I texted my father at around 7:30 on Sunday.
“So, how are you doing?”
“Nervous.”
At around this time, the Pats were down twenty-one points. The game was within the Falcon’s reach. At that point, I had accepted defeat. The Pats didn’t deserve the win, they were playing like their hands were covered in butter. It looked bleak, and it was only twenty minutes in. My old man, a native New Englander, made sure that team loyalties were inherited patrilineally: Bruins, Sox, Celtics, Patriots. Those were the teams I needed to support unless I wanted to be excommunicated from the Bator household.
My mother, who grew up in New Jersey, was and is a Yankees fan, but she didn’t seem to care enough about the other teams (or sports in general) to fight my dad over athletic custody of the kids (at least, not the way my dad cared). The only reason I know she truly loves the Yankees is because a clear memory of my parents watching the 2004 World Series. I was supposed to be asleep, but they were both arguing a little too loud as the game went on and the Sox took the win. I also remember my mom going up to Yogi Berra and telling him that she was a Yankees fan married to a Red Sox fan. His response? “Wow, a mixed marriage!”
Despite living 3 miles outside of MetLife stadium (home of the Giants) and 12 miles outside of NYC, living in the same town that Yogi retired in, and living in a town where every kid my age liked Jets and Mets, I rooted for Boston teams. My dad would watch the Bruins in an incomplete Bobby Orr jersey—he never sewed the name or number on the back. I didn’t really understand why I rooted for them, but “bruin” was such a cool way to say the word “bear,” and I thought bears were cool. So I guess: I love bears, thus, go Bruins, go Boston.
It was about 10 when I texted my father again.
“Dad! DAD!”
“Holy Shit.”
It was the most eloquent text he could’ve sent; the score was tied. Atlanta had blown a twenty-five point lead (more than three touchdowns) in the final fifteen minutes. The game was in overtime, and New England had the ball. The Pats could win this.
For a portion of my life, I rooted for these teams because my dad did. There were a handful of Boston sports players that I knew the names of (e.g. Garnett, Ortiz, Rondo, Youkilis, Pedroia), but I never followed any player extensively. This changed after 2008, when I turned my attention to Tom Brady.
Tom Brady, as much as I hate him for being an asshat (and as much as I resent him for being so pro-Trump), represents the American Dream. He has made millions by doing the things he loves (specifically, throwing a ball and scowling). He has three gorgeous children between two gorgeous wives, one of whom is probably the most beautiful woman on Earth. And, most of all, he is really really good at his job. It’s fact that Tom Brady is the true talent of the Patriots, under the control of the snarling chihuahua I know as “head coach Bill Belichick.” This power couple has gone to seven Super Bowls in the past fifteen years. Last Sunday was their chance to win for the fifth time.
10:30. Guess who I’m texting?
“Wow.”
“I am SO HAPPY!” He responds.
I called him. Dad was ecstatic. The Patriots had beaten the Falcons, 35-28, and won their 5th Super bowl. The call lasted about 20 seconds, until Dad said he needed to hang up and watch Roger Goodell reluctantly hand over the trophy to Belichick and the Brady Bunch. Shocked by the outcome of the game, I went to bed with a headache.
When the Patriots lost to the Broncos last year in the semifinals, my father was crestfallen. I hated that. I hated how bummed he was. This wasn’t the first time I had seen him so heartbroken either. When the Patriots lost to the Giants in 2008 and 2012, my father mourned for a few days as well. Seeing how painful it was to watch him get so sad made me realize that the reason I rooted for the Patriots was because they made my dad so happy. I supported Boston sports vicariously through someone else, and I was totally fine with it. My dad deserved these big wins, as small as they may relatively be. “I am SO HAPPY!”
I do not root for the Patriots because they are my team to root for. They will always be his.