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LIGHTER SIDE SUPER BOWL DIARY | DAY (WHO KNOWS)
Houston - here's to you"You call yourself a news man? You can't even say his name?!"
I looked at him and laughed. "Yes I do. It's Jack Dellwho, right?" I patted the mustached man on the shoulder, only to have him grab my wrist and politely move it to my side. Too arrogant, we Pats fans. Main Street was ridiculously mobbed with more people than I've ever seen in one place, and Pats fans screamed, laughed, heckled, and lived in the moment. Most Panthers fans just simply gave up. Yankees fans know how to defend themselves -- to combat our demeaning words before we head to battle. These people were simply out of their element. I've never been more proud to be a Boston sports fan in my life. No matter how much the great city of Houston tries to disassociate itself from the party pit of New Orleans, you couldn't help but look around last night and compare the two. Balconies … beads … drunks … two rivers of humans walking in opposite directions, the current not stopping until well after 3 a.m. - sorry Houston, it was EXACTLY like New Orleans. But be proud. You're Tom Brady to the party world's Joe Montana. And you're younger, much better looking, and smell better. Really … here's to you and all you do. Truthfully, I would estimate the Patriots-to-Panthers fan representation was at a 3-to-1 ratio last night. That's not fact, but when a quick pan across the madness yielded more Boston Globe Flying Elvis hats than anything else, you could smell the Boston blood running through this city's veins. We took it over, simple as that. So I came down here to cover the party, and finally last night I was able to step back, soak in what this experience is all about, and not have a digital camera attached to my eye. I had thoughts of trying to use my credentials to crash a private function. But you know what? That's not me. Not right now anyway. I needed to walk by random Patriots fans, decked out in gear, and give them the highest of fives. That's what I am at heart. And that's how I needed to share this moment. With them … with you … as a fan. So I stood in line at 9:30 p.m. to get into the Flying Saucer, the same pub I dubbed the coolest bar in Houston. The cover charge was five bucks. The beers were delicious. My cousin Barry, mad blogger Eric Wilbur, my good buddy LeFleur, and myself tossed the longest game of darts in the history of the world (I LOVE BAR GAMES), and my universe was utopian. I think time stopped. And each person who walked by stopped, confirmed their assumption we were from the lovely city of Boston, and then said, "You guys are insane." No we're not. We're just way cooler than Panthers fans. And we're about to be Super Bowl Champs. Again.
Live the dream, Patriots Nation. I say this with as much gusto as possible: I love you. |
