Every so often, a sports team or figure arrives that is so successful, yet so loathsome, that my only consolation is to remind myself of the fleeting nature of athletic prowess. “Just wait,” I tell myself. “They will be out of the league sooner or later.” Example: I hated Bill Laimbeer so much when I was a kid, all I could do was tell myself that one day his skills would diminish and he would be cast out of the game and I would never have to think about him again. Later in the late 1990s, when the wheezy old Dallas Cowboys warhorse finally ran itself into the ground, my friends and I toasted their demise with many rounds of bourbon shots.

I mention this now because I am absolutely giddy over the events that are about to unfold. You see, the Patriots’ run at or near the top of the league is just about over. They are done. Finished. His-toe-ree.

It’s possible, but unlikely, they will be able to squeak past the Ravens this weekend. But after that, it is all over and the Patriots will be once again relegated to the scrap heap of mediocrity. I hope Magary has wrung every last drop of comedy from the Tommy from Quinzee teat, because this time next year that premise will be about as relevant as “Kevin from St. Pete” or “Lance from Sausalito”.

I realize that some of our New England readers will chalk this sentiment up to wishful thinking on my part, or perhaps mere hyperbole designed to live up to the title of the “Hater’s Guide” series– but rest assured that is not the case. Signs of the Patriots’ imminent collapse abound. For instance, the statute of limitations appears to have expired on whatever concealed felonies Bill Belichick was holding over Randy Moss’ head in order to keep him focused and obedient. This season’s erratic play has convinced me that Moss is done. Without Moss playing at his former level, defenses will be free to finally crush that little bugpuke Wes Welker (whose knee is oatmeal now). Welker is done too.

Belichick, the philandering misanthrope that engineered the massive fraud and cheating that allowed his team to win three Super Bowls, will be among the first to go. He’d rather chase married poon than stick around while his legacy erodes. Belichick is done. Their crumbling defense is taking its final gasps. It’s been teetering ever since the team panicked and grossly overpaid to get Adalius Thomas. The defense is also done. Tom Brady might not be finished quite yet, but his career is circling the bowl. He has to be getting sick of getting the shit kicked out of him every week. I predict he will either walk away or succumb to injuries in the very near future. For all intents and purposes Brady is done too.

The Patriots have been crammed down our throats for years while their cheating ways were largely ignored at first, and then quickly forgotten. I despise the Patriots with every fiber of my being and I hope horrible things happen to them now and well into the future. This vintage of the Patriots has been a pustule on the ass of our true national pastime for far too long, but now their death is nigh. I hate the Patriots. I hate their fans. And I hope they all burn in hell forever and ever.

And one more thing… IT WAS A FUCKING FUMBLE!!!

From the reinforcing stereotypes department comes this e-mailed observation from reader “Juice” about how New England fans have fallen madly in love with TRUE PAY-TREE-UT John Lynch, despite the fact that he never played a regular season game for the team. Hmmm. Wonder why.

Last week I was up in Boston for the Pats/Jets game (I’m a Pats fan – insert joke here). Needless to say I missed several days’ worth of KSK entries during my trip. Today I decided to go scrolling back through the archives to see what I missed when I stumbled upon the picture of the Pats fan in the Lynch jersey per your entry.

Well I’m writing you today to tell you this – New England fans LOVE John Lynch. I saw no less than 15 John Lynch jerseys at the game vs. the Jets I attended. Pretty impressive for a guy whose Patriots career totaled 12 total tackles over the course of three pre-season games.

Probably the most telling part of NE’s love of Lynch was in the pro shop. Inside, they have two racks of replica jerseys for probably sixteen different players in all. These jerseys ran seventy-five dollars apiece. They also had a rack of jerseys of players who are no longer with the Pats, and these were marked down to twenty-five dollars a piece. On this discount rack there were such jerseys as Eugene Wilson, a decent safety for the Pats over his five year career, and Chad Jackson, receiver out of Florida who ended up being a massive bust.

The most telling part came when I noticed that of the sixteen jerseys being sold at $75 a pop, fifteen were active players on the Patriots. Only one wasn’t (throwbacks none withstanding). That, of course, was the jersey of Mr. John Lynch, now retired. So not only is there a market for John Lynch Patriot jerseys, celebrating his three-game preseason career as a Pat, but there still bringing in $75 a pop.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Single coverage? That’s wanton disrespect. Just because until this game our quarterback never looked my way, couldn’t complete a pass of more than 20 yards and I was jogging through my routes, you commit only one defender to me? Might as well slap my mom across the face with your cock after you wrote “disrespect” on it with a marker you stole from my house.

All I’m saying is any less than six defenders on me is making a mockery of the game. You should have all 53 of your men on the field covering me, with the coach operating little flying robotic drones to help them out. Anything less is a huge breach of the Randy Moss Code. That’s something I apply to all facets of my life.

For example, I get home after the game, and there’s my girl, chained up just like I left her. And get this: She begs for single penetration. Not when Randy brought over Jabar Gaffney for celebration time. Bitch must’ve lost her damn mind. That’s when I hit her. Not once, but twice. Can’t be having this “one” shit.

[Oversensitive door flies open]

WHO THE FUCK TRYING TO PLAY THE DISRESPECT CARD? YOU AIN’T J-PEEZY!

THAT’S DISRESPECT!

BEST BE FIXING THAT MOUF! You motherfuckers only won ’cause you cheated! You had tapes and shit! You might not have been filming during the game, but you got archives and shit. Bet you got cameras all over my house. My! House! I’mma gut that place Conversation-style until I find ‘em. Tear up the kids’ stuffed animals ’cause I know that’s where you hid them. Bet you never thought I’d look there.

WELL JOEY PORTER WILL LOOK THERE! HE’LL TEAR THOSE STUFFED ANIMALS NEW ASSHOLES AND MAKE HUCKLEBERRIES OF HIS KIDS ONCE THEY START CRYING!

Can you believe that motherfucker Tony Sparano? Tried to take Peezy out the game? You can’t take Peezy out the game and you can’t take the game outta Peezy! I’ll take his dese-dem-dose mouf and FIX THAT SHIT GOOD. MAYBE ADD SOME LIGHTS ON IT FOR THE HOLIDAYS! PEEZY GETS FESTIVE TOO!