Still reading New England Patriots - The Complete Illustrated History. It's a big, beautiful, hard cover book. The spine simply says New England Patriots in big block letters. It is like a bible, a PATS bible. I am learning stuff and re-living stuff.
Here's the deal. As I was reading it this morning it hit me like thunder that football and THE PATS are on the same level in my life as The Allman Brothers Band. This is a stunning revelation. I always assumed that music would be my first choice if I had to make one. Now I pray that I will never be forced to make that choice. And this truth came to me in the form of emotion.
Anyone who knows me knows that I will preach endlessly about the pure magic that is The Allman Brothers Band (editor's note:ABB from here forward). Discovered them at the age of fifteen, still hopelessly in love with them at the age of fifty seven. I have heard some, actually many, of their songs thousands of times and they still give me goosebumps now. I can't explain it but I surely dig it. We have piped in music at The Booze Emporium - if you work an eight hour shift you hear the same stuff 415 times. Fortunately for me there is a lot of ABB in there and I will sing and whistle to each song every time it comes on. My co-workers hate me and want to see me dead. There are some who choose obscure groups like, for instance, America, to worship, and that is difficult to understand from the perspective of pure musical talent. But I do understand the obsession. I have been to a minimum of 25 to 30 ABB concerts, and still, every time they come out on stage, I stand in awe. When the music kicks in I get crazy, when the concert is over I get depressed. I saw Gregg in January of this year with his solo band, went with my magnificent brother. I saw ABB at The Beacon Theatre in NYC in March, went with my longest standing friend in the world, Phil. Both nights transcended the boundaries of this earthly experience. BUT ABB did not tour this summer; I typically see them twice every summer. I am having withdrawal, especially knowing I will not see them again until 2012. The point I am trying to make is that they take me to a place I want to be, a place of pure emotion, absolute joy and sweet, sweet release.
I read the chapter on the THREE PATS Super Bowl victories this morning. All three were discussed in one chapter. That was almost too much. Should have been a chapter each so I would have a chance to revive. I sincerely thought I would have a joy heart attack before I got to the end of the chapter. I had to stop repeatedly to get control of my emotions. That is the absolute truth. The pictures were blowing me away; I kept staring at them for minutes at a time. I re-read passages just to savor a little longer and a little better. I revelled in the triumph of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick and Robert Kraft and Troy Brown and Adam Vinatieri and Ty Law and Deion Branch and Mike Vrabel and Tedy Bruschi; I re-dug the story of the team coming out as a team in XXXVI. That's when it hit me - the emotions I was experiencing were exactly the same as those inspired by ABB. You could have plucked me out of my recliner and dropped me into a seat at an ABB concert ( which I, or any ABB fan, rarely uses) and my reaction would have been the same. The truth became apparent - I have two incurable and joyously magnificent addictions that no 12 step program can ever erase. And I like it like that. Why it took me all these years to make that connection is beyond me. My mother said I was a late bloomer and maybe she was right, but that's a story for another place in time.
Here's the catch. THE PATS took my love of them and of football and, through THREE Super Bowl victories, transformed it into heroin. THREE championships should be enough for any fan but I want more. I need more. You would think at this point I would say "OK jesus, spirit me away to the afterlife and lay in an eternal stock of Crown Royal; I am coming to party with you, you long haired, crucifixion surviving wild man." Not the case. I'm trying to beat back the ravages of the last 57 seven years, and if I am lucky enough to improve my odds I might be around for another 25 or 30 years. Who knows how many more championships THE PATS will win in that time frame. I'm pretty sure I feel one coming this very season. However it works out I know I need more. More football, more PATS, more championships and more ABB.
It just occurred to me that I have the ultimate suicide combo, should I choose to go out that way. If I cranked up Whipping Post on my Ipod machine while simultaneously watching THE PATS win another Super Bowl, I'm fairly certain my heart would explode.
But ultimately it would be a happy ending. I'd wing my way to heaven, jesus would take one look at me and say "Get the hell out of here, you crazy bastard, heaven is not big enough for both of us." I'd float back to earth and Carol, Keith, Craig, Emily and Karen would be shaking their heads saying "What the hell do we have to do to get rid of this maniac?"
Sorry guys, your future includes me drooling in front of the tube watching THE PATS, and shaking my ass and jiggling my enormous beer belly to yet another Allman Brothers Band tune.
Luck of the draw, baby, luck of the draw.
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