Patriot Games

There is a heaven on this earth and it is Gillette Stadium¹. Last night, before the first Patriots pre-season game, I had dinner with the Krafts. No kidding.

At a charity auction for the American Repertory Theater a friend of mine bid on and won tickets to the game - with extras. He invited three buddies to go with him to attend a pre-game buffet with the Lombardi trophies and then take a walk on the field. Sheer joy!

The buffet, we were told, usually attracts between three and four dozen people, though for pre-season games the number is often less. Because of the threatened rain (which waited to begin falling until the 1st quarter) we four were the only people there. Bob Kraft, greatest of sports team owners, ringmaster of one circle in my internal circus, came in, grabbed some sushi, and chatted with us. "Mr Kraft, you have given me - us - hours and hours of enjoyment. Thank you!" Jonathan Kraft came in, grabbed some sushi, and spent about a half-hour telling us which young players to watch and just shooting the breeze. Myra Kraft joined us for a spell and we chatted about sponsoring the arts in Boston. Bob came back for more sushi and we talked about food.

We were led through the bowels of the stadium, through the empty players' dining room, to the field. We high-fived Pat Patriot. We passed the cheerleaders coming out of their dressing room, gamefaces grimly set². Every employee smiled and said "hi". It felt like a small town.

We walked out into a glorious summer sunset and onto a field of dreams. Brady and Davey were tossing a ball back and forth, soft tosses, but tight spirals every time. Ty Law led the secondary on a slow lap around the field to a rolling cheer. Corey Dillon, "a beast!" our handler proudly proclaimed, stretched by himself.

We were stopped by the players' entrance to the field to allow the rest of the team to come out, encouraged by Romeo Crennel (who has lost a fair amount of weight), shouting and pounding his hands together. Patrick Pass danced by us, bobbing his head, shuffling his feet, and pistoning his hands - and then he danced back to us with a huge grin before darting off to join the rest of the running backs.

David Givens is not six feet - not even close. J.J. Stokes, by contrast, is huge - 6'4" might not be generous enough. Tedy Bruschi never stopped smiling - or moving. Roosevelt Colvin ran well. Josh Miller's jersey has both names because no one knows who he is yet (they will; a 48 yard average is nothing to sneeze at; he also handshakes the rest of the punt coverage team after a good punt). Brady is the most relaxed person I have ever seen. I could go on and on and on.

After the pre-game warm-ups and ceremonies we hustled up to our seats: club section (first deck), two rows back, fifty yard line. We sat back, got drenched, and watched some football.

Heaven.

. . .

¹ Football is one of my preferred forms of entertainment. Do I need to elaborate? I think not.

² Seriously, the cheerleaders were in mid-season form. They had their choreography down, none of the missed timing or missed assignments that characterized the players. Our section got up a nice head of steam shouting at the Eagles after every flag (thirteen penalties accepted, but at least twenty flags thrown for Eagle miscues), "hire the choreographer!" Hey, we thought it was funny.

Professional to the bone, the cheerleaders never put on their rain gear. No matter how hard the rain came down, they danced through every stoppage of play. We were wondering how their conditioning was, would they start to flag in the third or fourth quarters? Nope. They hauled out the longer, more vigorous routines in the second half just to show us they could. Professional.

Posted by Martial