So, since everybody knows that 19-0 is inevitable, the Patriots and the city of Boston have scheduled the victory parade. As the people involved are mental giants of the first order, they have scheduled this parade for the Tuesday following the Super Bowl. That day just happens coincide with Super Tuesday, when Massachusetts voters are supposed to turn out for their presidential primaries.

After all, any Patriots fan who comes out of the inevitable festivities too intoxicated or otherwise impaired to do their civic duty is probably doing the Republic, if not the world, a favor. God knows, enough morons vote, what's twenty or thirty thousand nitwits when 20 or 20 million will vote on Super Tuesday? Who knows, maybe a lower than normal turnout in Massachusetts will finish off Mitt Romney. At this point, with the way he's come back from being written off in this election season, I'd believe it if Mitt ended up starring in a cheesy horror film (to paraphrase the Johnathan Winters character from It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World)

I am not one of those people who will complain that the victory parade shouldn't conflict with the electoral process. After all, Tuesday is the only day it could possibly happen. It's just too short a turn around to expect the players to undergo a strenuous public appearance on Monday after the game is played Sunday evening in Arizona. Imagine the jet lag.

As for Wednesday, or a date thereafter... it simply can't work because eight Patriots have to go to the Pro Bowl which is to be played in Hawaii the Sunday after the Super Bowl. Now most people don't think Pro Bowl practices are critical, what with the fact that defenses are restricted in the sorts of schemes they can run and are forbidden to blitz. So there really shouldn't be much game planning, right?

Unfortunately, when you deal with vast intellects like the ones exhibited when Brady, Light, Vrabel et al. take center stage, even a Pro Bowl game plan starts to look like nuclear physics. And for my part, I'd hate to think that these Patriots might miss even one public appearance in Hawaii for the sake of a public appearance in Boston. Imagine what the harsh New England winter weather could do to Gisele's hair. The horror, the horror...as Kurtz would say.

This impending victory parade could be the first local appearance for Brady and Gisele after their engagement. Rumor has it, Brady has promised to spring for an engagement ring for Gisele if (when) the Patriots win the Super Bowl. Granted, the rumor originated in the National Enquirer so we have to take it with a grain of salt.

But my question is, what happens in the extremely unlikely the event of a miraculous upset? If the Giants win, what does Gisele get? A promise ring? A tennis braclet? One of those diamond heart pendants from Zales that will be advertised to death before Valentine's Day? Or does Tom have the backbone to give her nothing after this season is over. To tell the truth, I'd finally have some respect for him if he pulled that move.

Everything is lining up for the Patriots to beat the Giants severely, a perfect storm, as Bill Simmons put it. The layoff before the Super Bowl tends to favor the favorite. They've already beaten the Giants in the Meadowlands in December, so it should be a cake walk in Arizona.

Even better, this 19-0 season will have been achieved at a negligible cost. After all, it's only the collective soul of the New England Patriots that purchased this historic season. In the article linked above, Simmons referenced the book Blueprint, which documented the process in which Belichick, Kraft and Paoli built the three time champions. If the author of that book wants to chronicle this team, perhaps he could title the work: How to Go From David to Goliath in Seven Years.

Simmons compared a potential Green Bay vs. New England Super Bowl to the 1980 Olympic hockey game between the US and the USSR, in the sense that the entire country would be behind Favre in the same way that the Miracle on Ice game galvanized the nation back in the day. It is an interesting analogy, but I think this Giants team is better suited to the part.

Nobody went into the Lake Placid games thinking Team USA could beat the Russians, except Team USA. The game wasn't even on live TV. It was only as the game got going that people realized they were watching something historic, memorable and pretty damn amazing. It's only with 20-20 hindsight that people think that the Miracle on Ice game grasped American hearts and minds and it became a big deal. And deservedly so, it was an epic win for an underdog.

In the movie Patton, right as the German tanks are starting to make their breakthroughs in the Ardennes in the winter of 1944, the general says something very memorable. Patton says: There's absolutely no reason for us to assume. . .that the Germans are mounting a major offensive. The weather is awful and their supplies are low. The Germans haven't mounted a winter attack since Frederick the Great. Therefore I believe that's exactly what they're going to do.

