Going "Bro"

By Lindsay Underwood

I’ve always been a football fan by default. It’s kind of hard not to be when you come from the greatest sports town in the country. Whether it’s the Patriots, the Celtics, the Bruins, or the infamous Red Sox, our boys from Boston have always had a unique way of making the game…suspenseful.

The Patriots’ 2001 season had a storyline worthy of the silver screen. After coming off what can politely be called a “rebuilding” year in 2000, Jets linebacker Mo Lewis slammed into the Patriots’ veteran starting quarterback Drew Bledsoe in the second game of the new season. Belichick threw in sixth-round draft pick Tom Brady, who helped carry the pats to a playoff-qualifying 11-5 record.

Our dreamy new quarterback was enough to keep me interested, but the January 19, 2002 AFC Divisional Playoff game (aka “Snow Bowl”) against the Oakland Raiders turned me into the quivering, cocky, anxiety-ridden Pats fan I am today. Down 13-10 in the fourth quarter with 27 seconds on the clock, the pressure was on Pats kicker Adam Vinatieri to tie the game at the 45-yard line. We held our breath as the barely-visible football flew through the air against the driving snow, floating just above the out-stretched hands of the Raiders defense and over the yellow crossbar. From that point forward, I never missed a game. It wasn’t long before a signed photo of the “Snow Kick” joined Bobby Orr up on the walls of our family’s living room.

Being a fan of any Boston team, however, is exhausting. There’s always a lot of yelling, a lot of fidgeting, and the occasional prayer. By the time the game is over, I’m ready for a nap. My dad and my brother, on the other hand, could spend the whole day switching back and forth between different games. It was a level of enthusiasm, I decided, that could only be attributed to their gender. Boy, was I wrong.

This year, my dad and brother decided to organize a family-friendly Fantasy Football league. I picked my team’s name and color (the purple “Concord Crushers,” in honor of our town’s dangerously delicious grape juice) and waited for the results of the automatic draft. I ended up with Peyton Manning, a Steelers defense, and a bunch of people I had never heard of before. The thought of paying attention to any team but my own was a baffling proposition.

My first match-up was against my 12-year-old cousin, manager of the “Purple Panthers.” She had neglected to fix up her starting line-up and switch out her Bye-week Kicker, but she was still giving me a run for my money. I spent the day obsessively checking stats and changing stations. As I posted “smack-talk” to my pre-teen opponent I realized with horror that I had successfully transitioned from loyal Pats fan to total football freak.

After an embarrassing near-defeat, I decided to get serious. I read up on the players, checked injury reports, and weighed the stats. I’ve watched three football games so far today – not including the Patriots – and I’m now tied for second in our league, just behind my brother. I have become the very thing I fear most: a bro.