Bring on the Mighty Pats, Sort of…

My vantage point this week is somewhat different, certainly not the one I've grown accustomed. The boss has asked me to temporarily put the best seat in the house into storage, fold it up like a beach chair and slip it into the garage until further notice. I just hope it doesn't ruin the upholstery anymore than the mustard has.

This week we aren't going to be discussing the playoff-bound Giants. Enough about them, already; surprise team of the NFL, heart-warming story, blah, blah, blah – so boring, really.

We're going to be discussing the Super Bowl-bound Patriots, New England's team, which makes them Connecticut's team, which makes them my team by virtue of the state I pay sales tax to and the license plates I see on the speeding luxury sedans I avoid each day on the Merritt Parkway.

In case you have forgotten, the Patriots conclude the regular season this week.

Well, it's come to my attention that Giants fans are starting to feel a little full of themselves, especially after clinching a third straight playoff spot. I'm told they think they are going to take us down, do the 1972 Dolphins a big favor.

Settle down, fellas. You haven't seen anything yet.

In case you haven't noticed, there are many reasons why the Patriots are a better team, a prouder franchise, a more illustrative example of Americana than the Giants.

For instance:

We are named after the founders of our nation, proud loyalists – like Mel Gibson, for instance – who fought the British and made democracy possible. You are named after a bully who terrorized Jack when he was climbing his beanstalk. Pick on somebody your own size; Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, my butt.

We have three Super Bowl championships in the last six seasons. You have two, have played in just one in the last 15 years and haven't hoisted the Lombardi Trophy since 1991. And can anyone remember what happened past breakfast?

We have a glistening new stadium named after a company (Gillette) that provides all the razors you could ever want and gives our owner millions a year in naming rights revenue. You have a stadium named after yourself that's going to be torn down in a few years and forces fans to park next to a basketball arena that nobody goes to anymore unless either Bon Jovi or Springsteen is there.

We have a Hall of Fame quarterback we grabbed in the sixth round who dates – and occasionally impregnates – supermodels and who stars in Super Bowls. You have a quarterback with a Hall-of-Fame brother who cost you a large piece of your future and throws many interceptions against the Vikings.

We have an owner whose last name, Kraft, is on shredded cheese we spread over our nachos every Monday or Thursday or Saturday or Sunday. You have an owner whose name, Tisch, adorns the most prestigious college of theatre and the arts in the world at NYU. But we're football fans. We don't go to musicals unless our wives force us, do we?

We have Randy Moss. You don't.

We also have Wes Welker, Donte Stallworth, Jabar Gaffney, Ben Watson and Kyle Brady. You don't.

We even have a linebacker, Mike Vrabel, among the 17 players with two or more touchdown receptions in Super Bowl history. Oh yeah, you don't.

We have a Faulk in our backfield. You don't.

We had Charlie Weis and Romeo Crennel. You had John Hufnagel and Tim Lewis.

We are so good we can get rid of the greatest field goal kicker in the history of the game, Adam Vinatieri, and not even blink when the guy wins another Super Bowl championship with a horseshoe on his helmet, even though his team beat our team in the AFC Championship Game to get there. You have a guy from Scotland.

We have a coach who could have been your coach, I suppose, who occasionally cheats, but has enough animosity bundled up inside him that whatever anger he feels over being exposed has been transformed into a "War of the Worlds" mentality that has resulted into a scorched earth policy. You have Tom Coughlin, which is OK, but I'm sure you'd rather have Belichick, right?

We punish those who talk badly about us, as Steelers safety Anthony Smith discovered in Week 14, when Tom Brady and Moss put his head on a swivel after he had the temerity to predict his team would win. You have players who, like "Mike and the Mad Dog" always say, haven't dogged anyone important in a big spot during their careers.

We have a running back from Navy named Kyle Eckel. You have a running back from Ottawa (Kansas) named Derrick Ward.

We also have a halfback in the prime of his career. You had a great halfback, but he's seen now only in primetime.

We welcome Phil Simms to our games at least six times a season and always in January – and he lives in freaking New Jersey. You have Joe Buck – and he lives in freaking St. Louis.

We have cheerleaders. You don't.

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