I recently picked up a part-time job at a local restaurant to earn some extra cash during my semester in the nation’s capital. Slowly learning, navigating and surviving Washington as an unpaid intern is certainly a challenge.

The reason I bring up my mundane existence to you, dear reader, is because I worked on Super Bowl Sunday for a solid nine hours or so. In the ever-challenging world of hosting and busing tables, I was a defeated man that day: tired, hungover and in need of some Jesus.

But throughout my shift, the thought of propping my feet up on the couch with a cold one in hopes of watching Atlanta take down the evil empire that is the New England Patriots was enough to keep me going. I was determined to see this through.

I clocked out around 8 p.m. and felt like I had just finished a marathon of sorts, a complete test of human endurance (dramatic, I know). I got back to my apartment and settled in to find Atlanta cruising along in fashion that most couldn’t believe possible, and anyone who told you they predicted it would be lying through their teeth.

Atlanta led 28-3 at one point. 28-3! Against a Tom Brady-led, Bill Belichick-coached football team. It was too good to be true, and I was rendered euphoric as I basked in the tears and disappointment of not just Patriots fans, but all of Boston sports fans.

My, are they an insufferable group.

Although the Patriots don’t spend money like the other respective teams in Boston, the whole city still plays this “we’re a hard working class, blue collar” mentality. They’re like all New York teams but are so smug they can’t see past that same smugness. I despise them.   

With such a commanding lead that Atlanta had secured, all they had to do was run the ball to eat clock time, keep their defense fresh on the sidelines and the Lombardi Trophy would have made its temporary residency in Atlanta. But in the back of my mind and on social media, many of us knew that Brady and Belichick would not go quietly into the night.

Then, it happened.

Atlanta’s game plan crumbled, Tom Brady became the Tom Brady we’ve grown so accustomed to over the years, and Julian Edelman made one of the greatest catches you’ll ever witness. And just like that, the Patriots tied the game. The pit in my stomach began to grow – along with the accumulation of snacks and beer – that this would not end well for Atlanta or any other salty sports fan like myself.

The Patriots won the coin toss in overtime and all but assured we wouldn’t see Matt Ryan and Julio Jones take the field again. In what seemed like a mere five minutes, Brady dissected Atlanta’s winded defense and James White plunged into the end zone to give Brady and Belichick’s Patriots their fifth Super Bowl title.

My team, the Bengals, can’t even win one playoff game. The Browns can’t even win five games in a season and yet, what feels like year after year, the Patriots are adding another championship to its resume.

It’s not fair. As a liberal, my team deserves a handout!

Now, I have to listen to another offseason with this insufferable team, insufferable fan base, insufferable quarterback-coach combo and the insufferable president of this country who roots for them because insufferable people tend to congregate. I have to put in writing that there are no more arguments left about Brady being the greatest quarterback of all-time, because nothing else needs said besides five Super Bowl titles.

So, while I just pretty much wrote an open letter – which I believe is truly the laziest form of journalism – I want to say thank you to all the Patriots fans for ruining another Super Bowl Sunday for me; it won’t be the last time I thank you. 

Because as long as Tom Brady continues to make deals with Satan to fend off aging and Belichick continues to sacrifice goats to curse opposing coach’s playbooks, we’re stuck with the Patriots and its winning ways (sigh).

Matt Poe is a columnist, contact him at [email protected].