Keith7
10-15-2004, 03:32 PM
http://espn.starwave.com/media/nfl/2004/1014/photo/i_19th_hi.jpg
It's such a not-New England thing to do that you're surprised that anyone would have thought of it, let alone actually implemented it.
And you know damned well that it never got run past the desk of Bill Belichick, who as a football coach can sense arrogance before the fact just by examining the entrails of forest creatures.
Tickets to the Patriots-Dolphins game included the following references to the streak: a No. 19 on the referee's jersey, the words "SEC. 19 IN A ROW" in the background and jerseys of Pats players with digits that added up to 19.
Yet there it is, plain as day, as sure as Paul crossing Abbey Road barefoot means that he has been dead for 35 years.
The Patriots' game ticket for last Sunday's Miami game said quite clearly, "19 ... IN ... A ROW." As in "It's Miami, for God's sake. This will be our 19th consecutive win. We will bust the old record and make it our own. We are the champions, no time for losers. Freddie Mercury is our beacon and guide. We guarantee it."
And not only that, the jerseys of Eugene Wilson (No. 26) and Tyrone Poole (No. 38) shown on the ticket add up to, yes, 19. Two plus six plus three plus eight equals sticking your middle finger halfway through Fate's right eye, at least in Boston, where self-flagellation and foreplay are considered the same thing.
Yet there it is, plain as day, as sure as there's a Nostradamus documentary on the History Channel scheduled before the end of the month.
I mean, this pre-printed equivalent of Babe Ruth calling his shot in the '32 World Series violates every known precept of New England fandom, and even if the choice of photo for the ticket was accidental, it is hard to believe neither Belichick nor one of his many happy elves would have noticed and disapproved of it.
Or maybe believing the worst is tomorrow's blue plate special is just a Red Sox kind of thing. This is, after all, the time when Red Sox fans enjoy eating their own livers while denying it all the while. It's Irish, or it's Calvinist, or it's just George Steinbrenner's weekend job as Satan's Tupperware salesman, or it's some other ethereal notion that God kills time between despairing of the human race by screwing with the Red Sox.
Whatever it is, though, the Red Sox would never do this. Not even accidentally.
Or maybe talking it before walking it, even in this oblique way, is just a Patriots kind of thing. After all, the Patriots are currently the NFL's platinum standard, winning only those games in which they show up, and football is all about talking it and defying the world to prove you wrong.
Plus, if you ask any New Englander, he or she will tell you that Patriot fans and Red Sox fans are not night and day, but dark-side-of-the-moon, sun-side-of-Mercury.
This Sox fan's self-excoriation has become a cottage industry, a sort of fifth-dimensional tourism in which the worst must be foreseen, predicted and even insisted upon. And then when the failure turns out to be something else, then everyone must chant at once, "See? I told you this would happen!"
The Patriot fan, on the other hand, seems more impressed by simpler statements of purpose, like, "We're going to kick your butt, and you can make it easy, or you can make it hard."
So maybe it figures perfectly that the Miami game ticket shows what it shows, either by accident or by blithe disregard of what Red Sox fans believe to be self-evident --- that someone is out to get them, and that someone is usually the Red Sox themselves.
See Schilling, Curt.
See Damon, Johnny.
See Martinez, Pedro.
See Timlin, Mike.
See Francona, Terry.
And that's just in the last three days.
But the tickets for Games Three through If Necessary are apparently clean. Nothing inflammatory or self-confident about the little cardboard strip in any way. Whether it's the weight of history, the fear of sticking one's tongue out at God, or just lack of imagination, there is nothing to suggest the greater theatre. Not even Gabe Kapler (No. 19) standing next to Johnny Damon (No. 18) with their backs to the camera.
Nahhh. That would be cheap. That would get people talking. That would be asking for it.
Hmmm. Maybe the Red Sox marketing people can get together with the Patriots' marketing and have a drunken seminar over the topic. And they could invite the Bruins' marketing people over, too. After all, those poor galoots have nothing but time these days.
But we should take note of this: The Patriots host Seattle Sunday. There is no hint of a "20" anywhere. Maybe they like messing with the occult, but they're clearly not stupid about it.
Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com
It's such a not-New England thing to do that you're surprised that anyone would have thought of it, let alone actually implemented it.
And you know damned well that it never got run past the desk of Bill Belichick, who as a football coach can sense arrogance before the fact just by examining the entrails of forest creatures.
Tickets to the Patriots-Dolphins game included the following references to the streak: a No. 19 on the referee's jersey, the words "SEC. 19 IN A ROW" in the background and jerseys of Pats players with digits that added up to 19.
Yet there it is, plain as day, as sure as Paul crossing Abbey Road barefoot means that he has been dead for 35 years.
The Patriots' game ticket for last Sunday's Miami game said quite clearly, "19 ... IN ... A ROW." As in "It's Miami, for God's sake. This will be our 19th consecutive win. We will bust the old record and make it our own. We are the champions, no time for losers. Freddie Mercury is our beacon and guide. We guarantee it."
And not only that, the jerseys of Eugene Wilson (No. 26) and Tyrone Poole (No. 38) shown on the ticket add up to, yes, 19. Two plus six plus three plus eight equals sticking your middle finger halfway through Fate's right eye, at least in Boston, where self-flagellation and foreplay are considered the same thing.
Yet there it is, plain as day, as sure as there's a Nostradamus documentary on the History Channel scheduled before the end of the month.
I mean, this pre-printed equivalent of Babe Ruth calling his shot in the '32 World Series violates every known precept of New England fandom, and even if the choice of photo for the ticket was accidental, it is hard to believe neither Belichick nor one of his many happy elves would have noticed and disapproved of it.
Or maybe believing the worst is tomorrow's blue plate special is just a Red Sox kind of thing. This is, after all, the time when Red Sox fans enjoy eating their own livers while denying it all the while. It's Irish, or it's Calvinist, or it's just George Steinbrenner's weekend job as Satan's Tupperware salesman, or it's some other ethereal notion that God kills time between despairing of the human race by screwing with the Red Sox.
Whatever it is, though, the Red Sox would never do this. Not even accidentally.
Or maybe talking it before walking it, even in this oblique way, is just a Patriots kind of thing. After all, the Patriots are currently the NFL's platinum standard, winning only those games in which they show up, and football is all about talking it and defying the world to prove you wrong.
Plus, if you ask any New Englander, he or she will tell you that Patriot fans and Red Sox fans are not night and day, but dark-side-of-the-moon, sun-side-of-Mercury.
This Sox fan's self-excoriation has become a cottage industry, a sort of fifth-dimensional tourism in which the worst must be foreseen, predicted and even insisted upon. And then when the failure turns out to be something else, then everyone must chant at once, "See? I told you this would happen!"
The Patriot fan, on the other hand, seems more impressed by simpler statements of purpose, like, "We're going to kick your butt, and you can make it easy, or you can make it hard."
So maybe it figures perfectly that the Miami game ticket shows what it shows, either by accident or by blithe disregard of what Red Sox fans believe to be self-evident --- that someone is out to get them, and that someone is usually the Red Sox themselves.
See Schilling, Curt.
See Damon, Johnny.
See Martinez, Pedro.
See Timlin, Mike.
See Francona, Terry.
And that's just in the last three days.
But the tickets for Games Three through If Necessary are apparently clean. Nothing inflammatory or self-confident about the little cardboard strip in any way. Whether it's the weight of history, the fear of sticking one's tongue out at God, or just lack of imagination, there is nothing to suggest the greater theatre. Not even Gabe Kapler (No. 19) standing next to Johnny Damon (No. 18) with their backs to the camera.
Nahhh. That would be cheap. That would get people talking. That would be asking for it.
Hmmm. Maybe the Red Sox marketing people can get together with the Patriots' marketing and have a drunken seminar over the topic. And they could invite the Bruins' marketing people over, too. After all, those poor galoots have nothing but time these days.
But we should take note of this: The Patriots host Seattle Sunday. There is no hint of a "20" anywhere. Maybe they like messing with the occult, but they're clearly not stupid about it.
Ray Ratto is a columnist with the San Francisco Chronicle and a regular contributor to ESPN.com