Shut up.

Just shut up and watch.

These are the instructions for football fans rooting for the New England Patriots, who have more magic up their sleeves than Mandrake.

Two weeks ago, if you were a Patriots fan, the "thud" sound you heard was that of your jaw hitting the floor when referee Walt Coleman overturned his verdict on Tom Brady's fumble with 1:43 left in New England's playoff game against Oakland, giving a Lazarus-inspired lift to the eventual winners. This was followed, of course, by the hysterical laughter of Pats' fans about catching a break that no one could have expected in this lifetime.

It turns out the ref actually did make the right call, as revealed by a review. As the Boston Globe's Will McDonough reported the next day, as soon as Coleman saw that Brady's arm was in motion when the ball came loose on the video, he had a moment of clarity and a succinct analysis: "Oh, shit," he muttered, before going out in front of a national audience and falling on his sword.

It was a great swan song for Foxboro Stadium, the erstwhile Schaefer City. Had the Boston Garden's last day included a Boston Bruins win in which Bobby Orr's last slapshot was tucked home by Phil Esposito (Jesus saves! And Espo puts in the rebound!) during an afternoon game, followed by Larry Bird throwing in a last-second basket with his left hand, while talking trash to Magic Johnson, to beat the Lakers, it would be the rough equivalent of the Pats coming up big time in front of a full house of frozen swamp Yankees with more antifreeze in them than the parking lot full of cars outside.

But last Sunday at Heinz Stadium in Pittsburgh, the Patriots had to overcome a series of calls that would have made Raymond Patriarca blush for being seen as being on the take. Nonetheless, they beat the Steelers 24-17 for the AFC title and a ticket to New Orleans for the Super Bowl. (Cue Gary "U.S." Bonds here: "Way down the Mississippi down to New Orleans . . . I said a hey . . . hey, hey, hey now.") And the Pats did it the old-fashioned way: return a re-kicked punt right up the gut for a 55-yard touchdown, block a field goal attempt, run it back 60 yards with a lateral between two players, and have your former ex-All Pro quarterback come in cold and drive 40 yards on four plays for a TD -- with a field goal thrown in for good luck. If the first place the New England players visit in N'awlins this week isn't Reverend Zombie's House of Voodoo on St. Peter Street, I'd be mighty surprised.

This game was as gut wrenching a sports watching experience as I've personally ever had, including even the Blizzard Bowl, which held the crown for a week. The aforementioned officiating, which seemed designed to give the Patriots a colonoscopy in front of a national audience, turned a friend's living room into a House of Horrors, filled with moi meme and mes amis shrieking at the television, and vastly improving the four- and 12-letter vocabularies of the children in the room. When Pittsburgh came out of the locker room and turned the third quarter into a demolition derby for the Patriots, the whole room turned into a casting call for imitators of Edvard Munch's The Scream.

There is no sense dwelling on the past, however. Now the Pats meet an absolutely frightening offensive team in the form of the St. Louis Rams. This is a team that has no one slower than an Olympic sprinter in their receiving corps or their defensive linebackers and secondary. Teams that have caught them offensively on a good day should have been equipped with asbestos jockstraps, because having receivers like Isaac Bruce and Torry Holt burn you deep time and again is a less than fulfilling experience. In addition, the Rams have toughened up their defense, which brings the situation very close to being unfair to man and beast.

The only problem is, the Rams are impossible to root for. No one with an ounce of respect for the memory of former Los Angeles Rams stars "Crazy Legs" Hirsch or Deacon Jones could possibly support this Midwestern reincarnation of a proud NFL franchise. Yes, I know that a ram is as likely to be found in Hollywood as on the Mississippi River (unless it's a Fatty Arbuckle remembrance party at the Chateau Marmont), but even the uniform colors betray the traditional signature cardinal red of St. Louis teams.

Add to this the fact that the Rams' quarterback, Kurt Warner, is a hideous God-botherer. His remarks about his "Christian brothers" on the team reveal a very disturbed individual, and comments last week about his injuries perhaps being the handiwork of others on "the dark side," remind one of George Bush's famed "evildoers." You can just see Dubya and Kurt sitting around in their short pants and little bow ties playing "Dungeons and Dragons" and squealing in horror every time Old Nick rears his head.

