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The smoke has cleared. All the fans arrested for celebrating in Philadelphia have been bailed out -- or, anyway, a lot of them.
And where have all the players gone? Gone to golf courses, every one. Or not every one, but a lot of them.
In the aftermath of the Super Bowl, let’s keep it positive. I know that’s an effort. It’s still February.
But when I was picking up my shirts from the dry cleaner, I heard about a guy who’d bet $3 million on the Eagles. That’s a positive. I hope he tipped everybody involved in his life.
Online I saw a picture of a woman shrieking with delight during one of the street celebrations in Philadelphia. This was not only because the Eagles had won. Her companion had proposed to her during the celebration. I hope that on Monday morning, she didn’t have to remind him of that. And that each of them remembered the other’s name.
Then there are all those people we’ve been hearing throughout the NFL postseason, those people who live anywhere but in New England, those people who hate the Patriots either because they win a lot, or because those people believe the Patriots only win because they cheat, or because Pat the Patriot -- or whatever he’s called -- no longer looks enough like Elvis Presley.
For whatever reason or combination of them, those people root for anyone playing against Tom Brady and Bill Belichick, whom they regard as lucky, treacherous, smug, and too pretty for his own good in one case, too smart for his own good in the other. Those people were happy at Sunday’s result, and at the way it came about. Brady is great? How come he couldn’t catch the pass tossed to him, when the guy quarterbacking the Eagles could do that? Belichick is the smartest guy in the room? How come his trick play didn’t work, and the other guy’s trick play did?
Probably most of the people delighted by Sunday’s result still had to go to work on Monday, but they left for the job with a spring in their step, knowing that the hated Patriots had failed.
It is that way in sports, as it is that way in all things, and much as we might like to believe otherwise, if we pretend accordingly, we’re not being honest with ourselves, are we? I mean, when a car goes by you at 85 miles an hour, swerving between lanes, endangering everybody on the road, don’t you find yourself hoping that you’ll come across that guy -- a mile or two further along -- with -- not with his car in flames, necessarily, but with, say, at least a flat tire?
On Sunday, those folks who hate the Patriots got that satisfaction, or something like it. Shrug it off, Pats fans. Tip your hat to the opposition.
Then change the tire for the next run.
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