We'll love you just the way you are
By Agatha Moonfry
Staff Writer
Back when I was a despairing teenager on the gloomy and borderline hellish streets of Ohio, I discovered a young Canadian who evidently shared my outlook on life. When I heard Jagged Little Pill for the first time, I couldn't wait to realize my potential, as a woman, activist and arsonist. She sang exactly what I was thinking, except in the song "Ironic." What the hell was that all about, anyway?
To convey my feelings on the New England Patriots and the looming Super Bowl, I channel the immortal Alanis Morissette, in her song "Perfect."
'Sometimes' is never quite enough
If you're flawless, then you'll win my love
Don't forget to win first place
Don't forget to keep that smile on your face
I'll live through you
I'll make you what I never was
If you're the best, then maybe so am I
Compared to him, compared to her
I'm doing this for your own damn good
You'll make up for what I blew
What's the problem ...... why are you crying?
We'll love you just the way you are if you're perfect
I think most Patriots fans will agree. We'll love you just the way you are, New England. If you're perfect. Don't screw it up and force me to call into 850 AM WEEI, bemoaning your inadequacies and threatening the DJ as punishment for rejecting my advances. Everyone is going to hate you if you lose. "Sometimes" is never quite enough.
But enough about the Patriots. Instead, let's talk about their dreamy coach.
The hoodie has long been a staple of dark and mysterious fashion, with such patrons as Death, The Ghost of Christmas Future, warlocks and druids. It's a scintillating look, and it's one of the reasons why Bill Belichick is such a catch.
His morbidly monotone voice and seeming disinterest in all things make him the most endearing pro sports coach out there, and he happens to be very good at what he does. He's like Pantera, a revolutionary and an outcast. God, I miss Dimebag.
He would be perfect for a slasher movie, the character everyone assumes is the killer because of his gleeful standoffishness. Then, you discover he was a red herring, but then after everything seems to have reached resolution, it turns out he was a conspirator in the killings, after all. Then, everyone dies in a fiery explosion.
We can only hope the Super Bowl provides us such an ending.
Labels: Agatha Moonfry
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