Confessions of a Confused Football Fan

               Yesterday, as I prepared my breakfast of two fried eggs with Colby-Jack cheese and thick-cut bacon on toasted English muffins, I pondered what I should write my first blog post about. Given the topic of my blog is sports, and given that the most watched sporting event in the US was taking place later in the day, it seems appropriate that I would write about the Super Bowl. However, I figured that every sports blogger would be discussing this topic, and really, I'd have nothing of value to add to the conversation.  That fact, paired with my dislike for the Patriots, led me to the belief that I would not, after all, be discussing the game. I mean, did I really want to dedicate my first blog post to Tom Brady, one of my least favorite people on the planet? 

                No, Tom Brady did not deserve the breath it would take to say his name, much less the time it would take to type it out. So, no, I decided. I would not be writing about the game. The more time that passed, the more resolute I became in my decision not to write about Patriots, my dislike for them too strong to waste one second writing about them. By the time the game started, I was 100 percent certain I would find a different topic to write about this week. Even as half time neared, with the Falcons up by 21 points, I was certain I would have nothing to say about this year's Super Bowl. After all, attention given to the Patriots, whether positive or negative, is still attention.

                Sure, I could join the myriad bloggers and gleefully gloat at the dismal performance of the Patriots, I could add to the influx of blogs speculating how much time the has-been Tom Brady has left in the NFL, calling for his retirement. I could talk about how over-rated the Patriots were, and how arrogant and over-confident their obnoxious fans were. But I figured there would be plenty of such posts. Instead I would not worry about writing a blog, and to just enjoy the demolition taking place before me.

                I watched with delight as the Falcons ran up the score. With every Falcon touchdown, and every Brady sack, the room rang with my sadistic laughter at the humiliation of the loathsome Patriots. My heart sang with joy when Robert Alford picked off a Brady pass, running it back for the 82 yard score.

                I wasn't too disappointed when the Patriot's finally scored a field goal at the end of the first half. A shut out would have been nice, but it was unrealistic with this Patriot's offense. And when the Patriots did finally score their first touchdown, any disappointment was offset by the ensuing PAT miss. Ha! A missed PAT...that's embarrassing!

                But with the next Patriot score, my attitude began to change. The smirk began to melt from my face. Would the Patriots do it? Would they erase a 25 point deficit to take the title of World Champs? No. Of course not. The commentators had said over and over again that no team had ever overcome a deficit greater than 10 points. It would be...impossible. So why did I feel, deep in my heart, against all odds, this...this...fear? Yes, even then, I felt it. The tide turning. Tom Brady finding his groove. It was clear, yet unbelievable. I knew, though, as much as I hated to admit it, that if anyone was capable of such a feat, it was Tom Brady "the comeback kid." 

                And I had to admit, that as much as I dislike him, as much as I delight in his misfortune, I respect him. Because only true respect could evoke fear in such circumstances. My anxiety grew with every completed pass and every minor Falcon miscue. And then it happened. Julian Edelman made the craziest, most ridiculous, most unbelievable catch I've ever seen. A catch that will define his legacy, a catch that will live on in Super Bowl lore for the rest of eternity, and a catch that caused me to look deeply into myself and reevaluate who I am as a person.

                Because at that moment, something strange happened: the anxiety that I felt growing in the pit of my stomach, that was pressing against my chest, continued to grow. The feeling was the same but the cause had changed. The cause had inverted itself, from fear to... hope? Yes, that was it. Hope. Not hope for the Falcons, but hope for the Patriots. Because in that moment I knew: the Patriots must win. I tried to deny it, to brush it off, to push the feelings away. How could I, Molly George, life-long Denver Broncos fan, hater of the Patriots, queen of deflategate jokes, how could I suddenly be hoping for a Patriots victory?

                Perhaps it was because with the Edelman catch I realized that God wanted the Patriots to win, because, quite frankly, that catch was divine. Or maybe it was because in that moment, I knew that a Patriots comeback would solidify Tom Brady as the unequivocal greatest of all time. But why would I want Tom Brady to have this title? I know I already admitted to respecting him, but don't I still despise him?  After all, I have always been a Manning fan. Even before he played for the Broncos, I defended him as the greatest. I argued with Brady lovers, looking at stats and scores and accomplishments on all levels to defend the charismatic Colts quarterback. So what was it that made me secretly want Brady to pull this one off?

                I realized then that it was the fact that I already knew, deep down, that Brady was the greatest of all time. His playoff performances, his super bowls, his underdog story. And I knew that if he won this game, if he somehow pulled off this sensational victory, that not only could I admit that he is the greatest, but that I must admit that he is the greatest. Because if there was any doubt, even the slightest what-so-ever, about who deserved the title of greatest of all time, I could not in good conscience ascribe that title to Brady. But if he led a 25 point comeback in this super bowl, on top of all his other accomplishments, there would be no doubt. If he pulled off this win, I could finally say, guilt free and with a clear conscience, that Tom Brady is the best who's ever lived.

                And so, for the remainder of the game, I felt my soul being ripped in two. There was the part of me that still wanted the Patriots to lose, that still wanted to remain in denial about Tom Brady's greatness. And then there was the part that wanted Tom Brady to prove, without a doubt, that his abilities are unparalleled by any being ever. There was the part of me that wanted to see the underdog Falcons silence the sports media. And then there was the part that wanted to witness the greatest comeback in Super Bowl history. And so, when the Patriots tied the game and the clock ran down to zero, when the Patriots won the coin toss, my soul was in turmoil. Everything I thought I knew about myself was in disarray. I still thought that I might want the Falcons to win, and in fact rooted for their defense all through that overtime drive.

                But when the Patriots did score that final touchdown, the first touchdown of overtime to seal the win, I burst into uncontrollable laughter. Laughter of disbelief. Laughter of relief. And, yes, finally, laughter of jubilation. How my laughter at the Patriots' tribulation had slowly turned into laughter of joy at their eventual triumph made me think hard about who I am as football fan, and more deeply as a person. It also made me reconsider my decision not to write a blog post about the Super Bowl. For, while surely there will be countless  blogs, articles and commentaries offered about the historic victory- the first Super Bowl overtime, the largest comeback in Super Bowl history, the record 5th Super Bowl title- the greatness of the game deserves every word written about it. And Tom Brady, the comeback kid, deserves every word of praise in every post on every blog that has been dedicated to him and his achievements. So here's one more, for Tom Brady: the Greatest of all Time.

(AP Photo/Darron Cummings)