An Do, the owner of Johnny’s Market on the Lynnway, is shown holding up a copy of the Monday Morning Herald whose headline says it all. Nearly all of New England has been sent into a Mid-Winter depression by the Super Bowl loss on Sunday to the Giants.
Ours is an average Lynn family and Sunday was just another day.
Our two daughters were away. One went snowboarding to Western Massachusetts with her friends. The other went to her aunt’s home in West Lynn.
My wife went to Washington, DC on business Friday.
As the sun came up on my world in the Diamond District on Sunday morning, everything was bright and brilliant, including the ocean which was dark blue and appearing to be as cold as ice cubes.
With everyone away, I was left to my own devices in my home on my street in my neighborhood in Lynn.
All in all, that was a nice place to be.
I went from one state of dozing in the living room to another state of dozing in the sun room, to the kitchen for food from time to time in between.
By the time it got to 5:30 p.m. my youngest daughter called from her aunt’s house on Robinson Street.
“Please pick me up. I’m ready.”
So I drove to Robinson Street and did just that.
There was virtually no traffic on the streets of Lynn at this hour shortly beforethe start of the Super Bowl.
We got home.
Naudia, 11, went up to her room.
I prepared myself before the flatscreen for the start of the game.
The preparation consisted on me reclining properly on the couch making certain my head was elevated on pillows just so.
I loved the singing of the God Bless America and then the National Anthem, the coin toss and then came the opening kick – ah, the long awaited beginning of the game.
The first play into the game and Tom Brady threw the ball away while standing in the end zone and the Patriots were behind 2-0 because of the safety that was called.
This was an early warning sign of much worse things to come.
Daughter number two, 12, returned from her weekend jaunt at about 7:00 p.m. She too immediately disappeared which was good. I enjoy watching the games by myself – no distractions.
This left only my wife not being in the nest.
She would have to be picked up at Logan Airport approximately 8:30 p.m. on Super Bowl Sunday with the Patriots vying with the Giants for the biggest prize in American sporting.
That meant I’d have to leave the house before the half time show began in order to be at Logan Airport when her plane arrived.
I remained behind for longer than I wanted to watch a few minutes of Madonna. Then I took off.
I was driving into Logan Airport when my wife called on her cell.
“I’m here,” she said.
I zoomed right into Delta arrivals, scooped her up and while listening to the game, headed back to Lynn.
I parked the car in our driveway. I ran into the house. Both daughters were told to get out of the room immediately so I could watch the rest of the game. My wife settled into her favorite position in front of our flat-screen and so did I.
Now we watched the game together.
To make this long story short, my wife was finished with the game with 56 seconds left when the Pats got the ball for what was to turn out to be a futile run for a badly needed touchdown.
Before that, she said to me, “They’re going to lose,” at least a half dozen times.
“They’re going to lose,” my wife said to me one last time.
She got up and went to her bedroom and shut the door.
I stayed behind to watch the end.
My wife was right, of course.
Somehow I like to think if she hadn’t been watching the game, perhaps the Patriots could have pulled it out.
But it wasn’t in the cards.
And I’m not sure next year can be much better.