolster his MVP chances. I was actually a bit disappointed when Laurence Maroney took it in for the score. What I wouldn’t give to have Maroney be the MVP of the Super Bowl.

Neither team scored in the second quarter, but the uneasy feeling began to make my stomach churn out a few knots. Brady was not getting any protection at all and this high-powered offense that was supposed to thrive in these conditions was not doing a single thing. Meanwhile, the Giants were keeping the game in hand. At the half it became obvious that though the Pats held a small lead, the game was playing out about as well New York could have hoped.

Even the halftime show seemed to foreshadow that this great New England juggernaut was in for a rude awakening. Tom Petty, who was amazing, trotted out a hit-filled four song set. Included in the routine were the songs “Running Down a Dream,” a song that could double as an anthem for the Giants, and “Free Falling,” a tune that may have brought forth an ominous feeling of inevitability for the Patriots. It didn’t hit me at the time, but in hindsight I realize that I was cheering on the soundtrack of New England’s demise.

And as history will show for the rest of eternity, the Patriots came out of the locker room listless and flat, whereas the Giants were gritty and determined. They hung in and hung in, and when the Patriots finally became the Patriots, moving with ease to their second score of the night, they were able to compose themselves and rise up to the challenge of a game-winning drive.

If you really wanted to apologize for New England’s loss, you could point to a number of things. The ‘almost’ interception by Asante Samuel, the would-be sack of Eli Manning, woulda-coulda-shoulda dropped pass by David Tyree all provide New England fans with the “we should’ve won” ammunition. And maybe there is a little bit of truth to this argument. The problem is that over the past day and a half, I’ve tried to convince myself into believing this argument and guess what? I’m just not buying it.

Instead, I’ve concluded two things:

1) The Giants wanted it more.

and

2) The better team won.

Now, this may present a paradox, but I think that you could still make the argument that the 2007 New England Patriots were the greatest team of all time. No one else has ever gone 18-1 and the lone loss came at the last minute. Unfortunately, it just so happens that the lone loss was the Super Bowl. So, while they may very well be the best team ever, the fact that they came up short in their biggest game (and the loss will go down as the most historic loss ever) will put a glaring hole in their resume.

As New England’s last-ditch hopes faded, these thoughts and more began to populate my mind. I accepted some right off the bat, while denying others, but they all dawned on me. The celebration that I was so ready to bask in after months of pouring my heart and soul into cheering, promoting, defending, and writing for this team was never going to come. As crazy as this sounds, I was on the verge of a breakdown, because emotionally, I had given as much as I could to this team’s season, and they suffered a loss at the lost possible moment in the worst possible fashion.

In a way, this was worse than the Dallas Cowboys loss to the Giants. As talented as the Cowboys were and as high as the hopes I had for them were, they weren’t proven. The New England Patriots were. Bill Belichick was the genius that didn’t lose playoff games when he was the favorite. Tom Brady was the immortal quarterback who didn’t falter on the big stage. New England was the team that always, and I mean always, found a way to win. But this past Sunday, they simply…didn’t.

And I still can’t fully handle it.

I can’t handle the fact that I will spend the rest of my life “knowing” that the Patriots were the better team, even though I never will be able to really prove it.

I can’t handle the prospect of flashing back to these painful memories any time I see a replay of this dreadful game.

I can’t handle the fact that this group of men, men that I’ll never know personally, whom I had decided to put up on a pedestal, were not perfect like I thought they were.

I can’t handle the fact that Mercury Morris and the rest of the 1972 Miami Dolphins will still arrogantly be able to tout themselves as the only undefeated post-merger NFL team ever.

I can’t handle the prospect of carrying a permanent emotional scar for something as silly as a football game.

I can’t handle the idea of Tom Brady being ousted for the second straight year by a Manning.

I can’t handle the fact that I am essentially held a prisoner of a game played by people who have no idea that I exist.

I can’t handle the feeling that someone as insignificant as me jinxed the Patriots because I became a little too cocky when I posted something in my silly little blog.

This is why I hate sports.

This is why I love sports.

I’ll never fully recover from a loss like this. But gradually, the pain will seep out of my soul, eventually becoming just a tiny, unpleasant memory. And I’ll prepare for the journey all over again next fall, hoping Dallas or New England can set forth on a title run. Maybe one of these teams can go on a realistic pursuit of perfection. Both teams certainly have the talent, and ironically, though they each had successful seasons on paper, both will deserve some of the luck that is needed to complete a perfect season.

And even if perfection is just a pipe dream, a championship would certainly go a long way to ease the pain. Should New England be fortunate enough to win Super Bowl XLIII, maybe, just maybe, 18-1 can be viewed as a crowning achievement in the legacy of the greatest dynasty the league has ever seen. But alas, this is a discussion that is meant to take place at a future date, after another emotionally draining season has taken place.

And until that happens, I will just have to learn how to cope with the pain as much as I possibly can.

*Yes, I cheer for the Lakers and Cowboys, two of the most successful franchises in sports history, but keep in mind that I inherited this mantle from my father, and am a little too late in the game to really remember the Cowboys dynasty or fully appreciate the Lakers three-peat. I also root for the Cincinnati Reds, who have never really been competitive in my conscious lifetime. As for the Red Sox and Patriots, I have only garnered such affinity for them because I despise their chief rivals so much. So, I’m not quite the lucky sports fan that you probably think I am.