The Free Press
It’s been cold in New York lately, which has caused me to trot out my go-to skull cap, the one with the soft inner lining that keeps my ears warm. Unfortunately, it’s a Kansas City Chiefs hat, with a big Chiefs logo on the front, and a smaller one on the back.
My wife’s best friend, who hails from Kansas City, gave it to me after the Chiefs won their first Super Bowl of the Patrick Mahomes era, in 2019. Back then, there was no downside to wearing a Chiefs-branded hat, because “Chiefs fatigue” had not yet set in. Football fans weren’t yet sick of the Chiefs winning and winning and winning. They weren’t tired of watching Mahomes perform quarterback miracles in the last minute—and sometimes the last few seconds—of big playoff games. Taylor Swift was still years away from dating Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce, so they weren’t sick of seeing her cheering on her fella from the luxury suites.
Now? I can hardly go anywhere in New York without being accosted by people who are annoyed—no, offended—by the logo on my hat. I see where they are coming from. Since the Mahomes era began, the Chiefs have been in seven consecutive AFC Championship Games, with back-to-back heartbreaking victories over the always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride Buffalo Bills. (Heartbreaking for the Bills, that is.) The Chiefs have played in four Super Bowls since 2019, losing only once, to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, in what was Tom Brady’s last hurrah. If the Chiefs win today, they will be the first team in history to win three Super Bowls in a row. They are the closest thing to a football dynasty since the Tom Brady-Bill Belichick heyday of the New England Patriots.
I am not, I hasten to point out, a Chiefs fan myself. I wanted the Bills to take the Chiefs down, but I’ll be cheering for Philadelphia today. (Go Birds!) After the 100th time someone in New York complained about my hat, I started taking it off and showing them the lining so they could see I was only wearing it for warmth. But I also feel a little sorry for Chiefs fans. It’s not easy to live someplace where everyone is sick of your team and actively rooting for it to lose.
How do I know this? Because I am a Patriots fan, and during their long reign, football fans weren’t just tired of the Patriots, they loathed the team, hated them like progressives hate Donald Trump. The franchise was arrogant. The coach, Belichick, was a jerk, refusing to shake the hand of an opposing coach he didn’t like, and treating the press with undisguised contempt. The quarterback, Brady, wasn’t just the best of all time, he was also annoyingly handsome and married to one of the most beautiful models in the world. Also: Most football fans were convinced the Patriots cheated. (Remember Deflategate?) But mostly they won and won and won. From 2002 to 2019, they had nine Super Bowl appearances, six of them victories. The arrogance was justified—and so all the more intolerable.
When the gang would talk football in the office on Monday mornings, bemoaning another Jets or Giants loss, I had to bite my tongue, lest I display some of that Patriots smugness. In a sports bar, I would try to keep my cheers to myself. When people did find out I was a Patriots fan, I was invariably harangued about how they couldn’t stand the team. Back when I had a sports column at The New York Times, I wrote that Deflategate was a phony scandal (the Patriots were accused of taking some air out of the balls) that could be easily explained by the laws of physics. I was right, but it didn’t matter. Over 700 comments poured in denouncing me.
The moment that is forever etched in my memory, though, took place in 2017, during the Super Bowl between the Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons. One of my older sons and I had been invited to a Super Bowl party with about 20 other people, many of them friends. (Older son said if I used his real name, he would cut off FaceTime calls with my granddaughter.) Everyone else was rooting—and rooting loudly—for the Falcons. And for most of the game, it looked like Atlanta was going to pull it off. The Patriots were playing poorly, and were down 28-3 halfway through the third quarter. Amidst all the cheering, older son and I tried to put on a brave face.
By the end of the quarter, the Patriots cut the lead to 28-9, but no one at the party was especially worried. But then: field goal. 28-12.
Atlanta fumble. 28-20.
The room was getting quieter and quieter, except for older son, who jumped up from his seat after every good Patriots play. When the Patriots tied the score with 58 seconds left, he could barely contain himself. By then, the partygoers were glum, because they knew the Patriots would win. Which they did in overtime, 34-28. I was thrilled at the come-from-behind victory, but didn’t dare break into a smile. I still remember the sting of feeling shunned by my friends at the party.
Kansas City fans: In some ways, you have it easier. Andy Reid, your coach, is a nice guy, not a jerk. Your quarterback is exciting. His wife goes to the games and seems pretty normal. Swift is still dating Kelce, so she isn’t writing nasty songs about him, at least not yet. But as your dynasty continues, it’s going to get harder for you.
Unless you live in Kansas City, where you can gloat all you want, you’re going to have to learn the art of the humblebrag. (Stick to lines like: “Yeah, we were pretty lucky to get out of there with a win.”) Your sports bar behavior will have to be subdued. You’ll have to avoid letting the team’s success get to your head. Most of all, enjoy it while you can. But quietly.
Speaking of letting success go to your head, after the victory over Atlanta, someone made T-shirts that read “Atlanta 28, Patriots 3” on the front and “Patriots 34, Atlanta 28” on the back. I bought one. I don’t wear it anymore.
Have you watched the Patriots lately? It won’t last forever.
