Rooting for the Patriots Can Be Deflating

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Let me stipulate from the get-go that I am a lifelong New England Patriots fan for geographical reasons and subsequent force of habit. I grew up in New Hampshire until I was nearly 13, just 60 miles or so from where the then-Boston Patriots played. My godmother’s son was the team physician in the early 1960s. He provided me with a few autographed photos of the players in those pre-Super Bowl days. Running back Jim Nance, quarterback Babe Parilli and place kicker and wide receiver Gino Cappelleti were the stars back then. Nance once came to the grand opening of a gas station nearby, and I got an autographed photo of him as well. In the early 1960s, especially in the fledgling American Football League, players didn’t make much money.

So I have rooted for the Patriots since my youth, for more than a half-century. Like my beloved Red Sox, it was fallow ground for many years — though unlike the baseball team several generations did not pass before the team secured a championship. Now one can make an argument the Pats are the best franchise in the NFL. Sunday’s trip to the Super Bowl will be the team’s seventh in the past 18 years, and they are 3-3 going into Super Bowl XLIX. The team will tie Dallas and Pittsburgh in number of Super Bowl appearances after Sunday with eight total.

A word about Roman numerals. If it weren’t for the Super Bowl, this enchanting vestige of a long-ago time would likely vanish. It nearly has anyway. I occasionally ask people of a younger generation if they can count in Roman numerals. Most give the same blank look I receive when discussing a time when there was no World Wide Web.

Success can breed contempt and envy, and Patriot-haters abound. Evil genius Coach Bill Belichick is easy to dislike, hunkered down in his oversized hoody, a perpetual scowl on his face. Quarterback Tom Brady is married to a gorgeous model, sparking envy from those looking for a reason to diss one of the greatest quarterbacks to play the game. And the team certainly didn’t help matters it was caught videotaping the Jets’ defensive coaches’ signals during a 2007 game. Belichick was fined a half-million smackaroos; the team anted up quarter-million dollars, and lost a draft pick.

This brings us to Deflate-gate, surely one of the worst-named and over-blown (forgive the pun) “scandals” in sports history. The Patriots are accused of having purposely let the air out of their footballs so they would be easier to throw and less likely to fumble. Attention at the moment is focused on a ball boy (a quaint term) who took the pigskins into a bathroom, according to a video. More attention has been paid to this than initially occurred when Ray Rice punched out his fiancé in a hotel elevator. That is because it is Super Bowl weekend, and as usual there is a dearth of actual stories. So a scandal makes for juicy reading.

The Patriots beat the Colts in the AFC title game, when the balls in question were used, by a lopsided score of 45-7. It is a huge leap of logic to claim a five-plus touchdown win was the result of underinflated footballs. But that hasn’t stopped more than 40,000 folks as of Thursday from signing a petition at change.org calling for the Colts and Ravens to replay the AFC game to see who goes to the Super Bowl.

They better hurry. The game is Sunday.

Why in the world would the NFL not take control of all the football used in the game? The referees did inspect and approve the Patriots and Colts’ footballs prior to the game, as is customary. But, unlike in Major League Baseball, the teams then control the footballs. In the MLB, once the baseballs are approved, they are in the possession of the umpires.

A recent NBC poll showed a plurality of Americans — 41 percent — think the Patriots cheated, while 27 percent do not. That leaves 32 percent who are wondering why anyone cares. Count me in the 32 percent.

Like most things these days, this will likely drag on past the Super Bowl. It is not going to stop me from being propped up in the easy chair Sunday evening, rooting for my team.

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