The 15

Our first big upset of the Tourney as Arcand is found to be worse than the #2 seeded Borges thanks to a late surge of voting. It’s not a Super Bowl or a presidential election, but it’s something. In other matches, Chris Gasper garners a Saddam Hussein-esque percentage of the votes in his favor, followed close behind by DJ Bean.

In the 8/9 Castiglione vs ‘Hardy’ tilt, the Iheardahim edged out the pseudonym, MegO is a no-go vs Keefe, KPD whining about Jim Rice is not enough to get past call screener JStew, and Shaughnessy is at the top of his profession, and in the V Region.

(From The15 Archives, originally published on this date in 2019.)

The Day Drew Almost Died

(Sung to the tune of Don McLean’s “American Pie.”)

A long, long time ago…
I can still remember how that QB used to make me smile.
And I thought if he had the chance,
That he could make Krafty Bob dance,
And maybe we’d be happy for a while.

But Parcells leaving made me shiver,
And Pete Carroll could not deliver.
Good news on the doorsteps;
Tom Brady would soon get more reps.

I can’t remember if I cheered,
When I read that his artery was sheared,
But I sure know that Coach Bill lied,
The day Drew almost died.

So bye bye cerebral statue guy.
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

Does Drew even read his Book of Plays?
Then why’d he just pass it to the Tampa Bays,
If the Coach didn’t tell him so?
You don’t believe in gaining yards,
You can’t be saved by Parcells and Cafar…do.
And can you teach me how to move real slow?

Well, I know the media’s in love with him,
‘cause I saw one slurpin’ on his Jim,
He got down on his knees,
Man, I dig that dig-nity.

I was a lonely Globie in Foxboro,
With a speed-dial line to Tom Donohoe.
But I knew I had nowhere left to go,
The day Drew almost died.

I started singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

Now for five years we been on our own,
Zeffross Moss grows fat, and we’ve had Michael Stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the Statue took a nut crushing sack,
With skills he borrowed from Mike Tomczak,
And footwork that made him look, like a tree.

Oh, and while the Statue was on the turf,
Tommy led the Patriots rebirth.
The Drew era was adjourned,
No more picks would be returned,
And while Borges ripped the coach for Starks,
The QB moved to Orchard Park,
And we raised banners in the dark,
The day Bledsoe almost died…

We were singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

Tall, strong slinger with a broken finger,
Passes not complete but they sure were zingers.
Six and two but falling fast.
Drew often ended up on the grass,
Whenever he tried for a forward pass.
With the jokes in the press box giving Coach such sass.

Now Mo Lewis’ hit was sweet perfume,
As the stench of Bledsoe’s failures loomed,
We all got up to dance,
As the new guy got a chance.
Oh, as Brady played with nerves of steel,
The Statue’s limits were soon revealed.
Six Banners now hang above the field,
Where Drew, he nearly died.

We started singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

And there we were down in Foxboro,
A QB lookin’ oh so slow,
With another I-N-Teeeeeee.
Drew be nimble, Drew be sacked,
Mo nearly broke poor Drew’s back,
But he played with dignity-y-y.

Oh, and as I watched him dive off the stage,
Tameeka’s disks cost 1.2 mil to assuage.
Max Lane could not repel,
Made Reggie White fast as a gazelle.
And as the blames piled high into the night,
Couldn’t be Drew, he was alright,
I saw Borges laughing with delight,
The day Drew almost died.

He was singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

I met a man who sang the blues,
And I asked him for some happy news,
But he just smiled and turned away.
I looked up that great box score,
Of the Minnesota game some years before,
But even then some said that Bledsoe couldn’t play.

And ar the Globe: the writers screamed,
Nutscrubbers cried, and Ron Borges schemed.
But not a word was spoken;
The AP feed was broken.
And the three men I admire true;
The Tuna, Don King and Cerebral Drew,
They caught the last train for Montana, too.
The day the Drew almost died.

And they were singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

They were singing,
Bye bye cerebral statue guy,
Threw the passes to the D-line,
Or hit the corners in stride.
And Nick and Ron were drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing “Drew is such a nice classy guy”.
Drew is such a nice classy guy.

Copyright 2007 BSMW. Lyrics by Kevin, InThisTown, BOSsportsfan34, Smilin’ Joe Hesketh, Miserable Fellow, Marty Nopointe, Joe Dokes, UncleGizmo, and Ironhead.

