COLUMN: I’m rooting against NE because of its Three Stooges

 

Opinion by WILLIAM "SKI" WILCZEWSKI

If you know me, you don’t need to ask me who I’m rooting for in Sunday’s Super Bowl.

Make no mistake about it, all I basically want is the Patriots to lose.

So, I guess that means: Go Atlanta!

I’m certainly not a Falcons fan, mind you.

I am, however, one of two types of people in this world, because—for the most part—the way I see it, you either love the Patriots or you hate them. There doesn’t seem to be much in between.

And, as a Buffalo Bills fan, I despise the Patriots more than sunshine dislikes the rain.

Let me count the ways …

First off, New England is 70-43-1 versus my Bills, and have gone 28-4 against them since QB Tom Brady became the starting signal caller, although the last Bills victory against them—a 16-0 shutout—was without Brady at the helm.

Oh, yes, everyone remembers Tom’s Deflate-gate suspension this season, right? (Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy!)

Anyway, Deflate-gate aside, Brady still sits under my saddle like a week old burr that’s been soaked in peroxide.

Sorry, I just don’t like the guy.

His pearly-white, Donny Osmond-esque smile just makes me wish we were back in the old no-face-mask days.

He’s smug.

Predictable.

More calculated in his public persona than the pre-scandal Tiger Woods.

His golden arm has crashed more parties than ASU frat boys on a three-day weekend—and his reign needs to end.

And I hope that crumble begins Sunday.

Then, there’s head coach Bill Belichick.

Yes, he’s a football mastermind but his persona reminds me more of a dry sponge than a human with a heartbeat.

Interviewing him must be like talking to a two-by-four. Now I can understand being somewhat guarded with the modern day media but this guy is more stuffy than an overweight scarecrow.

I’d rather listen to grinding teeth before watching him uncomfortably squiggle through one more media day in Houston.

The third stooge that makes me cringe every time I hear about professional football in Massachusetts is The Gronk. Yes, Rob Gronkowski.

This is the one that puzzles many people because there is so much about The Gronk that I should like.

He’s a fellow-Pollack from Amherst, N.Y., which is a suburb of Buffalo near Cheektowaga, where I grew up. On top of that, Gronkowski went to the University of Arizona, which is the side of that state battle where my loyalties lie.

So, what’s not to like about the 6-foot-6, 265-pound tight end?

Well, everything since he entered the NFL.

Maybe he just masked it well, or maybe I didn’t pay close enough attention when he was a Wildcat, but it seems to me that he went from a mild-mannered respectable football player to Bozo the Clown in cleat.

If you ask me, so many of his antics are beyond the embarrassment border, but I guess money, attention and fame will do that to you. Not that I’ll ever find out first hand.

What I do hope I witness first hand, though, is the Atlanta Falcons putting a butt-whooping on New England on Sunday. And while I know that’s highly unlikely, I’ll be happy with the thinnest of one-point victories.

That one point, however, would keep Brady from his fifth Super Bowl ring—and bring the biggest pearly-white, Donny Osmond-esque smile to my face.

Anyone with me?

Wilczewski can be reached at wwilczewski@havasunews.com.