I believe in the Patriots. No not the flag waving, freedom mongering, bumper sticker sticking Americans, but the 10-0 football team in the midst of one of the greatest football seasons in history. Every Sunday when the ugly storm clouds of homework drift in, there is always a beacon of light in the form of a football team. When the silver, blue, red and white trot onto the field, shivers radiate down my spine and a sly grin appears on my face. It has not always been this easy for us New England fans, much of nineties were spent in the doldrums and not to mention the decades of misery prior to that. The 21st century equaled a serious change of heart in the sports gods and for some reason he or she is smiling down on the region. The Red Sox have won twice in the last four years after an eighty-year span without a championship and the Celtics are headed toward their best season since the days of Larry Bird. Before you discount us New Englanders as spoiled you must remember what these sports mean to us. We keep these teams directly next to our heart, we are born with our teams colors indebted to our genes. We idolize the players, over analyze them to a point that easily qualifies as ridiculous and wear their jerseys as if they were surgically attached to our backs. The franchises are a pair of Carhartt overhauls in the icy winter months, an extra guest at thanksgiving and a close friend during hard times. So as much pain as they bring us, they bring us twice as much comfort and happiness, so maybe just maybe we do deserve this. Next Sunday as the Patriots trot out onto the field, the people around me will most likely look at me with disgust, but I will stand up with pride, smile and take it all in, because even I know it was not always this great.
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