It used to be a very busy time.

The madness that is Media Day in Phoenix prior to Super Bowl 49.

I've said many times in this space that while I covered the New England Patriots for more than 40 years as a sportswriter, and certainly enjoyed being part of history during their transformation from doormat to dynasty over that time, I don't miss the job now that I'm retired. 

The long hours and deadline pressure were tough to handle the older I got -- and while I tried to coax one more year out of my aging self as a part-time writer for the Associated Press in 2019, I no longer felt like an "insider" (if I ever was one) because my presence at Gillette Stadium was no longer daily. Then COVID interrupted everything, I got a new job as a local sports announcer on cable TV, and I began to fully appreciate the comfort of watching games on TV, turning the tube off once they were over, and relaxing for the rest of the day as opposed to writing my ass off.

The aftermath of SB 38 in Houston.

But some of the more pleasant and amusing memories of all those years come flooding back as the Patriots clung to a 10-7 lead in Denver and won the AFC Championship. In another week and a half, they will be in Santa Clara, Calif., to play the Seattle Seahawks in Super Bowl 60 (I don't use the Roman numerals anymore), and once I get back from the Mansfield-Bishop Feehan boys' basketball game that day, I'll hunker down and hope that Mike Vrabel's team will bring the seventh Lombardi Trophy back to Foxboro afterward.

As the final seconds ticked off the clock on Sunday, my thoughts immediately flashed back to a couple of situations I faced during my tenure as a Patriots' beat writer. One of those was while I was sitting in a charter bus outside what was then called Heinz Field in Pittsburgh; the Patriots had just beaten the Pittsburgh Steelers, 24-17, to win the 2001 AFC Championship, and I and several other beat writers awaited word that our credential requests for Super Bowl 36 had been approved.

I had already been to two previous Super Bowls (20 and 31), but I had yet to have earned a permanent spot on the NFL's credentialing list, so I just put my trust in the Patriots' media relations department, headed by Stacey James (who still has that job today) and waited for the word from above before finalizing air travel plans and other assorted things.

Suddenly, one reporter's cellular phone beeped. Then another's, and another's, and the bus became a cacophony of cell-phone notifications. After a few seconds of nervous anticipation, my tiny Motorola phone chirped as well. I flipped it open and read the text message on its tiny screen that included all of the instructions I had to follow to ensure that I would have credentials and a hotel room for the 10 days I planned to stay in New Orleans.

Remember, we didn't yet have iPhones, whose capabilities far exceed by thousands of times than the computers that brought man to the moon in the 1960s. So as more than 20 reporters in that bus started to click away at their phones to confirm their credentials and hotels, there were frequent outbursts of anguish from those that had been disconnected or had clicked on the wrong prompt in the middle of filling out their applications. It would have been funny if it wasn't so frantic.

I managed to get through my application without error, and quickly learned that I would be in an auxiliary press box in the Superdome (what would have been a baseball press box if they had a team), which was acceptable for someone from the smallest newspaper covering the Patriots. And I got a hotel room in the New Orleans Hyatt, the NFL's headquarters hotel, which was a huge bonus. After all that was confirmed and our bus started making its way back to the William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh, I was able to help a technology-challenged veteran reporter complete his application.

I slept well that night.

In place at Lucas Oil Stadium for SB 46.

There were other times when planning and execution failed because the game didn't end as hoped. One was a wild-card game in Jacksonville during the 1998 season, when Scott Zolak started at quarterback in place of the injured Drew Bledsoe, and by halftime, most of the Patriots' reporters had their airline reservations in place. But the Patriots lost that game, 25-10. I had my plans finalized as well, but I was waiting for the final score to pull the trigger -- and thus, I saved myself hundreds of dollars in cancellation fees. I didn't pay for those trips myself, but my travel budget from the newspaper was extremely limited, and the bosses would not have been pleased with such a costly error is judgment.

The same was the case at the 2006 AFC Championship Game at the old RCA Dome in Indianapolis. Again, I and everyone else in the Patriots media corps had our reservations for Miami and another Super Bowl ready to go, but the Patriots couldn't hold the lead in that game and lost 38-34 -- and the sound that could be heard that was louder than the final gun was the sound of 40 writers clicking "delete" on their computers.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy being part of the Super Bowl scene for nine of the games. I spent 9-10 days on the trips, and all of the cities (New Orleans three times, twice for Houston and Phoenix, Jacksonville and Indianapolis) were accommodating and interesting. One of those trips, however, was a personal victory of sorts for me.

At Brigham and Women's in 2014.

Late in the 2014 season, I suffered a mild stroke. It was apparently not life-threatening at the time and did not leave any lasting impairments, although it did reveal some other problems I had that I needed to address once I recovered. I spent six days at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, but I didn't miss a single game because the Patriots had home-field advantage all the way through the AFC title game. 

But when it came time for me to go to Phoenix for Super Bowl 49, there were concerns. I had easily arranged credentials and hotel reservations long before the game, but my treatment team at the Brigham was not in love with the prospects of me being on two five-hour flights such a short time after the stroke. 

Still, I charged ahead -- although I had no idea what was in store for me over that week. 

My hotel was close to the convention center where all the Super Bowl interviews were to take place, but it was a huge facility -- and according to my iPhone, I walked an average of 11,000 steps a day over a six-day span to make the several treks from the media workroom to the interviews and back.

Convention center in Phoenix.

There were times when it was almost too exhausting, but I told myself that it was my choice to do this and that it would be no one else's fault if it proved too much. I walked and walked and wrote and wrote -- and on game day, I was rewarded with one of the greatest finishes ever to a Super Bowl, Malcolm Butler's interception at the goal line to preserve the Patriots' win over the Seahawks.

I'll tell you the truth, though -- that entire trip was exhausting. I was never happier to return home than I was after that week in Phoenix, because I honestly believed many times that I had asked too much of myself. It also underscored the need for me to pay attention to what the doctors told me, to take the medications and make alterations in my lifestyle that were designed to extend my presence on this earth. And it reminded me that no matter how dedicated I was to the job, the most important thing for me was to do what was necessary so I'd be in the physical condition to perform it.

Proud to have been part of the Fourth Estate.

It will be the Patriots and Seahawks again on Feb. 8 -- two different teams, two different coaches, two different philosophies for each. But for me, I'm glad I did what I did 11 years earlier, because it set the tone for me to make sure I'd be around to see the next time these teams play in the big game.

I won't be there at Levi's Stadium, and honestly, I won't be sad. As those teams are different, so am I -- older, wiser, a little more frail and a little more interested in the world around me and being a part of it. But I'll always be proud of what I did over those many years, and it's comforting to know that the words I wrote will still be accessible long after I'm no longer around to read them.