My very first American friend -- I met him in Germany when I was 17 -- was a Fordham frat boy from Rahway, New Jersey and, need I say it, a Jets fan. He explained to me all about Joe Willy. I started noticing football in the 70s (M.A.S.H., Heaven Can Wait, Semi-Tough) but didn't understand much till I spent a year in Cambridge, MA in 81.
By that time, I'd several American friends who were fans of more successful teams (Cowboys, Raiders, Rams). But I didn't want to jump on any bandwagons, and no one could accuse me of that if I rooted for the Pats -- 2-14, first pick in the draft, choosing the immortal Ken Sims. So the Pats it was.
I've got to admit, though, that, though the Pats were "my team", from then on, I didn't fully identify with the Pats while the Sullivans were the owners. The Raymond Berry run to the Superbowl was great, as was the time with Parcells. Still, I figured that the Pats were a team that would basically suck but would occasionally have bubbles of hope that would burst before any real success. It took the Krafts to change that.