Pigskin Dreamtime

 Well, it’s three days later and I still can’t believe it. My pigskin heroes, the New England Patriots, are going to the Super Bowl.

If this is a dream, I hope I don’t wind up at Market Basket looking for peaches without any pants on, a circumstance which sadly passes without notice from the other shoppers, who all bear a disconcerting resemblance to Glenn Close as Nova Prime in Guardians of the Galaxy. 

People who criticized Jean-Luc Picard for being bald in the 25th Century should consider just how bad the alternative could’ve been. 

Where was I? Oh, right. Dreaming. 

With my pants on. 

It is a dream. There’s no logic here. No up. No down. Okay, four downs. But no up! You say the Patriots don’t belong here? Of course not! 

They played the easiest schedule in the history of schedules. They barely won 14 games. Apparently, their road uniforms double as Iron Man suits as they won all 8 of the regular season games marked "Away" on that easiest schedule in the history of schedules. They've only managed to score 54 total points in three playoff games. 54! Even my rudimentary math skills tell me that's less than 20 points a game. Yes, they were playing 3 of the Top 5 Defenses in the NFL, but still, just 54 total points? That is, as the pigskin pundits and bobbleheads would say, not sustainable.

That 4.5 point spread is a joke. It's clearly a pathetic attempt by Vegas to entice bettors into taking the points and betting the mortgage on the Patriots. Seattle will roll New England in SBLX and it won't even be close. Because the New England Patriots do not belong in Santa Clara. 

Or they do belong in the Super Bowl, because that’s what happens in a dream.

And as I rub the sleep from my eyes, I'm thinking, these New England Patriots aren't the kind of guys who take kindly to being told they don't belong. It seems they eat disrespect for breakfast with a side of bacon and two eggs over easy. 

It appears they like nothing better than proving the haters wrong.

So, as a good citizen of Patriots Nation, I say to the pigskin pundits and bobbleheads, and the gridiron cognoscenti, keep it coming. The doubt, the condescension, the dismissal, the not-like-us dis track podcasts. I want to see every credentialed sports journalist west of the Connecticut River pick the Seahawks (and yeah, they probably should) in a 55-10 blowout. 

Then I'll know the Patriots have a chance.

Now, I've got a dream to get back to.

Go Pats!