The other face of the Patriots is Tom Brady, who is, by almost all accounts, a good guy. But he’s everywhere — on every “SportsCenter” broadcast, on every sports magazine cover, in every talk show discussion. There isn’t anything left to say about him. He’s the NFL version of Bruce Willis, an action movie star who does the same thing over and over again and always prevails. If you look closely during an interview, you can even see the same male pattern baldness. When you know how a movie is going to turn out, there’s no point in watching.

The Patriots certainly should be admired for their ability to come up with big plays when they need to, and for their extraordinary record in the playoffs. They also have an uncanny knack for making the other team appear inadequate.

But that cold efficiency does not make for compelling viewing. The Patriots are like “According to Jim” — yes, they’re successful, but who cares? The Pats don’t have widespread appeal, like the Dallas Cowboys or Los Angeles Lakers or New York Yankees. Their core audience consists of people in and around Boston who need a fifth choice on their anger checklist behind the Red Sox, Bruins, Celtics and the Big Dig. Of those, the Patriots have the best track record lately by far, but that is offset by the fact that an NFL team only plays once a week. Sports fans in New England are the happiest when they’re miserable on a daily basis.

Don’t forget, too, that aside from Brady and Belichick, the rest of the Patriots make minimum wage or thereabouts. That’s why so many of them leave to go to other teams. They’re the Northern Marianas sweatshop of the NFL. Season-ticket holders not only get access to exhibition, regular-season and playoff games, they also get garments at cost. I understand the Patriots’ defensive backs coach is a 10-year-old boy named Eduardo.

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There’s still the possibility that the Indianapolis Colts can win the AFC championship. That would be a much preferable outcome. Imagine J.D. Salinger on “Oprah.” Or Bobby Fischer doing an infomercial for an instructional DVD on chess. Or Harper Lee spilling her guts on “Letterman” about why she never wrote another book after “To Kill a Mockingbird.” That would approximate the shock and amazement of seeing Peyton Manning in a Super Bowl. That would be cool.

But please, not the Patriots. Because if they wind up there again, I’ll have to TiVo the Super Bowl and then fast-forward through the game in order to watch the commercials.

And it is my devout belief that I’ll have the rest of the Earth for company.