The 1970′s may have been bathed in second hand smoke and disco, and the dominant political figure of the decade may have been Richard Nixon, but people didn't speak about hummus like it was a religion, and travel soccer did not exist.
So maybe not so bad after all.
I found this in my classroom on Monday morning following the Patriots loss to the Denver Broncos in the AFC Championship game.
The balloons, the orange soda, and the poorly sprayed silly string on my chair are the work of a New York Giants fan who cares absolutely nothing for the Broncos.
This person also wore Broncos colors to work that day, which left me wondering:
How self-loathing must a person be to embrace the colors of a football team for which he feels no allegiance and would be rooting against in any other circumstance?
How oddly fixated on the football allegiance of others must a person be in order to spend time and money do something that is completely unrelated to his own team?
How disturbingly affectionate must a person feel about the suffering and disappointment of others to engage in this kind of mean-spirited behavior?
Just imagine how psychologically broken a person must be to go through all this effort when his team had been home for more than three weeks after failing to post a winning record in the regular season.
It's slightly reminiscent of Red Sox fans chanting "Yankees suck!" when their team is playing the Minnesota Twins or the Baltimore Orioles.
If you're directing your chants at a team playing hundreds of miles away while ignoring the opponent in front of you, you have problems.
Perhaps not as unfortunate and odd as the person who filled my room with orange and blue, but close.
With the exception of an annual teacher-versus-student annual flag football game, I have played football exactly twice in five years despite my desire to play much more often.
What I really want is to play tackle football, but as a man in his forties with friends about my age or older, this has been impossible to do. Even the handful of millennials who I count as friends do not want to play tackle football with me (which should come as no surprise).
Though I would play tackle football in a heartbeat if asked, perhaps my inability to find such a game has been a blessing.
Almost five years ago I played a flag football game with friends that led to a collision between my head and my friend's torso. I don't actually remember the collision and was likely concussed (but after a few minutes continued to play), and my friend was X-rayed three days later and discovered that he had two broken ribs.
In October, I played a game of two-on-two touch football. On the first play from scrimmage, I dove for a sideline pass and hurt my shoulder. It was hurt ever since. Two weeks ago, I began physical therapy on what may be a torn rotator cuff.
I love football, but perhaps football doesn't love me.
Or maybe I should stop playing the game as if a Super Bowl title is on the line.
Either way, I'm still looking to play. Two hand touch, flag, or tackle. Whatever I can find.
But tackle would be great.
I used to think that Patriots quarterback Tom Brady and I only had our rugged good looks and coincidentally beautiful wives in common.
Not true.
According to Yahoo sports:
“Don’t expect to see Tom Brady at his local coffee shop anytime soon.
The 38-year-old star quarterback for the New England Patriots told radio station WEEI’s “The Dennis and Callahan Show” in Boston that he has never drank coffee in his life. Never even tasted it.
”I never had any coffee or anything like that,” Brady said. “I just never tried it.”
Brady admitted to indulging in “burgers or ice cream” when asked about his food weaknesses.”
Not only are burgers and ice cream two of my favorite foods, but as you may know, I have also never tried coffee or anything like it.
Great minds think alike.
On the heels of my own list of New Year's resolutions comes my proposed resolutions for the National Football League.
There are many serious issues that the NFL needs to address. This list does not touch upon the more complex and serious issues facing the NFL but seeks only to increase a fan's enjoyment of the game.
Most of these proposals are relatively simple to adopt and should be implemented immediately.
As a Patriots fan who spent yesterday evening in Gillette Stadium, watching his beloved team blunder their way to a second straight loss, you might think that I would be upset today. Depressed. Annoyed. Outraged. Discouraged. Disheartened. Even angry. Enraged.
You might think that the flood of messages that I received from joyous Giants, Jets, and Philly fans just after the game would have set me on edge. Primed me for sadness or rage.
These would all be reasonable expectations, But you would be wrong.
Perhaps it's because of the way the Patriots lost the game yesterday. They were not dominated on offense or defense. They were not pushed around and overmatched. They may not even have been the worst team on the field yesterday.
Three plays caused The Patriots to lose yesterday.
Take away one of these plays - unusual plays which you almost never see and truly never see in one game - and the Patriots win easily. Two of the plays resulted in 10 and 14 point swings respectively, and the third play put seven points on the board for the Eagles.
When your team makes dumb mistakes and loses, it's perhaps easier to feel okay about the loss. It's not a sign that my favorite team is physically inferior or less talented. It's not a signal of things to come. It's simple stupidity. The inability to execute.
