The Patriots Just Made Parenting Harder
I do not know about you, but I still retire Sunday night.
Inexplicably, my 8 year old son has become a superfain patriots. It is essentially a miniature version of Tommy Quinzee. Over the first three quarters he insisted the empanadas could still come back. And I, from Philadelphia, was trying to explain the facts of life: no one has recovered from a 25-point Super Bowl drawdown. The Patriots were not going to score 19 unanswered points in the fourth. Atlanta, who was the best team of that day. This becomes a sports fan, this is the heart and invites misery to his world on a regular basis because tragedies exceed happy purposes 10 to 1. Even for great teams.
The lesson I took to grow as an Eagles fan was that for some people, there was no happy ending. Already.
And that’s what happened. I do not know what they call when Super Bowl Li goes from being a simple new mythology. The return? The miracle of Houston? The Boston TD Party?
All I know is that he has undermined all the lessons I have tried to teach my son and put him in his place to impossible expectations for the rest of his sporting life. Imagine your world if the first time you saw a Super Bowl was this game? It’s all downhill from there.
In a sense, it pities me. But maybe it’s better this way. The cold reality reaches the highest when he retires Brady and Belichick recalled in Netherworld. Then my son will be ready to live the real desolation and futility sports Fandome. Hate will flow through him. And I’m going to teach you how to pack a snowball around a D cell. It’s your inheritance.