All of us have different stories on how we came to love this team. For me, a born and bred Oklahoman, it was 1991. The Pats were on ESPN a couple of times in the network's early days of Sunday Night football. I fell in love with the uniforms and the goofy but energetic coach (Dick MacPherson) and players like Jon Vauhgn and Leonard Russell. A casual interest grew later on when Bledsoe was drafted and the promise he brought to the franchise. I suffered through losing seasons, sometimes inept coaching, annoying losses, draft busts and a Super Bowl defeat. And yet the passion endured as my friends wondered why I was rooting for this far off team in a state I've never set foot in. Belichick came then Brady and before any of us knew it, a lifetime of memories were made in seven short years. Through all of it, a part of me has enjoyed watching this team win for the lifers. The fans who came before me. The die hards who sat in the alluminum seats in the winter and endured clods like Clive Rush and Rod Rust. Years later many of those fans think about the friends they were with at certain games or how their dad told them how Sugar Bear Hamilton got robbed against the Raiders in '76. To me, that's what this is all about. The memories, and the solemn comfort of knowing the only truly relevant opinion about this team's legacy resides with us, its fans. The doubters, with their asterisks and their un-named sources only strengthen my love for this organization and its history. And for that, I am grateful.