In short, dumb mistakes.
And perhaps it's easier to accept the loss when your team's record is still 10-2. Had the loss ruined my team's chances to make the playoffs (like the Giant's loss did yesterday), perhaps I would not be feeling as good as I do today.
And perhaps the fact that the Patriots' best receiver, the other best receiver (and one of the best players in all of football), the best running back, the best offensive lineman, and the best linebacker are injured (with three of the five expected back by the playoffs) helps to dampen the pain of the loss. While it's universally acknowledged that all football teams suffer injuries by December, it's also been universally acknowledged that the Patriots rash of injuries this year has been extreme.
We've lost without some of our best players on the field. Of course we struggled. Just wait until they are back.
All of these reasons may help me to feel better this morning, but here is what I think is the real reason:
I enjoyed the game yesterday. I did not enjoy the final play or the final score, but the game was exciting. The final score was not 35-7 or even 35-14. It was 35-28, and with a minute to go, my team had roared back and was threatening to tie and maybe win.
It was a thrilling fourth quarter.
The Patriots scored two touchdowns in the final five minutes.
They recovered an onside kick.
They forced a fumble with under a minute to play to get the ball back.
They also ran a double reverse which led to stone-footed Tom Brady catching a 36 yard pass.
This was not a team that laid down and died. They fought. They fought like hell.
When the Patriots scored on a Tom Brady one yard run with 3:00 minutes to go, the faithful who had not already fled the stadium erupted in cheers. The concrete and steel beneath my feet began to shake. I was jumping in the air, pumping my fist, offering high-fives to anyone I could find. Still down by a touchdown with three minutes to play and only two timeouts, the chances of tying or winning were still slim. The Patriots needed the ball back.
A recovered onside kick.
A defensive stop.
A turnover.
They got the turnover, but they could not manage to drive the field.
We lost.
But those final five minutes... the joy, the hope, the possibility. It was amazing. It was a feeling that can only be experienced if you have been in the depths of despair. It was like watching a phoenix rising from the ashes. It was hope where there was once none.
These are not everyday feelings. These are momentous emotions.
When the Patriots scored with three minutes to go, I turned to my friend - a man who once told me that I live in the moment more than anyone he has ever known - and said, "Listen. We probably aren't going to win this game. But please, don't forget this moment. This moment of joy and possibility. Don't let the depression of a loss steal this moment of happiness from you."
I was actually screaming these words to him over the roar of the crowd and the music, and I was holding onto him. Squeezing his shoulders and chest. Trying to force my words into his body.
My friend - who was also attending his first professional football game ever - did not heed my advice. He was not able to hold that moment of joy and hope in his heart. He grumbled on the way home. Told me that it's the end result that matters. That moments of possibility are meaningless when they don't result in a win.
I suspect that many Patriots fans will be feeling similarly today. They will be angry or annoyed or depressed today and perhaps tomorrow and maybe all week.
I understand that, too. Had the Patriots lost 35-7 in a game that offered nothing by way of excitement and joy, I would be feeling the same way.
But that's not what I watched yesterday. I felt joy in that stadium yesterday. Hope filled my heart. I witnessed an almost remarkable comeback by a team of determined football players.
For a short time, I was as happy as a person can be.
And I got to see a crazy double reserve pass to the quarterback, too.
Too often we forget the small moments of happiness and hope when the end result is less than we expected or desired.
Perhaps my friend is right. Maybe I am able to live in the moment more than most, but even more important than living in the moment is remembering those moments long after they have passed. It's honoring them. Recognizing them as important and blessed events in our lives. Acknowledging the great fortune to be able to exist in that moment, experiencing the kind of hope and joy that can be so elusive for so many.
I'm okay today. I didn't like the final score, and I wish that the Patriots comeback would have been complete, but the moments along the way were magical. Unforgettable. I'll keep them close to my heart and leave the final score for someone else to wallow over.
On the eve of game three of the World Series (in which the Royals lead the Mets two games to none, I wanted to highlight this incredible bit of information that was included in ESPN's 20 Worst Dead Money Deals of All Time.
Though there are deals that cost teams more, this deal seems especially stupid, especially given the last sentence of the paragraph.