On Monday, September 9, 2021, The Athletic’s Jeff Howe announced his promotion to National NFL Insider, leaving an opening for the The Athletic to fill for Patriots beat coverage. As you might expect, Boston Globe media critic Chad Finn was all over this, having inside details of Howe’s promotion and search for a replacement nailed cold. (Just kidding. Charred Finn was folding Felger’s warming napkins before heading to Market Basket to fetch ketchup for Big Gym and chloroform-laced kitty litter for Jimmy Stewart.)

In a coordinated fashion, Howe tweeted his promotion and his replacement revealed himself. Matthew Fairburn is the new beat writer covering the Patriots for The Athletic:

Per usual, colleagues tripped over each other scrambling to tweet congratulations at Fairburn for his new role at The Athletic in nauseating numbers. Inside the headquarters of The 15, there was more skepticism. Unlike Charred Finn, we went to work and some gems were unearthed.

Is The Athletic Boston turning into The Unathletic Medway? I’m Just Asking The Question, reader. I would make a suggestion to Fairburn: Never go full Bedard. At all.

Fairburn is off to a rollicking start. He’s checking all the mediot boxes. Belichick cheats? Check. Brady about to go off a cliff? Yup. Reheated conventional wisdom passed off as insight? Bing. Intellectual dishonesty? You decide.

He deleted his tweets to spare his friends from an onslaught of Twitter nonsense. One might suggest his uninformed, trolling nonsense started this. Framing himself in the most unselfish and gallant of lights, Fairburn wanted to spare his friends from nonsense. But who is Fairburn sparing from an onslaught of Twitter nonsense in this since-deleted tweet?

Fairburn has spent the past week deleting tweets at a greater rate than Tom Brady destroys cell phones.

Meet the new beat writer for The Athletic Boston’s coverage of the Patriots: A Belichick hating, Brady cliff-diving, Cheating Cheatriots Spygate Enthusiast and DeflateGate Truther conspiracy theorist who will dedicate himself to providing unbiased, quality coverage of Bill Belichick’s New England Patriots. Is Fairburn writing for his audience? In Buffalo, he was catering to folding table murderers and dildo tossers. In New England, will he cater to the mouth-breathing Felger worshippers and angle for the weekend fill-in radio hottakez dollars?

The only question I need answered about Fairburn going forward is if he prefers mittens, Splenda, or a thesaurus.

Members of #The15 and Entitled Town contributed to this column.

By Guest Columnist @PatriotsDaily

“In conflict, direct confrontation will lead to engagement and surprise will lead to victory. Those who are skilled in producing surprises will win.”

 – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

One of the understated joys of being a Patriots fan during the Belichick era is how often something goes counter to expectations. Football is a game of planning and execution, but so often the thrills come when things don’t go according to plan.

“Surely Belichick won’t do this” went the mantra. “Surely Belichick won’t keep playing Brady once Bledsoe’s healthy,” until he did just that. “Surely Belichick will never trade Bledsoe within the division,” until he did just that. “Surely Belichick will never choose to kick off to Peyton Manning in overtime,” until he did just that. Even just this past week, with the prevailing belief being that Belichick was locked into some old coaches wives’ tale about never starting a rookie quarterback, Belichick did just that.

Patriots football has been like that for two decades – confounding expectations, flouting convention, defying probability – so much so that rivals resorted to conspiracy theories and superstition to explain away losing to what they believed to be inferior teams. It could never be that they were simply out-worked, out-prepared, out-coached, or out-played.

David Patten, the Super Bowl XXXVI hero who tragically passed away last Thursday at the age of 47, is the answer to that mystery. He was the ideal Belichick player: selfless and humble, tireless and hardworking, competitive and gracious. Rivals need look no further than Patten to understand just how they lost that game.

Patten might be the first of Patriot surprises, predating even the time Bill Belichick told Drew Bledsoe he wouldn’t be getting “his” job back from Tom Brady. For all those now on the “It was always Brady” bandwagon (and previously on the “all he does is dinks and dunks” bandwagon), let’s not forget the guy who saw champion qualities in the former sixth-round pick way before the rest of the civilized world.

Patten’s story is best told in context, and that context is Terry Glenn.

