Updated: December 27, 2015
Originally Published: January 15, 2015
Patriots fans are a unique breed, often embodying the spirit of committed capitalists from strong family roots, relying on an age-old tradition of spirited expressions passed down through generations. The elders, in particular, can be heard echoing their passionate phrases in animated tones, showcasing their growing excitement or frustration, while the younger fans absorb this rich dialect.
Through the lens of my partner, a devoted Patriots enthusiast, I’ve had the chance to observe the dynamic rituals that unfold during the football season. He is the head of our household, seeking just a few hours each week—between September and January (or early February if the team reaches the playoffs)—to immerse himself in the game.
Recently, on a Monday night, our household engaged in the ritualistic clash of the Patriots versus the Jets, a highly anticipated event held twice a year. My partner, embodying the role of a shaman, expressed his emotions through a series of unpredictable movements and vocalizations, as if predicting the game’s outcome. (With just me in the room, I couldn’t help but wonder who he was addressing.)
For the sake of posterity and a touch of humor, I’ve documented a quarter’s worth of his spirited commentary. To ensure a more pleasant reading experience, I’ve swapped out any unsavory language—such as “curse” with “pickle,” and “mess” with “urchin.”
Observations from October 16, 2014: The Ritual in Progress
Setting: A cozy living room in Brooklyn, NY
The subject is seated on the couch, rhythmically bouncing his legs, perhaps to maintain a sense of calm.
“Checkdown, checkdown, checkdown. Turn it upfield. Turn it up,” he exclaims. His excitement palpable, he raises his hands, “Gronk. Gronktime.” (The identity of “Gronk” remains a mystery, but I take note of his significance.)
“Come on, Tommy. Yeah. Suck it, Jets!” He glances at me, as if suddenly aware of my presence, and I retreat to the shadows.
“Get in the backfield. Goddamnit. Hit somebody! Don’t just pickle push him. Put your helmet on that man.” (A fierce desire for assertiveness emerges as he pounds his fist into his other hand.) “You’re on your pickling heels,” he mutters, as if he were directing a play.
“Get a push on the line. Get inside. Get upfield. Get in the pickling backfield. Get. Get.” The various “fields” seem to hold great importance in this world of football, although I’m not yet sure how they all connect.
“Come on, Danny. Do something with it.” (Danny, it appears, has disappointed him in the past.) “Tom, blitz coming. Nice!”
Despite his enthusiasm for the legendary Tom, there are moments of frustration. “What the pickle are you doing? He got out of bounds. Nice, Gronk.”
“Come on, Tommy. Aaaaagh. Urchin. Come on, Tommy. Aaaagh. Urchin.” (Could this be an incantation?)
“That’s bullurchin. Urchin. Third and long. Not good.” As the tension rises, he stands and paces. “No, what the pickle are you doing? Aaaagh Jesus Christ. Dipurchin.”
The intensity escalates with each play. “Defensive pass interference. That’s a questionable call, but I’ll take it.” He seems to be channeling the game’s energies, perhaps calling upon the powers of the football gods.
“Get rid of it. Ah, Shane, you pickling missed the urchin out of that block. That was pickling stupid.” (The stakes rise as he approaches the TV, seemingly ready to intervene.)
“Jesus pickling Christ. Dumbass. You pickling dumbass. That’s pickling bush league bullurchin.” His frustration peaks as he berates the players for their missteps, revealing a deep emotional connection to the game.
“Stack the box for God’s sake. Get him, get him. Jesus Christ. You have four pickling people there. You can’t tackle him?” (He pleads for a more aggressive defense.)
As the game unfolds, he expresses both concern and encouragement. “Come on, defense. This is the pickling game right here. Get some pickling pressure on him. He’s rattled. He got hit. Hit him.”
“Darelle Revis is not to be trifled with,” he asserts, showcasing a surprising depth of football knowledge.
“Touch down! Motherpickler. If someone would catch the pickling football we’d be all set.” His sarcasm replaces the earlier tones of hope as the game reaches its climax.
“Let’s get some pickling coverage on this. This is making me very unhappy.”
With halftime approaching, he collapses onto the couch, burying his head in his hands. Exhausted, I retreat to take care of a few chores, pondering the passionate world of football fandom and the intricate rituals of home life.
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In summary, observing a Patriots fan during a game offers a glimpse into a unique and fervent culture, where emotions run high and every play is a chance for celebration or disappointment. The intricate language, rituals, and expressions of frustration and joy provide a fascinating window into the heart of sports fandom.