I remember the exact moment I became a diehard fan of the New England Patriots.

It was October 10, 1993, two days before my 10th birthday and I was on Cape Cod for the weekend. The Pats were in Arizona for a late afternoon game, and were winless on the season. All I remember is that, trailing 21-6 late in the fourth quarter, the immortal Leonard Russell pulled off some garbage lateral and, after sweating out instant replay, saw his touchdown win the game 23-21.

All in all there were roughly 40 people in the stands and the Pats were as pathetic a franchise as those freakin’ Cardinals back then and no one really cared, but I was hooked.

Fast forward a little over eight years, February 3, 2002 and my senior year of high school, and I cried like a little baby when my boys won their first World Championship in 42 years – it was one of the happiest nights of my life.

Now, just two short years later, we have a dynasty on our hands. The Pats have won two of the last three Silver Footballs, and are the preeminent franchise in all of professional sports. Why? Because they do everything right, they beat with one heartbeat and they’ve bought into the fact that no one individual comes before his team.

So how did this happen? How did it go from Hugh Millen to Drew Baby to the Next Joe Montana? How did the Patriots never become the St. Louis Stallions, or even call Hartford home? How did the Patsies become, well, winners?

Very simply, you and me.

That’s right, the Patriots fans. We truly are the reason that our favorite football team is on top of the world right now. Don’t believe me? Ask the Patriots themselves. All 10 players who took the mike at City Hall in Boston yesterday cited the fans of New England as the fuel behind their championship drive.

Ten years ago, Robert Kraft and his family saved the Patriots franchise when they purchased the team and its decrepit home – Foxboro Stadium – from James Orthwein in order to keep them from moving to the Midwest. At the time, Kraft’s wife Myra reportedly was not in favor of the move, but Bob, a season-ticket holder of over 30 seasons, couldn’t bear to see his favorite team leave the area and the deal was made.

In return, Myra made her husband promise that the only brand of players that could be Patriots – New England Patriots – would be those whose character spoke for them. Players so focused, dedicated and passionate about life, football and winning championships that fans like Mr. Kraft himself would be proud to offer them their fiercest loyalties.

With that foundation in place and a true fan running the show, the franchise began its upswing. The lovable losers started winning games, and the fans of what was a dormant franchise came rushing back. The beginning of legendary coach Bill Parcells’ tenure in Foxboro brought a little life back to Foxboro, and a young, golden-armed franchise quarterback brought a little charisma. It was finally fun to be a Patriots fan.

Parcells brought the kind of hard-nosed approach that weeded out the jokers on the team’s 53-man roster, and every game you saw them getting better. In turn, the fans came back, and came back strong. The old stadium on Route 1 was sold out every Sunday afternoon, and everywhere you went there was Pats pride in the air.

Those Patriots were more lovable than anything, but they were building an identity. Fans knew that when Drew dropped back, he’d pat the ball at least twice. You also knew that if he threw it to Big Ben, he’d catch it, because he caught everything.

You also knew subtle things like the fact that teams never returned kicks on the Pats because they had Larry Whigham, and that Shawn Jefferson only caught bombs.

There was a lot to remember from that era: Timpson in the corner of the end zone to beat the Dolphins in ’93, and Turner in the opposite corner to down the Vikings a year later. Dan and Drew in the mud and seven straight to make the playoffs in ’94, Curtis Martin bursting onto the scene in ’95 and the magical run in ’96 when the fog rolled in, the lights went out and when the smoke cleared Kraft had his franchise Super Bowl bound.

There were also some bumps along the road: falling short at the Dog Pound, watching Mike Vrabel strip Bledsoe in the waning seconds of a 7-6 playoff loss, getting annihilated by Jacksonville behind old buddy Scott Zolak, the hiring of one Pete Carroll and, slightly more obscure, the first time I ever dropped the F-bomb in front of my mom: a rip-your-heart-out-and-stomp-on-it loss to the Steelers at home in which good ol’ Drew did some stupid flip of the football late in the fourth quarter that landed right in the hands of some Steeler lineman named Kevin Henry. Remember him? I do.

But alas, here we are in the present, once again champions of the football galaxy. Kraft finally achieved exactly what he had planned on. He constructed from the ground up a sturdy, formidable franchise built around, and with, its fan base in mind. One dedicated to hard work, professionalism and most importantly, winning.

And Tuesday, there they were over a million strong in the heart of Boston. Cheering, chanting, screaming and lusting for their players, their heroes, their team. The fans of New England – partial owners and builders of the greatest franchise in the sporting realm – had their day on Tuesday.

A day we rightfully deserved.

Mike Marzelli is a Collegian columnist. He can be reached at [email protected]