Slouch’s hatred of Patriots isn’t tucked away

If you Google “hate New England Patriots,” you will come upon scores of lists of why people hate the Patriots.

(Similarly, if you Google “deny climate change,” you will come upon scores of photos of Donald Trump.)

Here’s the thing about the Patriots: Sometimes they bend the rules, sometimes they break the rules, sometimes they play by their own rules.

(For instance, I would put more stock in a Kremlin-sanctioned documentary of Vladimir Putin than I would in a Patriots weekly injury report.)

The reasons to hate the Patriots are myriad – Spygate and Deflategate, Bill Belichick, Belichick’s hoodie, frat-boy Gronk, smug Rodney Harrison on NBC, their annoying fans, the equally annoying third-down horn at Gillette Stadium, Robert Kraft and Kraft’s blue-with-white-collar power shirts – and, for sure, we wouldn’t detest them so much if they didn’t keep winning so much.

But Couch Slouch hated them before it was in vogue.

No, my antipathy started on Jan. 19, 2002 – the exact date in history the current Patriots dynasty was illicitly hatched – when I was sitting near sober at home, taking in the Raiders-Patriots AFC divisional playoff game and, as always, rooting against the Raiders.

I was absolutely crestfallen – even knocked over a bottle of Rolling Rock, my beer of choice at the time – as my body convulsed the second that the Raiders’ Charles Woodson sacked Tom Brady, causing a fumble recovered by teammate Greg Biekert, essentially sealing Oakland’s victory with two minutes remaining.

But, no.

Officials reviewed the play, and rogue referee Walt Coleman, citing the “tuck rule” – the rule no one knew existed and a rule that no longer exists – overturned the call, declaring the play an incomplete pass and allowing the Patriots to retain possession.

You know the rest.

At that moment – and remember, I was rooting against the Raiders – I was so apoplectically aghast by the replay reversal, I decided to pledge the rest of my natural football life to loathing the Patriots.

(This was reminiscent of my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-Uncle Nathan’s reaction to Caligula taking power in Rome in 37 A.D.)

Most of my contempt has been directed to the Golden Boy himself, Tom Brady.

Granted, Brady was just a benign beneficiary of the tuck rule travesty – incidentally, I believe that was the last time in his NFL career that a defensive player touched him in the pocket without being penalized – but nothing bad ever happens to this fella.

Some folks run lucky for generations on end, and, well, sometimes stuff never evens out.

(For example, compare the lives of, say, Marie Antoinette and Madonna.)

Brady was born in San Mateo, California – that’s a nice ‘hood. He grew up watching the 49ers and attended the 1981 NFC Championship game that featured “The Catch.”

In high school, Brady was the backup quarterback on a winless JV team; the starter got hurt and Brady took over. In eerily similar circumstances in 2001, Drew Bledsoe got hurt and Brady then took over a winless Patriots team.

He’s a three-time Super Bowl MVP, with four Super Bowl titles in six trips to the title game. He will win his 14th division title this season and has the most victories ever for an NFL quarterback.

It’s just TOO MUCH SUCCESS, plus, frankly, it’s hard to get all warm and fuzzy about a super handsome super athlete leaving one supermodel for another; us regular losers just gasp in awe.

(Heck, if Toni, a.k.a. She Is The One, didn’t inexplicably fall under my spell, I’d be on Tinder right now batting .083.)

Anyhow, when Brady introduced his own line of vegan snacks this year, I immediately switched to an all-non-vegan diet – it’s pork rinds from here to the pearly gates, mates.

Of course, Brady is a friend and supporter of President-elect Trump. Two ginormous winners!!! And, trust me, even if we are in the throes of global warming, those gents could walk around in Russian fur coats and never feel the heat.

Ask The Slouch

Special Jeff Fisher edition

Q. Can you confirm that Jeff Fisher now holds the modern record for shortest tenure between obtaining a contract extension as leader and firing? Only one shorter I found was when Attila got renewed in 453 as ruler of the Hunnic Empire and then perished of a nosebleed. (Morton A. Faller; Potomac, Md.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

Q. Is Stan Kroenke mad enough at Jeff Fisher that he brings Dan Reeves out of retirement to reclaim the “losingest NFL coach of all time” record? (Michael A. Becker; St. Louis, Mo.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

Q. My boss just told me I was getting a raise next year – and he knows I’m a lifelong Rams fan. Should I be worried? (Kirk Long; Spokane)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

Q. Not to pile on, but are you aware that under Jeff Fisher’s stewardship, the 2015 NFL competition committee finished 7-9? (Scott D. Shuster; Newton, Mass.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

Norman Chad is a syndicated columnist. You, too, can enter the $1.25 Ask The Slouch Cash Giveaway. Just email asktheslouch@aol.com and, if your question is used, you win $1.25 in cash!