Now I'm not saying the Giants can win. I'm not saying they're going to win. I'm not saying that even if they were allowed to play 14 on 11, any team could stop the Patriots from fulfilling destiny and going 19-0 or even 38-0. It's just one more thing that I want to have out there, along with what I wrote Tuesday last, on the off chance that in this historic season the one mark Tom Brady fails to achieve is that of becoming the first absolute douche to quarterback a team to four Super Bowl wins.

Speaking of QBs who won four Super Bowls, not too long ago, I caught Failure to Launch on cable. And it wasn't very good, even for that dismal genre. But I watched the whole damn thing because Terry Bradshaw stole the show. He was great. I really believe that he should have won an Oscar for that. Too bad the Oscars have to go to whatever films "challenge the intellect" or justify the politics of the populist view when there isn't a clear cut great movie like The Godfather or Gladiator out there.

Today was a sad day for the female citizens of Red Sox Nation. I suppose it was also a sad day for some of the male citizens, but that is not the Cincinnati Kid's business. We here at Sedition in Red Sox Nation advocate tolerance for everybody, with the notable exceptions of Red Sox fans and the Boston media. We also refer to ourselves in the third person and show a flagrant disregard for employing the editorial we right on top of the third person. I think that makes it triply flagrant, using the editiorial we in a blog that cries to the heavens for competent editing.

Theo Epstein, or America's Prom Date as he's known on this site, is getting married. Personally, I don't care. However, it does afford me an opportunity to add insult to the injury some fans felt when the news broke.

I am not as impressed with Theo as everybody else in New England seems to be. He did bring Boston it's first World Series since Woodrow Wilson ran the show. That is a fairly impressive accomplishment. Of course, the list of Red Sox GMs from 1918 to 2003 doesn't read like a roster of Nobel Prize Winners. And yes, I am still deeply disappointed that the Sox won that title.

I don't think that I am bitter about it, though. I was bitter before that day, and I will be bitter come October, when I can throw a little Crowded House on the radio and torment Red Sox Nation when they fall short of the Promised Land. I do hate the Red Sox more now than I did before they won the Series, but I find myself hating the Red Sox more each day than I did on the day before. That's been going on for a long time now, it's actually starting to worry me. It can't be good for my health. But if it kills me, I will have died doing something that I loved, so I have that going for me, which is nice.

But back to Theo. I guess I wish him the best in his personal life. At least I try not to wish him any ill beyond total and complete professional failure so long as he runs the team. What bothers me is the amount of attention people pay him. I don't know that what he did was all that much more impressive than Ken Williams putting together a championship White Sox team.

Now that I think about it, I think Ken Williams had a much tougher task building that team than Theo had winning in Boston. The White Sox have a smaller payroll (103 mil vs. 120 for the BoSox), a longer tradition of losing (1917 vs. 1918 might not seem so big, until you factor in the thrown series in 1919), a worse relationship with the local media (the CHB for as big a tool as he is pales in comparison with Jay Mariotti) and maybe the worst behaved fans in the free world (Eagles fans are bad, but when has the wife of an opposing player been hit in Philly?).

And then there's Halloween. The GM of the team with the second highest payroll in Major League Baseball snuck out of the team offices in a gorilla suit? I'm still having trouble accepting that. Some of my friends, who for reasons of their own root for the Sox, have attempted to convince me that this was cool. I am not buying that. To me, it called to mind images of Magnum PI sneaking out of the Robin Masters' estate because he promised Higgins he'd water the begonias.

I think the best part of the whole mess is that it reaffirmed one key fact. The Globe sports department sucks. That fact has been well established. After all, I am but the latest in a long line of bloggers and other types who have gone at the CHB. But when push comes to shove, the lions in their dens between Landsdowne and Yawkey Way tremble at the CHB's approach.

Our beloved Theo, Prom Date to the Dateless, Spendthrift Disciple of Billy Beane and Mastermind To End All Masterminds dressed in a gorilla costume. A nice nod to the day, perhaps, but not the way to go out. If I were going to go out, I'd go out like Brian Cox when he came out to the boos of the Buffalo fans, with both birds held high. Or maybe like a drunken Tony Montana bidding his fellow restaurant patrons to say good night to the bad man.

I suppose I'm being a bit harsh to Theo. No matter what he's done among my enemies, his grandfather did write Casablanca. That should be worth a free pass for a generation or two. I imagine it would be, were I not a sad, small person consumed by trivial hatreds. But I admit that. That makes me a good person.