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I'm spoiled. The Patriots just won their third Super Bowl in four years, the Red Sox are World Champions, and I don't know what to do with myself. I should be in Boston flipping over a Jeep Cherokee and climbing up street signs right now. My car should be getting spray-painted with pink graffiti and I should be liking the result. I should be singing, "Cry, Eagles, Cry," to Philadelphia fans. I should be popping cheap bottles of champagne and spraying it in my eyes. But I'm not doing any of that. Instead I'm in my room writing a column. Something's wrong.
Don't misunderstand me - this is great. It's good to be the best. But everything has that weird "this is too good to be true" feeling right now. I'm like Pauly Shore during the Encino Man/Son in Law run. Life is grand, but Jury Duty is just around the corner.
Maybe I'm actually dead. Is this what the afterlife is like? Here's my theory: Before Super Bowl XXXVI, I was walking along the street, a la Patrick Swayze in Ghost, and a mugger stole my wallet so I tried to dance-fight him but he shot me. I've been dead ever since, but I think I'm alive, which explains the completely irrational chain of events that has transpired since the mugging. First, we won a Super Bowl. Then we had a bad year just so things wouldn't look too obvious. (God doesn't want you to know you're dead or else it ruins the experience.) But He's been so over-the-top generous over the last two years that I can't help but notice. Now I'm like Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense when he finally realizes why his wife has been ignoring him. The writing's been on the wall for a while, I just haven't seen it. I mean, even my guy, Phil Mickelson, is winning majors.
Life (or the afterlife) really couldn't be much better in this parallel universe version of Boston. The Celtics, I'm told, are in first place in the Atlantic Division, which is one of the tougher divisions in the Suffolk County Lunch Break Pickup Basketball Association (SCLBPBA). The Bruins can't play because of the lockout and their absence has been very good for my mental health. I'm not wasting three hours of my life watching them every other night on NESN just to tear all my hair out when they lose in the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs.
What is going on in Boston is usually referred to as Hell Freezing Over. Well, this is New England Un-freezing Over. I mean, it was in the fricking forties and sunny in New Hampshire on Sunday. That never happens in February. I'm either dead or God's drunk again.
In High Fidelity John Cusack had an ex-girlfriend (Catherine Zeta-Jones) who he always knew was too hot and sophisticated for him. She was on a different level, and at first, he was happy just to be around her, but after a while, he got paranoid about the relationship. He thought she would leave him for a naked jacked guy, and in the end, she did leave him for a naked jacked guy. That's kind of how I feel about Boston sports right now. It's just too good to be true. I love watching my teams win, but sooner or later, the ride will stop. The Red Sox will go back to being the Red Sox. The Patriots will lose their "dynasty" status. The Bruins will begin playing again. Tom Brady will leave me for a naked jacked guy.
(And by the way, right now I am officially Pauly Shore + Bruce Willis + Patrick Swayze + John Cusack = Pauly Bruce Swaysack. Now I know what to call myself when I begin my career in gay pornography.)
Does this make me sound like a Yankees fan? I don't think so. Yankees fans feel that being on top is a birth right. I'm just embarrassed by the situation. Some part of me wants to go back to the days when the rest of the miserable sporting world identified with us. Boston fans have survived for years on the old line, "You think you've got it bad? Well, look at us!" but it just doesn't fly anymore.
We're too conspicuous now. We are officially like the guy that leaves his small dilapidated town for something better. When it happens, his buddies are half-happy for him and half-jealous. But when he comes back driving a Benz and dating a Catherine Zeta-Jones-level woman, they all turn on him. Eventually the guy loses all his money in a stock market crash and Catherine Zeta-Jones leaves him and his Benz gets repossessed. This will eventually happen to us Boston fans. We'll move back to our old neighborhood, buy a used Plymouth Neon, and call the girl from high school that got fat after her first three children. I just hope the old neighborhood takes us back.
We'll come back to Earth eventually, but I'm in no hurry to get there. The Patriots are a team that everyone should love. They're scraps from other NFL practice squads, undrafted rookies, and skinny sixth round picks. They are unselfish. They are polite. And if you talk bad about them, they drill their helmets to your mouth until you can't speak anymore.
What makes me happy is that the Patriots will be back next year. And they'll be better. There's no way they can face more adversity than they encountered this year. 75% of their defensive backfield was injured. Next year maybe they'll crash their team plane into a mountain range just for a challenge.
Maybe I really am dead and none of this is actually happening. All I know is that the view from the top of the sports mountain is gorgeous. Someday we'll climb down, but we need to take it all in first. Believe me, there's no greater place to be than New England these days. Take it from Pauly Bruce Swaysack.
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