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I don't pick up newspapers much anymore, but I'm glad that I picked up the Herald this morning. I couldn't find a link to the article so I'm reprinting it here. It hits the nail on the head;
Plenty of Pats agony led to the ecstacy
The loathing that football fans across America reportedly have for the Patriots has an easy explanation: They hate us because they ain’t us.
But anyone subscribing to such nonsensical hatred has a flawed memory, forgetting that Patriot fans, once again giddy with Super Bowl excitement, know what it’s like to be on the outside looking in, watching someone else’s celebration.
Do these knockers remember 1975 when the Pats were 3-11? How about 1981 when they were 2-14?
Patriot fans have paid a high price for the good times that are rolling now.
If you’ve spent your life here you know what it’s like to languish in a valley of dashed dreams, hoping to someday experience how sweet life must be at the top of the mountain.
Boston fans need no reminders.
A favorite memory here from the years this column covered sports is an off-day morning when both the Celtics and Bruins were in their locker rooms. “You know why the Celtics have all those banners don’t you?” Brad Park quipped. “They don’t have to play Montreal.”
That puckish thought was brought to Kevin McHale, a Minnesota boy with hockey in his DNA, who replied, “Tell Brad that when it comes to basketball we are Montreal.”
But now it’s the Patriots who’ve established the gold standard for winning, dominating their opposition like no one has since Bill Russell retired 50 years ago.
Who goes to nine Super Bowls in 18 seasons? That’s no dream; that’s a hallucination.
Yet here we are, and now we’re told yahoos and assorted Johnny-come-latelies around the country resent us?
Really? Please. Let ‘em pound sand.
The Patriots, as much as any pro franchise, know life’s not always fair. After the Jets won the 1969 Super Bowl their mercurial offensive coordinator, Clive Rush, was hired to coach the Pats, who had gone 4-10.
Rush brought four of those Jets here with him, all of whom sported gaudy championship rings.
“They went out of their way to flash them in front of us, often at inappropriate times,” lineman Lenny St. Jean, a good guy who was often maligned in his 10 seasons here, recalled years later.
“What could we say? They had them and we didn’t. But by the time training camp ended all four had been cut. Imagine that? They were the champions and we were the bums, but they couldn’t make our team.”
No, the Patriots and their long-suffering fans owe apologies to no one for being in Atlanta tomorrow, licking their chops for another championship.
They’ve paid the price.
Plenty of Pats agony led to the ecstacy
The loathing that football fans across America reportedly have for the Patriots has an easy explanation: They hate us because they ain’t us.
But anyone subscribing to such nonsensical hatred has a flawed memory, forgetting that Patriot fans, once again giddy with Super Bowl excitement, know what it’s like to be on the outside looking in, watching someone else’s celebration.
Do these knockers remember 1975 when the Pats were 3-11? How about 1981 when they were 2-14?
Patriot fans have paid a high price for the good times that are rolling now.
If you’ve spent your life here you know what it’s like to languish in a valley of dashed dreams, hoping to someday experience how sweet life must be at the top of the mountain.
Boston fans need no reminders.
A favorite memory here from the years this column covered sports is an off-day morning when both the Celtics and Bruins were in their locker rooms. “You know why the Celtics have all those banners don’t you?” Brad Park quipped. “They don’t have to play Montreal.”
That puckish thought was brought to Kevin McHale, a Minnesota boy with hockey in his DNA, who replied, “Tell Brad that when it comes to basketball we are Montreal.”
But now it’s the Patriots who’ve established the gold standard for winning, dominating their opposition like no one has since Bill Russell retired 50 years ago.
Who goes to nine Super Bowls in 18 seasons? That’s no dream; that’s a hallucination.
Yet here we are, and now we’re told yahoos and assorted Johnny-come-latelies around the country resent us?
Really? Please. Let ‘em pound sand.
The Patriots, as much as any pro franchise, know life’s not always fair. After the Jets won the 1969 Super Bowl their mercurial offensive coordinator, Clive Rush, was hired to coach the Pats, who had gone 4-10.
Rush brought four of those Jets here with him, all of whom sported gaudy championship rings.
“They went out of their way to flash them in front of us, often at inappropriate times,” lineman Lenny St. Jean, a good guy who was often maligned in his 10 seasons here, recalled years later.
“What could we say? They had them and we didn’t. But by the time training camp ended all four had been cut. Imagine that? They were the champions and we were the bums, but they couldn’t make our team.”
No, the Patriots and their long-suffering fans owe apologies to no one for being in Atlanta tomorrow, licking their chops for another championship.
They’ve paid the price.
