The buzz wore off Sunday night. The glue sniffing high that was the 2007 New England Patriots, holders of an 18-0 record, saw the blues, literally, in Arizona. Their 17-14 loss to the New York Giants not only destroyed the Pats' championship hopes, but the chance at perfection and history. It took a magical season and placed it gently in the garbage next to all those gnawed chicken wings and empty Ruffles bags. An 18-1 record in any other season might be considered a success. But this one feels the same as 1-18.

Ordinarily, I'd trumpet the art of objective post-game analysis, but what the heck. This one burns. And I'll be darned if I didn't promise myself I wouldn't relive this one. No SportsCenter, no WEEI, no Boston Globe or Herald, nothing. I'd throw on the new Murphys' CD, do some taxes, or something, and wait for pitchers and catchers to report.

Yeah, that lasted all of four seconds. No sooner did I put key in ignition did I tune into WBCN, the Pats' flagship station, just in time to hear a sullen Gino Cappelletti cap the night.

Why does this hurt so badly? Why did everyone at the workplace on Monday look like someone made them watch a full season of "My Fair Brady … Maybe Baby?" Why didn't the Patriots just stop being silly and win the stinkin' game Sunday night? I'd honestly like someone to explain this to me.

Reality check here, I know it's a football game. I know in the larger scheme of things happening that this was a back zit on society's skin. Even though people who don't follow sports boggle my mind and make me want to shake them by their necks, I can understand that this type of reaction is foreign to them. A team lost a game. So what, they say. Losing a game isn't devastating. Getting your lips caught in a paper shredder is devastating. But join me in the bizarre reality of the sports fan, wontcha? Indulge me, if you will.

Truth is, the Patriots haven't looked good for weeks. They'd been riding on credit from their blazing start, but have looked increasingly vulnerable as the regular season wound down. They stole a victory in Baltimore. They were held scoreless in the second half by the 1-15 Miami Juggernauts. All the ease they displayed in winning their first 10-or-so games gave way to tightly contested ones, and I was hoping they'd make it to the other side of the tightrope before they fell off.

It didn't happen. Even the bye week before the playoffs didn't help heal the deficiencies that would doom them. They looked shaky against both Jacksonville and San Diego. It just felt like a matter of time before someone kicked the door in.

Of all the kicks, the one right to the groin HAD to be from a New York team. It HAD to come from the city that Boston had finally put in the rearview mirror as a rival. Instead of "1918," Boston fans can now hum along to "18-1" chants from the Noo Yawkas. Great. Need more salt for that gash, Boston? The Noo Yawk quarterback was a Manning. Yup, Peyton got his ring last year, and kid brother Opie played the game of his life Sunday and gets his.

Part of me thinks this is a small blip in the Pax Bostonia. Perhaps that part of me still hasn't sweated out the Bud Light, yet. The more rational part of me thinks this is the beginning of a karma boomerang backlash. The rise of 2001, the Pats' shocker over St. Louis, followed by two more Super Bowls, two Red Sox world titles, and the rebirth of the Celtics, have left us Bostonians fat and somewhat happy.

It wasn't going to stay great forever. Who knows, maybe the Brady Bunch has one more Lombardi trophy to hoist. Maybe the Sox are entering a five-year dominance of MLB. Maybe the Celtics will get to an NBA Finals with the New Big Threesome.

Sunday night may have been Boston's last call for championships, and just like the bars, I'm not quite ready for my tab.