In the summer of 2001, the two men occupied opposite poles of the football spectrum. Glenn was the sole playmaker on a 5-11 team, a Pro Bowler two years prior, and a year removed from signing a $50 million contract. 

Patten was a fifth-year player who played a little in the Arena League, made his NFL bones as a kick returner with the Giants, then bounced to Cleveland before eventually getting a call from the Pats. Nobody could envision Patten’s slot on a depth chart that included Glenn and Troy Brown at the top spots, and with more celebrated free agents Charles Johnson, Bert Emanuel and Torrance Small also vying for jobs.

Glenn was in the doghouse entering camp, with an offseason domestic assault arrest, and a 4-game suspension for violating the league’s substance abuse policy. When the Pats withheld bonus money in accordance with behavioral clauses in his contract, Glenn left camp in protest.

Imagine how many times the two players crossed paths in camp prior to Glenn bolting. Did either have any idea how their career paths would diverge so completely in the coming months?

Five years prior, Glenn was the super-athletic wunderkind from Ohio State, the sixth overall pick in a receiver-heavy draft that included Hall of Famers Marvin Harrison and Terrell Owens, and Pro Bowlers Keyshawn Johnson, Eric Moulds, and Muhsin Muhammed. Patten, meanwhile, went undrafted out of Western Carolina, biding his time stocking trucks with 75 lb coffee bean bags while waiting for his pro football opportunity.  

In August of that year, while the rookie Glenn missed all of exhibition action with a hamstring injury (prompting Bill Parcells’ “She’s making progress” comment), Patten got picked up by the Arena League’s Albany Firebirds for their playoff push. In the semifinals, he caught three passes for 44 yards against Kurt Warner’s Iowa Barnstormers.

Patten was everything Glenn wasn’t: humble, hard-working and the ultimate teammate. He was lightly recruited, played for a relatively unheralded Division IAA school, and went undrafted. It’s no exaggeration to say he earned everything he achieved.

Glenn never saw the glory Patten witnessed firsthand. Despite a monster rookie season, Glenn’s massive potential went unrealized. His Patriots legacy is a cautionary tale, a reminder to disavow ourselves of preconceived notions. And to be willing to accept that the “next guy up” might be as good as the last one. Possibly better.

Going into 2001, the expectations for the Patriots were nil. In March of that year, Joel Buchsbaum labeled the Patriots, “The team that’s most set up for failure for the next five years.” At best, after a 5-11 season, there was just hope for improvement. Again, our preconceived notions told us that if there was any glory to be had that year, it must be coming from Drew Bledsoe and Terry Glenn. 

But Bill Belichick didn’t care how high a player was drafted, how much he made, or what legacy he carried. And so when Glenn went AWOL, and Patriots fans were frantic about the team needing to come to amends with its top playmaker, Belichick had moved on with the guy he already had – the short, slight, humble, hard-working kid with good speed from Western Carolina.

Patten exemplified the element of surprise that so personified that 2001 Patriots team. With unheralded players like Patten, Troy Brown, Antowain Smith, and most certainly Brady, the Patriots were routinely underdogs, yet still finding ways to win.

We didn’t know it then, but Glenn’s 2001 season drew up the blueprint for how the Belichick Patriots would come to handle distractions. He was suspended three times that season – the four games for violating the substance abuse policy, for the season after skipping out of practice for 11 days (reversed later by an arbitrator), and for good just prior to the playoffs. 

This made for a season where Glenn was sometimes available, but mostly not. After a seven-catch, 110-yd game in October, in which Glenn caught Tom Brady’s first touchdown pass, Glenn felt vindicated, believing the performance justified the return of his bonus money. The Pats didn’t budge, so Glenn malingered with his balky hamstring, even suggesting it would heal faster if he got paid.

Patten stepped up into the starter’s role, catching 51 balls for 749 yards. Glenn played three more games, but after another series of missed meetings, Belichick suspended him for good. 

On Glenn’s final day in New England, you have to wonder if the two receivers crossed paths one last time: Glenn packing his bags for destinations unknown; and Patten about to undergo a historic playoff journey (seven clutch receptions in the Snow Bowl, and twin right-corner-of-the-end-zone TDs against the Steelers and the Rams, respectively) we had previously imagined might be Glenn’s legacy.

In that moment, with one player walking out the door and one walking in, and Glenn gazing for the last time upon the player who had taken his place, do you think he was surprised?