“19. Bobby Bonilla, New York Mets, $29.8 million
The deal actually wasn’t that bad for Mets, but because of how far the payments were extended, Bonilla has become the poster boy for deferred or dead money. Simply put, the Mets could have just paid Bonilla the $5.9 million they owed him when they let him go in 2000. Instead, they worked out a payment plan that will net Bonilla $29.8 million from 2011 to 2035. The Mets’ owners thought they would come out ahead over time because of what they could make by investing the money instead, but it turns out they had been counting on what turned out to be fictional returns from Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi scheme. As a result, Bonilla is getting $1.19 million from the Mets every July 1 until 2035. This year he made more than many Mets players, including pitchers Matt Harvey, Jacob deGrom and Noah Syndergaard.”
Editor Katie Adams - a fellow New England Patriots fan - tweeted this on Thursday night prior to the game:
“It’s football season now. If you’re new, I’m still a smart book person but now I wear the skin of a crazy football fan for a few months.”
I understood this sentiment completely.
While I hardly think it's surprising that I'm a football fan (I'm actually shocked and confused when a guy tells me that he's not a football fan), the assumption is often made by readers that because I'm (stealing Katie's words) a "smart book person," I could never be a crazed football fan.
They are even more stunned to discover that I am a Patriots season ticket holder.
Writing novels and simultaneously being emotionally attached to a team of uncommonly large men who seek to run into and through another team of uncommonly large men does not compute for many people, and especially for those who read my novels.
As a woman, I expect that it computes even less for the people in Katie's life.
But it's true. On Saturday morning, you can often find me sitting at my computer, writing novels and thinking bookish thoughts.
The next day you will find me in section 331, row 24, seat 5 of Gillette Stadium, cheering for men who I have never met as they throw and catch and tackle other men who dare to wear an opposing color. I scream and swear and hug strangers and sometimes even cry as the Patriots march up and down the field in pursuit of a victory that will not be mine but will feel like it's all mine.
I'm a smart, bookish person, but I also wear the skin of a crazed football fan.
Go Patriots.
This is a horrific act of cowardice.
The boys who are guilty of this assault are claiming that the referee directed racial slurs at them just prior to the attack.
The referee denies this.
Even if the referee said something racially offensive, you don't physically attack him.
Even if you choose to attack him, you never attack an opponent who is much older than you and not equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are.
Even if you choose to attack an opponent who is older and who isn't equipped with the same body armor and helmet that you are, you never double team your opponent.
Even if you choose to double team your opponent, you never attack someone from behind like this. Stand toe-to-toe with the man - one on one - and slug him if you must, but never creep up on an unsuspecting person from behind and spear him with your helmet.
You'd be an idiot and a fool to do so (and would probably still face criminal charges), but at least it would be the despicable act of cowardice demonstrated in this video.
In his press conference following the announcement that the NFL plans to uphold Tom Brady's four game suspension, team owner Robert Kraft said:
"The decision handed down by the league yesterday is unfathomable to me."
In a piece for ESPN about Kraft's response, Jason Whitlock writes:
“Really? Unfathomable?
What country has Kraft been living in? What he and Brady and Patriots fans have experienced during the past six months — a rigged system of investigation and punishment — is what poor people, particularly those of color, endure daily.”
When faced with stupid questions, I like to answer them. So, in order of appearance:
Really? - Yes, Mr. Whitlock. Really. While the plight of poor people in this country, particularly those of color, is unspeakably tragic and must be corrected, even wealthy football team owners can sometimes feel like they are being treated unfairly and be surprised by the treatment.
Unfathomable? - Yes, again, Mr. Whitlock. Even when one is wealthy, it is perfectly acceptable to expect one thing and experience complete disbelief when the opposite occurs.
What country has Kraft been living in? - This one is easy. It's the United States, Mr. Whitlock. While Robert Kraft certainly travels quite a bit, he resides in the United States.
Massachusetts to be exact.
And even though it may surprise Mr. Whitlock, I suspect that Kraft is fully aware of the recent events in our country as they pertain to the criminal justice system's deplorable treatment of the poor and those of color.
Here's a question of my own:
How did you expect Robert Kraft to respond? Did you expect him to receive the news of the upholding of the suspension from the commissioner of the NFL and think:
"This is not unfathomable at all. Yes, I fully expected the suspension to be lifted or at least reduced. but in light of the recent events in places like Ferguson and the tragedy of Sandra Bland and others, I should've expected to be treated unfairly, even though this ruling has no relation whatsoever to the American criminal justice system and is a matter of private business."
Whitlock's heart is in the right place and his concern for poor Americans trapped in an unfair judicial system are more than justified.