Right, Kurt, Beelzebub has nothing more to do than to plague you with a sore thumb and vocal cords. Have another communion wafer and this time don't chug the wine. (There's a great story about Rudy Cheeks taking a mentally challenged child to church, and having him scream, "Eat his body!?! Eat his body!?!" during communion, but it'll have to wait for another time.)

That said, when Kurt isn't taking a knee for Jesus, he can light you up, throwing to the modern version of Dan Jenkins's fabled Semi-Tough "(You know who) go long." Then you have the mercurial Marshall Faulk breaking out of the backfield, and the opposing defensive coordinator reaching for the sideline Gatorade bottle filled with Stolichnaya. Abetted by a defense that coach Mike Martz has rebuilt with hard-asses like Aeneas Williams, and the Rams have got a wagon.

'Nuf sed about St. Louis. Let's just sit down, shut up and watch the New England Patriots offensive line de-cleat some defenders when the game is on the line. Tackles Greg Robinson-Randall and Matt Light, guards Joe Andruzzi and Mike Compton, and center Damien Woody have been extraordinary this season. Even when Drew Bledsoe, a man who needs to be moved around by a forklift, entered the game against the Steelers, this crew kept him reasonably safe and sound. His only trouble came when he tried to scramble and took a lick that looked exactly like the one from the New York Jets which caused internal bleeding and his starting job. His front five could probably protect the Statue of Liberty, which is about as mobile as Drew, never mind the much more agile Tom Brady.

OK, let's get this over with. Brady is starting on Soop Sunday, and you don't need to wait for Bill Belichick to make the official pronouncement to know that. Bledsoe had his day in the sun and you couldn't help feeling great for him as he cried while the clock wound down in Pittsburgh, but you dance with the one that brung ya -- and this is Brady. He was a standout until being injured in one of the hardest hitting, challenging games you'll ever see, and he didn't blink for an instant until he got essentially cheap shotted and rolled his ankle. (Note to Pittsburgh fans: Eat me. That was a blatant late hit by Lee Flowers, and if the refs weren't unsighted, due to the fact that they had their faces in Bill Cowher's lap, it should have been a roughing penalty.) Brady has all the anatomical requirements to win a big game -- a good brain, a terrific arm, quick feet, and brass cojones -- and this is all that he's done all year. One more time, Tommy.

On defense, while the Pats' line isn't going to intimidate anyone, the linebackers and secondary are simply top-notch. Bend but don't break is their motto, and except for a third quarter against the Steelers that had New England coaches and fans reaching for the Xanax, they produce when it's needed, such as the two interceptions in the last three minutes against Kordell Stewart. Thanks, "Slash." The only thing you slashed was your wrists. Give me Lawyer Milloy, Ty Law, the truly unsung Roman Phifer and Tedy (if that is indeed your name) Bruschi, and we'll take on all comers.

Finally, the true heroes: Antowain Smith and (drum roll, please) Troy Brown. Smith has given the Pats a legitimate running game behind the unknown hogs up front, and it takes a huge burden off Brady, which is not to be underestimated. He's been consistently tough in short yardage situations when New England absolutely had to get yardage or a first down. It's a dirty job, but he's been the one doing it. (Note to Mr. and Mrs. Smith: Please take a basic spelling course.)

Troy Brown, meanwhile, has emerged as a superstar and one of the more exciting players in the league. He's returned three punts for TDs in crucial circumstances, the one against Pittsburgh being the topper. And the fact that he's out there busting his ass on the field goal defense special team, and scoops up a blocked kick and laterals to Antwan Harris for a 60-yard TD return is dumbfounding, but pure guts and genius on the part of him and Belichick. How many special teams do you think Jerry Rice has played on? Brown will be the focus of St. Louis any time he is on the field, which is often, and it isn't hard to imagine him coming up with another game breaker.

The initial spread on the game is 141/2 points, which is insulting and preposterous. Good, let the Rams think they're that much of a favorite, because Kurt Warner will have Otis Smith lifting him to his feet after a blitz, asking him if he found God in the Superdome Astroturf. This New England team is fun, good, and inspirational. They don't talk trash, no one knows who they are, and they like it this way just fine.

Advice for Sunday? Just shut up and watch. Pats, 30-24.

Issue Date: February 1 - 7, 2002