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Those wild, magical assholes managed to do it again. For the fifth time in seven appearances, the New England Patriots are Super Bowl champions.


Before the Patriots’ 34-28 overtime win over the Atlanta Falcons, no team had ever come down from more than a 10-point deficit in a Super Bowl. No Super Bowl had ever gone to overtime. And now, it is without question: No one is more magical and infuriating than the lethal duo of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick.

After disproving God’s existence by pissing in America’s open wounds, Brady—personal friend of aspiring dictator Donald J. Trump—will have more Super Bowl rings than any other quarterback in history. He passes Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana, at four apiece. Brady is six months away from 40 years old, and he is unstoppable.


The Patriots erased a 25-point lead, destroying the Falcons, who had looked like a dead lock to finally win their first Super Bowl after three quarters of slashing the Patriots on offense and defense, repeatedly humbling Brady with savage hits and skillful secondary play in crucial situations.

After tying the game deep in the fourth quarter with their second two-point conversion of the night, though, the Patriots won the coin toss. It took them just one joyless, mechanical drive to tap in a touchdown in overtime; the score was the outcome of a process as inevitable as the heat death of the universe.

Boston sports fans—those hideous, braying assholes—will have bragging rights for life. Their team is the greatest.

For this victory, there is one horrifying parallel: The Falcons should have campaigned in Wisconsin.