The ritual of watching a Patriots game is a rich tapestry woven with the distinct sounds of passionate fans. These individuals, often steeped in tradition, exhibit a unique blend of enthusiasm and frustration that spans the duration of the game. They are modern-day capitalists, often belonging to family lineages that have passed down their football loyalties through generations, much like ancient tribes.
Recently, during a typical gathering for a Patriots game, I had the opportunity to observe a fervent fan, Greg, who is the head of his household. Each week from September to January (or early February if the stars align and the team makes the playoffs), he requests a sacred four-hour window—one solely dedicated to his beloved team.
On a fateful Monday evening, Greg engaged in the time-honored Patriots vs. Jets face-off. His movements were almost shamanistic, accompanied by a series of exclamations that seemed to predict the outcome of the game. (In truth, I was the only other person present, and given my unfamiliarity with football, it was unclear to whom he was speaking.)
For the sake of documentation and future fans, I’ve transcribed a portion of his spirited commentary during one quarter, replacing the more colorful language with gentler alternatives for ease of reading.