And I should know. I was once one of those poor kids, arrested and facing trial for a crime I did not commit and denied legal representation even though I was living well below the poverty line. I lost almost two years of my life defending myself against false accusations and had no way of recovering damages from the years lost and money spent.
The criminal justice system can be anything but fair and oftentimes devastating to the most at-risk populations in this country.
But using Robert Kraft for his reaction to the continued suspension of his quarterback as a means of illustrating the problems of the criminal justice system and suggesting a certain tone-deafness from Kraft is nonsense.
The man was fully expecting a different decision from the commissioner. When that decision failed to materialize, he was stunned. Shocked. He found the ruling to be unfathomable. And when compared to the results of recent appeals by NFL players to disciplinary measures, Kraft's reaction was not without merit.
Agree with the commissioner's decision or not, almost all appeals result in a reduced suspension or the elimination of the suspension entirely.
Unfathomable was at least in the realm of possible human emotions when you consider the facts.
As a teacher, it's not often that I say that I hate a kid.
In fact, I can't remember a time in my adult life when I really despised a young person.
I don't know this kid personally, but from everything I can see, I hate hate hate him.
The unperceived world is a strange, strange place.
If you haven’t heard, the New Britain Rock Cats – the Colorado Rockies Double A affiliate – are moving to Hartford and have been renamed The Yard Goats.
The Yard Goats get their name from an old railroad slang term for an engine that switches a train to get it ready for another locomotive (thus harkening back to Hartford’s supposed railroad roots), but the goat will most assuredly play a role in the marketing of the team.
The naming was done via fan voting and revealed a couple weeks ago.
The Yard Goats is a great name. Perfectly befitting the kitchiness of minor league baseball. The Yard Goats will be perfect alongside such teams as the Savannah Sand Gnats, the El Paso Chihuahuas, the Casper Ghosts, and the Albuquerque Isotopes.
Hartford Treasurer Adam Cloud, who sits on the board of the Hartford Stadium Authority, doesn’t agree with me. He doesn’t like the name one bit. He’s not happy.
I have no beef with Cloud for not liking the name. My wife doesn’t like the name, either. She was hoping for the Honey Badgers, and for good reason.
About a third of my students don’t like the name.
It’s admittedly an eclectic name.
What I take issue with is Adam Cloud’s comments regarding the name.
Cloud said the name is "neither creative, or unique."
We could argue the merits of the name based upon creativity (though it’s hard to argue that it’s not at least a little creative), but he couldn’t be more wrong in his assertion that the name is not unique.
It’s absolutely unique. No other sports franchise in the world is name the Yard Goats.
That, Mr. Cloud, is the definition of unique.
Cloud also said that Yard Goats is an “absurd” name and is insensitive to people in the city’s Caribbean community, many of whom at one time or another may have owned or tended goats.
That statement, Mr. Cloud, is far more absurd than the team’s new name.
How could using the name of an animal that a person may have owned at one time possibly be offensive to that former owner? The use of the name in no way impugns the current or former owners of said animal. In fact, if anything, the animal is being elevated to celebrity status by the naming.
Should owners of horses, which also eat grass, be offended by the Denver Broncos’ or Indianapolis Colts’ choice of names?
Should the owners of sheep, which also eat grass, be offended by the St. Louis Ram’s choice of name?
Should the parents of twins, which hopefully don’t eat grass (but might), be offended by the Minnesota Twins choice of name? Yes, the Twins are actually named after the twin cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, but the Yard Goats are named after a type of train. If Cloud can conveniently ignore that reality, why shouldn’t the parents of twins also ignore the origins of the Twins name and feel similarly outraged?
There’s nothing wrong with hating the name, Mr. Cloud. My wife doesn’t like it either, and I don’t think any less of her for this opinion.
But the reason she doesn’t like the name?
She thinks it’s dumb. You probably do, too. But in defending her position, my wife doesn’t make any ridiculous claims about the name being offensive to goat owners or failing to be unique. It’s simply a matter of taste.
You don’t like the name. Too bad. Don’t spout nonsense. You sound ridiculous.
Yard Goats for life.
I’ll be showing this clip to my students. Sportsmanship can mean so much when it’s done right.
It’s rarely been done better than this.
Still, I want to know who won the damn game.
As a New York Yankees fan – as well as someone who supports science and knows that evolution is real – I’ve never been a fan of Curt Shilling.
