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David J. Phillip/Associated Press

Ancient cultures around the world sacrificed their most precious possessions to the gods: the unblemished lamb, the first fruits of the harvest, sometimes their own children. They did so because there is something in the primordial human mind that rejects what it perceives as too perfect. No feet may tread the sacred ground beside the waterfall. The foxiest girl in town can never get a date.

The 2007 Patriots had to lose the Super Bowl to the Giants to reaffirm humanity's place in the cosmos. Bill Belichick had built the Tower of Babel. Tom Brady flew on Icarus' wings. Fate had no choice but to go all Final Destination on them in the Super Bowl.

The Patriots were on the decline in 2005 and 2006—still great but very mortal, particularly because Tom Brady lacked playmakers. So they reloaded their offense with Randy Moss, Wes Welker and Donte Stallworth and unleashed fury upon the NFL. They pummeled opponents so thoroughly that it looked vindictive— vengeance against the SpyGate allegations of the time, perhaps, or against those who doubted their place among the pantheon.

Brady's 50-touchdown onslaught. Moss' aerial thrills. The defense delivering 47 sacks when opponents tried in vain to stay in the game. It was beautiful to watch, but somewhat unpleasant as well. We accused the Patriots of running up the score when we weren't accusing them of videotaping opponents. They scoffed. They were prideful. Powerful. Any first-year literature student could tell you what had to happen.

If all of the teams on this countdown played a tournament, the 2007 Patriots would probably win. But perhaps not; maybe a more humble team would fell them the way the Giants did.

Few would be rooting for them. Patriots fans would probably line up behind the 2016 or 2004 teams, because even a perennial champion finds it easier to relate with the underdogs.