There’s something about February in New England that already feels dramatic. The air is cold, the sky is gray, and everyone is still ordering their Dunkin’ iced coffees.
But this year feels different.
Because for the first time since I was a freshman in high school, the New England Patriots are back in the Super Bowl. Suddenly I am twelve years old again, wearing an oversized jersey and shouting at the tv with my whole family.
Growing up in New England, Super Bowl appearances weren’t just events. They were like seasons and holidays. We never asked if the Patriots would make it, we just asked who they were playing. For a long period of time, Pats fans were spoiled.
Then came the unfortunate slump. It was rough and disappointing. Watching the Patriots every Sunday felt embarrassing.
And then… Drake Maye got drafted.
I don’t know what kind of shift happened, but I feel like the second he showed up, New England collectively decided he was our savior.
But the best part of all of this? The tradition.
Every year, my family gathers at my aunt’s house for the Super Bowl. It’s loud, chaotic, and deeply comforting. There’s always way too much food, someone screaming at the tv, and all of us repping our Patriots gear. It’s one of those traditions that makes you feel like no matter how much life changes, some things stay the same.
And this year, I get to walk into that living room as a senior in college, practically a different person than I was the last time the Patriots were here, and cheer for our team again. Not out of nostalgia, not out of habit, but because they actually earned it.
It feels like a full-circle moment, and I am SO here for it.
GO PATS!