But when Shilling took to Twitter last week to congratulate his daughter on her invitation to pitch for the Salve Regina University baseball team, Internet trolls emerged from under their bridges in numbers that Shilling never expected.
“I expected the trolls. The one kid kind of came at me and said, ‘I can’t wait to take your daughter out.’ Kind of borderline stuff, which again, I expected. I’ve been on the Internet since, I started playing on computers in 1980, so I understand how it works and I knew there would be stuff. The stuff that they did, that is not bad or vile, it’s illegal. It’s against the law.”
“When that started -- again, I thought it might be a one-off, but then it started to steamroll. And then [my daughter] started to get private correspondence and then I said 'OK, this needs to get fixed.’ This generation of kids doesn’t understand, and adults too, doesn’t understand that the Internet is not even remotely anonymous.”
Shilling went on the offensive, attacking the trolls on his blog and identifying a handful of the offenders.
One of the offenders – a part-time ticket-seller for the Yankees – has been fired, the team’s director of communications confirmed to NJ.com. Another, a student at a community college in New Jersey, was reportedly suspended from school.
As the victim of an large scale, anonymous attack on my professional credibility several years ago, I understand the power that a person has when they hide behind the curtain of anonymity and hurl false accusations and libelous statements at people who are unable to confront their accusers. I also understand how anonymity can embolden a person to say terrible things that they would never dare say in public.
Shilling refers to his not-so-anonymous offenders as “garbage” on his blog. I have often called them cowards, but I like garbage a lot, too.
Unlike Shilling, I was never able to positively identify the persons responsible in my case, mostly because the cowards (or pieces of garbage) used old fashioned paper and ink, thereby eliminating any digital trail (though the search for their identities remains active). As a staunch advocate of free speech, I believe in the power of using that freedom to publicly identify people who make threats and spout hatred and vulgarity online.
It’s time to pull back that curtain of electrons and force people to own their words.
Shilling may be wrong when it comes to evolution, and that stupid bloody sock may have been completely overblown, but when it comes to his response to Internet trolls, Shilling has my full support.
The sooner we let these cretins know that they cannot hide behind their computer screens, the sooner they will crawl back under their bridges and leave the rest of us alone.
My wife and I watched the Super Bowl in separate locations last night.
One of my favorite moments of the night was the text that she sent after Malcolm Butler intercepted Russell Wilson’s pass to secure the Patriots’ victory.
I’m confused by what just happened but I know it was good.
Yes, honey. It was good indeed.
My wife, Elysha, and I were eating dinner in a pizza joint with friends last night. My friend and I were quoting Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. I have no idea why, but we were. “You chose… wisely,” I said, quoting the Grail Knight near the end of the film after Indy chooses the real Holy Grail.
No,” my wife said. “You have chosen… wisely.”
That’s right. My wife corrected my quoting of an Indiana Jones movie.
I have chosen wisely. I clearly married the greatest woman of all time.
____________________________
As if that wasn’t enough, my wife then reaffirmed her assertion that if she were pregnant and in labor with our first child, and I was scheduled to play in the Super Bowl at that very same moment, she would expect me to play in the game and miss the birth of my child. ____________________________
To cap off the evening, another friend said, “Actually, I read something this week that I liked a lot… Oh, you wrote it!”
That’s right. My friend was about to quote me back to me. ____________________________
Maybe not the greatest night ever. My wedding night was pretty amazing, and there have been other nights equally memorable, but this one was pretty damn good.
My love of the New England Patriots doesn’t make a lot of sense.
A collection of men who I have never met take the field to play a game that I have never played professionally, and even though I have no tangible connection to a single person associated with the Patriots organization, my heart hangs on every play.
And it doesn’t matter who is playing in the game. Last night, in Gillette Stadium, I cheered on running back LaGarrette Blount, who just weeks ago was playing for the Pittsburg Steelers before being released for disciplinary reasons.
Had he returned to Foxboro in the brown and gold of the Steelers, I would’ve prayed for abject failure. Fumbles and missteps and bone crushing tackles to the ground.
But last night he wore the red, white, and blue of my team, so I cheered him on as he ran over the Indianapolis Colts and helped to bring the Patriots – my team – to another Super Bowl.
As fan, we root for laundry. We are loyal to the uniform. Villains become heroes and heroes are made villains depending on the colors that they wear.
It’s almost religious. It makes no sense.
And yet I was standing in section 331, row 24, seat 5 last night, as the rain came down in sheets, euphoric as my team dismantled the Indianapolis Colts and punched their ticket to the Super Bowl.
