Now, winter begins. It doesn’t ever start, really, until the Patriots lose.

The water torture in Indianapolis is finally over and the Patriots are not going to the Super Bowl, let alone going to win it. The brand new Patriots serving dish (Reny’s, $1.99) is outside stuck in the snow. It went there about midnight Sunday, scaled just after the final interception was fired.

If you are Irish, superstition comes in the blood, along with the desire for Guinness and hatred for England.

Listen, Cobb Manor has been hosting chicken barbecue dinners through the three Super Bowl wins in five years. In virtually every game the chicken feasts have been instrumental in Patriots victories. At least some of us believe that. Can you prove they were not?

Now that the Pats lost in the last minute, it is blame time. I refuse to blame my new, snazzy high-def television, purchased exclusively for the playoffs and Super Bowl.

Instead, I blamed the Patriots platter. One should not add any new gear when a string of victories is in jeopardy. The offensive vessel will stay in the yard until it is time to mow next spring.

If I don’t spend the $1.99, Pats win.

Then I blamed Al. Al is a displaced New Yorker who really doesn’t care about the Patriots and truth be told, doesn’t care that much about football. He would rather be in Iceland dining on puffin sandwiches than enjoying the ambiance at Cobb Manor.

For reasons unexplained, he called during the game with some inane comment which had nothing to do with football. From that second on, the damned Colts went on a 32-point binge that salted away the game. He should go back to New York and stay there.

If Al doesn’t make that call, Pats win.

Then, I blamed Bohemian Bob. He has been instrumental in past victory karma, plus he is a gourmet cook and always welcome at any gathering. He does talk endlessly about his prize-winning recipe at the Lobster Festival, but his food is so good that we pretend to listen.

On Sunday, Bohemian Bob called to say that he couldn’t make the barbecue. He was sick, it seems. Sick? Was Ulysses sick when the cyclops came looking for him? Was Xerxes sick at Thermopylae? Was Rocky sick when he had to fight Clubber Lang?

No. If Bob makes the trip all the way from Owls Head, the karma is intact and Pats win.

Then, I blame Big Pete (he is such a large target.) During the last, super-close win against the San Diego Chargers (ptui), Big Pete took a weekend vacation from his labors in the film industry (“The business”) to not only cook the chicken and required vegetables (an order from Blue Eyes), but he then washed the dishes and even put them away the same day, a staggering event at Cobb Manor.

We think that Big Pete hides under a bed at his mother’s house in Braintree, Mass., but he claims he is writing scripts for television and Hollywood. He said he couldn’t make the Sunday game because he was driving film director Jonathan Demme (“Silence of the Lambs,” etc.) around Boston.

If Big Pete makes the trip (on the bus) to Cobb Manor and does the cooking and dishes, the Pats win.

Instead, I had to do the chicken dishes myself, at midnight. When the Patriots platter came out of the greasy water, it was too much.

Out it went into the freezing night.

The seagulls and crows can eat off of the damned thing until spring.

Another $1.99, literally, out the window.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.