I’ve been slipping lately.
I haven’t been to a PFA meeting in six weeks, and the cracks are starting to show.
My intervention occurred shortly after the season ended last year. It was brought to my attention that my addiction caused me to be abrasive and unyielding. It’s a disease that is detrimental to my health.
My “homerisms” were upsetting fans from the other 31 teams of the NFL. By spouting all things Patriot, I was alienating myself from the majority of the population of the rest of the world.
I was shown that through my diseased brain I was unable to recognize and accept several undeniable facts like the following:
Tom Brady is a second-rate system quarter back at best. Any other quarterback used in the same system would do at least as well, if not better, than Brady.
Bill Belichick is not really a genius—he’s only smart enough to make everybody think he is.
The fantastic near decade-long success of the Patriots is only due to the following reasons: inept referees calling bad penalties on opposing teams and never calling penalties against the Pats, freaky bad luck for opposing teams, and by cheating on the part of the Patriots.
So, I entered the program of Patriot Fan Anonymous (PFA).
We are not supposed to wear any of our team’s sports gear, as we need to avoid the rush of adrenaline and pride of donning a Patriots jersey.
We are supposed to collect all the team gear and memorabilia. You’re supposed to discard or destroy those items.
My favorite jersey went into the box, along with several other Patriot items. I was going to take the box down to The Salvation Army. I couldn’t wear any of the clothing anymore, but I thought they might warm some other hearts as they had done for me for so many years.
Cleaning out the closet yesterday, that same box fell to the floor and broke open. All the contents spilled out on the floor, and that jersey unfurled with its brilliant colors, covering all the other Patriot items in a most protective way.
It seems that I had put it away dirty though. I must have forgotten.
I could still smell the mustard from the very last bratwurst I had a season ago.
Mingled in the aroma was what must have been a slosh of Sam Adams beer that might have missed my mouth and got soaked up by the jersey as well.
I’ll admit that reminiscing about the past Patriot seasons is a reason to make a bee-line for a meeting. I didn’t go as I should have.
I intended on returning that jersey to the storage box. I only wanted to wash it so that it would be usable when I did finally make the drop-off.
I will admit that I enjoyed holding it—feeling that silky smoothness of the polyester fabric running through my fingers. As I said, the aroma coming from the jersey was enticing—it comes close to affecting me as much as my wife’s best perfume.
I did get it into the washing machine. But it was when I pulled it out of the dryer to fold it that I really slipped.
The jersey literally slipped right over my head, and my arms instinctively found the arm holes.The warm feeling it created in my heart as I expanded my chest by several inches is nearly indescribable.
I could swear the air I breathe is a little sweeter from wearing this jersey.
I knew I was in trouble, and I had to contact my sponsor, Terry Robinson.
Even though part of our recovery requires that we refrain from venturing into any NFL sports related Web sites, I couldn’t find his email address or phone number. The only way I knew I could find him was by logging back onto Bleacher Report.
I haven’t been logged on in a while. I navigated my way through my favorite links and was about to got to Terry’s bio, but I thought I would check out the New England Patriots' page. I tentatively used the mouse button to bring me to nirvana—I mean Hell.
All my favorite Patriot writers are still here: Good ole William Berry and Mike Dussault. They are still pumping out stories on our, I mean their, favorite subject.
There’s even some new writers like T.A. and Samer Ismail as true Patriot fans—I mean addicts.
But wait, didn’t I see all those guys at the PFA meetings a couple of months back?
That’s when I noticed that my sponsor is ranked No. 3 in the top writers on the Pats page.
I’ve been betrayed. They told me to stay away from here.
He told me this place was no good for me.
The communal fanhood of Patriot nation is not supposed to be good for my affliction.
By God, wait until after this season is over—I’ll personally be holding an intervention for each of them.
We’ll be going back to the meetings then.
Right after the Patriots win it all.
We’ll get help. I promise we will.