Last week I watched the Patriots defeat the Baltimore Ravens in one of the best playoff games I have ever seen. In the end, the Patriots defeated the Ravens 38-34, but not before having to make up two 14 point deficits and pulling of some of the best and most unusual plays that I have ever seen. It was a frigid, dry night in Foxboro last week, but we forgot about the arctic temperatures. Ignored cold hands and frozen feet. There was too much drama unfolding before us.
Yesterday was a different kind of game. Temperatures were near 50 for most of the night. Torrential downpours soaked is. The game was essentially over by midway through the third quarter. We were able to relax. Laugh. Celebrate. In my 10+ years as a season ticket holder, I have rarely laughed more than last night.
My favorite moment of the night, and perhaps one of my favorite moments ever spent in Gillette Stadium, was as the Patriots were driving to make the score 38-7. The rain was falling harder than it had all night. The wind was carrying it across the field in sheets. A timeout was called. The telecast went to commercial. Music began playing in the stadium:
Creedence Clearwater Revival's Have You Ever Seen the Rain.
In a downpour, almost 70,000 people rose and began to sing together. Our team was on the precipice of another Super Bowl, and we were fortunate enough to be there to watch it happen. In the driving rainstorm. On a dark and windy night.
When the timeout ended and play resumed, the stadium stopped playing the music. Tom Brady stood under center, waiting for the ball to be snapped. Two teams were poised to resume battle. But the fans continued to sing.
I have never felt such a collective feeling of joy as I did in that moment. Men and women of all ages, from all walks of life, sang a song that almost seemed to have been written for this moment. It was as if we had spent our lives listening to this song and learning the words by heart so that we could come together on this one night, in this singular moment, to sing in unison.
Since 1993, the New England Patriots have had two starting quarterbacks: Perennial Pro Bowler Drew Bledsoe and future Hall of Famer Tom Brady.
There was a season when backup quarterback Matt Cassel was forced to play when Tom Brady was injured, but there was no question that Brady would be the starting quarterback once he was healthy.
For 21 years, or the majority of my adult life, this franchise has been in the capable hands of just two quarterbacks.
By comparison the Cleveland Browns have had 18 starting quarterbacks since 1993, and that includes three years when they weren’t even a team. The Washington Redskins have had three starting quarterbacks this season.
In that same 21 year period of time, the Patriots have had just three head coaches: Future Hall of Fame inductees Pete Carroll, Bill Parcells, and Bill Belichick.
By comparison, the Cleveland Browns have had nine head coaches in that same period of time, beginning with Bill Belichick. The Raiders have had an even dozen.
Parcells took the Patriots to the playoffs during every year of his tenure with the team, including a Super Bowl in 1996, where they lost to the Green Bay Packers.
I put a shoe through my friend’s living room wall that night.
Carroll was the least successful of the three coaches, but still, he won the AFC East in his first year as head coach and took the team to the playoffs in two of his three seasons. Carroll has gone on to win a Super Bowl and a national championship at the college level.
Under Belichick, the Patriots have gone to five Super Bowls, winning three and coming damn close on two others. The Patriots have been to the playoffs in 12 of his 14 seasons, missing during his first year as head coach and in 2008 when Tom Brady missed all but one game due to injury. Still, the team went 11-5 that year.
The leadership and stability of the New England Patriots has been astounding. It’s no wonder that since 1993, they have the most wins of any NFL franchise. They have also been to the playoffs more often than any other team, made it to more Super Bowls than any other team, and won more championships than any other team.
It’s been a good 20 years. I’ve rarely missed a game and have spent many afternoons and evening in the stadium, watching them from the nosebleeds.
It’s good to be a Patriots fan.
I applaud the NFL for their recent “No More” campaign, targeting domestic violence and sexual assault. I hope they continue to raise awareness and assist victims in every possible way.
But their recent series of television ads baffle me. The ads, which feature prominent football players staring in silence at the camera, end with the message:
Domestic violence and sexual assault are hard subjects for everyone to talk about. Help us start the conversation.
I don’t think that domestic violence and sexual assault are hard to talk about at all.
Does anyone?
Perhaps it would be difficult to talk about these subjects with my children or my fifth graders. Maybe it would be difficult to discuss if I were the perpetrator of these crimes. But what is so hard about discussing these topics with law-abiding adults?
I honestly don’t get it. I can’t think of a single person in my life with whom I couldn't talk about sexual assault and domestic violence.
What am I missing?