On matters football, living in New England was a breeze when I first took up residency in 1979. Pittsburgh was in the midst of the City of Champions era. The Patriots were laughing stocks of the league. In fact, I didn’t even feel like I was "behind enemy lines," as the Patriots were irrelevant, no threat at all to the Pittsburgh Steelers dynasty. I was much more cognizant of the CleveBrownies spies. I was living in Haverhill (pronounced Hey-vrull), Massachusetts in the mid-80s when a nice couple, with a dog, moved in across the street. I greeted them, one of those fairly rare times when I’m appropriately social, then after a few minutes of aimless chatter, I was aghast, and retreated to the sanctuary of my own home. "I can’t believe it," I told Mrs. Swiss, "I come all the way up here to Massachusetts, and The Enemy moves in across the street. How did they find me here?" They were from Ohio, Browns fans, and the Browns, behind Bernie Kosar, were finally winning at TRS, winning the AFC Central Division, losing heartbreakers in the AFCCG to the Denver Broncos. I proceeded to water their plants while they were on vacation (plants…sissy browns fans). I can’t recall their names, having immediately and forever after that initial conversation referred to him as simply "The Enemy." I still enjoy my chance meetings with Browns fans. I was at my son’s school concert last spring, and ran into a Browns fan who I’d not seen in some time. "Hey Jim," I said happily, "not seen ya in awhile. We gonna own you again this year?" And I laughed like hell, as Jim, stone-faced, did not smile. And, guess what, we DID own the CleveBrownies again last year. I know, I know. It might not happen this year. Ya know what?? It will happen. And as recently as this April, at my kids’ swim banquet, I met a very friendly Browns fan. I was cordial. I was magnanimous. I only once reminded him that we’ve taken his team for 9 in a row. He told me that he makes a yearly trip to Cleveland for a Browns game, and that last season he had been seated nearby a former Brown. Did I remember a player by the name of….Joe Jones? My eyes glazed over, I frothed at the mouth, tremors took over my body. He invited me to his home for his Annual Browns/Steelers Party. One of the attributes of aging is knowing oneself, knowing one’s strengths, but also one’s foibles. I can guarantee that if I attend this event, there will be no follow-up invitation. Speaking of invites, the mild-mannered guy that does investments for my place of employ is from Cleveland, a Browns fan, though I tell him what’s going on with his team. Every year he suggests we watch a Steelers-Browns game, "get the wives together." "Uh, Bill," I say, "I’m not sure that’s such a good idea."

Anyway, back to the dastardly New England Patriots. Starting in those same mid-80s, every August when the pre-season started, I would say to my Patriots friend, Stupid Charlie, "Chaw-lee…Hall of Fame Game today. Let’s see, we’ve got Terry Bradshaw and Mel Blount going in. How many Patriots are being inducted? What’s that? None, you say. Oh, too bad. How many Patriots are in the Hall of Fame. NONE?? Get out!!"

And so it went every year. The Patriots were the harmless hosts. The Steelers were the legendary guests. The Patriots were always blacked out, rumored to move to St. Louis, or Hartford. The Sox were always first in the hearts of New Englanders, followed by the B’s, the legendary Big Bad Bruins of Bobby Orr, Phil Esposito, Pie McKenzie, et al, still the heroes on the frozen ponds of New England. Include the Celtics, winners of 11 championships in 13 seasons, and resurgent with Bird, McHale, Parrish, and the Patriots were relegated to 4^{th...................}