A lot of fun

To the Tailgater 2000 crowd, the heart of Patriot Nation is parked in P-11

Bo Matthews (left) and Marty Roche pour shots of whiskey and margaritas for a pregame toast last month. (Matthew J. Lee/Globe Staff)

FOXBOROUGH - An hour before kickoff at any Patriots home game, in a far corner of Parking Lot P-11, Jimmy Creighton of Ashland rings a bell for quiet. People unlock the beer bottles from their lips and in a hush gather round to hear the prayer.

"The Reverend" Gerry McCarthy of Sandwich then steps to the front of the Tailgater 2000, a mobile shrine to the New England Patriots. At this particular game, he solemnly intones: "We're 2 and 0 and we're gonna be fine, Brady is out and it's now Cassel's time. Last week we learned one thing that's for sure, the reports of our death were a bit premature . . ."

The prayer goes on, punctuated with "amens!" and "oh yeahs!" in fervent tent-revival style. At the final amen, it's time for "communion." The faithful lift their small plastic cups of peppermint schnapps and toast the god of Patriots Nation. Then they head toward the stadium for the game.

But not everyone. Throughout the parking lot, lone figures or small groups huddle around television sets. At the Tailgater 2000, a retrofitted short school bus, seven people stay behind. They settle into their canvas chairs under a portable garage tent set up next to the Tailgater. Affixed to the metal framework is a 37-inch flat-screen TV. Two large speakers emit surround sound, while a satellite dish atop the bus provides DirecTV. The beer and soft drinks are cold. The cheers and groans are heartfelt. But for the gravel underfoot, it could be any living room at game time.

To this hard-core crowd, it's the next best thing to being in Gillette Stadium. While the real action is taking place across Route 1, those in Lot P-11 seem satisfied with their (parking) lot. Some are there to guard their buses from prowlers. Others because they sold their tickets for cold cash. And then there are those who never had tickets, who just want to join the party.

Greg Helms of Newton came to Foxborough every single game last season but got only as far as Lot P-11. "I just come down and tailgate and keep an eye on the bus," he says, as he watches the kickoff on TV. "It's tough in a way, but I feel like I'm there at the stadium, to be honest."

During home games, the parking lots along Route 1 turn into block parties. Revelers eat, drink, dance, and hoist American and Patriots flags above their vehicles. They show up in their "Brady" and "Moss" jerseys, with a smattering of "I Hate Eli Manning" T-shirts.

This season, every vehicle that enters a lot owned or operated by Gillette Stadium is given a bright orange "Fan Code of Conduct" flyer, part of an NFL-wide initiative to crack down on bad behavior. Fans are asked to refrain from engaging in unruly and illegal actions, foul or abusive language, and "irresponsible" drunkenness.

"We want everybody to come down and have fun, but we don't want it to be to the detriment of anyone else's experience," says team spokesman Stacey James.

At the Tailgater 2000, the charter members number about 40, though another 50 or so friends usually find their way to the bus. Everyone brings food, which is served potluck-style. A plastic jar is passed to help cover parking fees and other incidentals.

As for Patriot Place, the team's new, upscale plaza adjacent to the stadium, the tailgating crew remains unimpressed. "Someone told me it was $15 for a hamburger at CBS Scene," McCarthy scoffs. "You can't get better food than here." (For the record, the "Handmade All Natural Grilled Half Pound Burger" at CBS Scene is $10.50.)

Many in the Tailgater 2000 crowd remember when tickets costs $7. Long ago, McCarthy paid $70 for the entire season. Now he pays $117 per game, and parking in the RV lot is $125 each time.

They come anyway, fiercely loyal to their team, and to one another. Though dispirited - "We want our Tommy back" is one of their chants - they have traveled this road before, when the Pats were a lousy team few cared about. "The core will go to every game regardless," says Michael Young.

Ten years ago, Young bought the 1982 bus for 50 bucks and spent $5,000 converting it into the Tailgater 2000. The green carpet is marked off in white paint for yardage, the ceiling is signed by various celebrities including Pats owner Bob Kraft and former Governor Paul Cellucci. There are Patriots posters in the windows, the flat-screen TV in the back, a DVD player, and gas grills strapped onto the rear end.

For home games, Young leaves his home in Falmouth by 6:30 a.m., picks up some more diehards, and arrives in the RV parking lot by 9. Some 12 hours later - having had breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the Tailgater 2000 - he'll arrive back home. He plans to retire the bus at the end of this season; he has a bigger and better model in the works.

As the Patriots-Dolphins game starts, Dan Leonard and his son Bobby settle into their chairs under the carport tent. Leonard, who lives in Falmouth, has had two season tickets since 1981, but they've gotten so expensive he began selling them. He and Bobby meet up with their Tailgater 2000 friends and watch the games on TV. "I love this," says Bobby, 19, his eyes glued to the screen.

Marty Roche of Bellingham, a charter member of the Tailgater 2000 team, elects to stay behind for this game. Sporting his trademark red shorts, which he has worn to every home game for nine years, he is "the cruise director," the one who makes sure there are enough utensils and food and that everything is in its place.

It doesn't bother him that he isn't at the stadium; he can see the action just fine from his chair. Besides, he has to have the grills fired up for after the game, when the Tailgaters return, hungry again. That day it's sausage and peppers.

Even in the worst weather, the Tailgater 2000 shows up. For those without tickets who can't squeeze into the bus, the portable tent has canvas "walls" that come down, and space heaters. For one game, temperatures dipped to 20 below zero, with the wind chill. And there was Marty Roche, in his lucky red Bermudas.