
Not too far into the first quarter of Sunday's season opener, the Patriots' season
died. Well, maybe not.
Matt Cassell could turn into Tom Brady circa
2001, or the Pats could bring in
Daunte Culpepper and get a vintage season out of him, but let's face it, lightning doesn't strike twice.
As a Pats fan, watching Brady go down (and possibly/probably take the team's season with him) followed the standard stages:
Denial: "Crap. Brady is grabbing his knee and not getting up. Wait! Wait! He's walking off the field. Almost on his own power. This can't be that bad."
Anger: "Hmm, he hasn't come back yet. The announcers are indicating this isn't good. Well what do they know, anyway? Bastards! Who's that guy who hit him? Pollard? What the f*ck was he doing? That was a cheap shot!!"
Bargaining: "Its because I just bought this new Patriots jersey, isn't it? It's cursed. I should have bought a Brady jersey rather than Vrabel. I'll burn it! I swear to God, I will burn this $80 jersey in my chiminea if you just say Brady's going to be ok!"
Depression: *Glug glug glug* "Why did this have to happen? On the first fracken' day of the season! Now they're not going to make the playoffs like every other Super Bowl loser. That's all we are. F*ck 16-0, we're just Super Bowl losers!"
Acceptance: "At the Red Sox are playing well."
I can't say what it was like for every other NFL fan (particularly those in the AFC), because there are no documented phases of euphoria. But ask yourselves, do you really want to win this way? Yeah, I know you do.