Game Day Angst

It’s 18F in Somersworth, New Hampshire. It’s 10:30am and I’m already geared up with my gray New England Patriots hoodie over my long-sleeve Patriots t-shirt. I’ve been watching the NFL Network, listening to the litany of reasons the Patriots need to worry. I’m a freaking basket case. I’m not sure I’ll make it alive to 4:35pm and kickoff.

The pigskin pundits and bobbleheads are talking about Terrell Suggs like the boys in the bar in the SNL sketch talk about Bill Brasky. Joe Flacco is a man genetically engineered to win playoff games with an electromagnetic railgun for an arm. John Harbaugh is the head coach the New York Jets should’ve hired; he owns Bill Belichick (regular season games and close losses don’t count). It appears to be hopeless. The haughty Patriots will be humbled if not humiliated later today. I will have to watch my hapless heroes hang their heads as the Ravens dance off the field on their way to the AFC Championship.

Maybe we’ll find something out today. Maybe we’ll find out how the deification of the Ravens has been playing out in the Patriots’ locker room. Maybe we’ll see how New England’s defensive line and linebackers react to how much love has been given to Baltimore’s front seven. Maybe we’ll see how much the Patriots’ offensive line has liked being the foregone conclusion as the biggest reason why New England will lose today.

Maybe we’ll find out Bill Belichick and Tom Brady aren’t done yet.

Maybe when the game is over Terrell Suggs will finally say Tom Brady's name.

I can dream, can't I?