MANHATTAN — The bartender never stops what he’s doing. He doesn’t even pause, really. There’s too much prep work to finish; his responses have to stay in step with the tasks at hand.

"Patriots fans. Dolphins fans. Jets fans," he says, dividing the room with a series of chopping hand gestures. Pats fans, it seems, get the far end of the bar. Dolphins fans have the middle. And Jets fans will be stationed at the end nearest the door.

Each group will have its own big-screen TV, even though today, both Jets fans and Patriots fans will be watching the same game. And the bartender, who’s all giant, rounded shoulders and bulging stomach — imposing in the way a mostly fat guy can be when you just know he can move fast and hit hard when he needs to — makes it seem as if there will be some sort of enforced segregation in this place. No mixing of fans here at Mo’s Caribbean.

That might be smart, I think. Might cut down on fighting.

It occurs to me that I never actually asked the bartender where we should sit. It’s helpful to know, though, since Don, John, and I are the first customers to arrive at Mo’s today. What I said was, "I’m told this is the place in New York where Patriots fans go to watch games. That true?"

The answer was welcome. We’d never been here before. If the bartender hadn’t pointed out who goes where, we might have ended up in the middle of a pack of Miami fans. Or worse, Jets fans.

Now we know better.

It isn’t quite noon, but it’s been a long drive down to Manhattan and we’re all three ready for a beer and a bit to eat. So we set up at the Pats end of the bar and study the taps for a moment.

Now our helpful bartender stops and walks back toward us. He’s had a thought.

"There might not be too many here today," he says. "A lot of them are at the game."

"You think so?" It’s not like I hadn’t expected something like that. Still, the disappointment in my voice is unmistakable.

"I know it," he says without a hint of apology or even sympathy. "They told me they wouldn’t be here."

He starts to walk away, then glances back over his shoulder. "What did you think? Their team plays here once a season; they’re gonna go to the game."

"But you’ll still get some Pats fans here, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we’ll definitely get some. But not like usual."

I’m okay with some. As long as Don, who has his old Andy Katzenmoyer jersey on, doesn’t look like the only Pats fan in the place come game time, I’ll be fine.

We order a round and talk about finding a table for lunch. And suddenly we’re not alone at Mo's. We’re not alone on the Pats end of the bar, either. Suddenly, there are three other guys here, standing right next to us. And two of them are wearing Jets shirts.

This, we decide, is our cue to grab that table. We’re still strangers here, after all. No reason to make any assumptions. Our best bet is to hang back a little and see what happens.

And what happens is that before long, before our jerk-chicken sandwiches and steak fajitas ever make it to our table, the Pats side of Mo’s is filled with Jets fans. Okay, maybe there are only eight or 10 of them, but that seems like a lot. What’s more, besides Don there are exactly two guys here showing Patriots colors, and they don’t seem all that anxious to retake their turf. They park themselves on the Jets end of the bar instead. Maybe they’re making a point.

It’s almost 1 p.m., kickoff time, and I’m starting to wonder what’s next.

THERE ARE ALWAYS some things you can predict.

Like, anyone who isn’t a Las Vegas handicapper knows the Patriots are going to thump their bitter rivals this afternoon. Anyone who watched what the Pats did to the Pittsburgh Steelers, a much better team than the Jets, knows there’s no reason New England shouldn’t walk away with this one.

Yeah, it’s a fact that the Pats are two-point underdogs, but what the hell? The game is in the Meadowlands, and as those who know just a little about football handicapping could tell you, the formula starts with the home team favored by three. So on a level playing field, so to speak, the Pats actually come out slightly ahead in the mathematics.

Besides, it’s probably good that the oddsmakers have favored the Jets. It gives Pats fans something to gripe about, a reason to insist that their Super Bowl championship team, fresh off a big win in its season opener, still isn’t getting the respect it deserves. It gives them the chance to dwell on this even during a week when the Pats have been the toast of the professional-sports media.

ESPN.com has the Pats at the top of its weekly Power Rankings, up from sixth a week earlier.

On Wednesday, ESPN’s Chris Mortensen declared both the team and its coach, Bill Belichick, the best in pro football. "For now they are the team to beat and nobody else," Mortensen said.

On the same day, USA Today led its sports section with a feature on the champs, declaring them the class of the NFL. Monday Night Football analyst/football guru John Madden believes. The guys on HBO’s Inside The NFL believe. Virtually everyone, everywhere concedes that the Pats are a great football team.

Except for the oddsmakers. And, as at least John has predicted, except for me.

"You think they’re gonna win today?" he asks.

I’ve known John for 22 years, long enough to know he never opens with his real question. So I set him up.

"Today? Yeah, they’re gonna win today. You can’t not beat the Jets."

"What about the season?"

"I’m still thinking nine and seven."

"That’s it?"

"I don’t know. Ten and six maybe. If they win their first four, maybe they’ll win 12."

John knows full well that I’ll be the last guy in New England to jump on the Pats bandwagon. For now, I’m more than happy to run alongside for a while.

"But today, they’re gonna win?" he asks, just to bring the conversation back around.

"Today, they’re gonna win."

I’d pretend to believe that even if I really didn’t, both because I hate the Jets and because we’re in New York. And as far as I know we’re among the few here at Mo’s who care about the Pats. We’re outnumbered by Jets fans and Dolphins fans and it feels like a little wagon circling may be in order.

THERE ARE OTHER things you can never predict.

Like the way Pats fans start emerging from the crowd once the game gets moving.

It takes a while. The game is scoreless through the first quarter, and if it weren’t for the scattered game jerseys and odd team caps, you’d have a hard time confirming there was a single Pats or Jets fan in the place.

The only energy is coming from the center of the bar, where the crowd of Dolphins fans — there are about a dozen of them, all but one male, all appearing to be in their mid-to-late 30s — is jubilant. Their team goes up 14-0 over Indianapolis in the first quarter. Their quarterback, Jay Fiedler, is throwing the ball almost flawlessly. And their new star, running back Ricky Williams, is proving he’s worth his big free-agent contract every time he touches the ball.

Pulled along by a walking stereotype of a loud, hyperkinetic, little Italian guy, wearing a Zach Thomas game jersey and orange shorts, the Dolphins fans are shouting, stomping, and pounding on the bar. Late in the second quarter, Williams breaks open a long run and the Miami fans jump up and down in unison, shaking the entire room. "Run, fucking Ricky, run!" Zach Thomas screams at the TV.

The Pats are winning, too, but it’s impossible not to be distracted by the scene in the middle of the bar, where the Dolphins fans are drinking vodka shots to celebrate, it seems, every successful play.

"Happy, happy Rickeeeeee!" Zach Thomas yells as our old friend the burly bartender, unprompted, refills his glass with Absolut.

But when the Pats do well — when they score, when they recover a fumble, when Antowain Smith runs for 18 yards at a time — the cheers go up. And, glancing around the bar, I see there are covert Pats fans everywhere. They’re at the Jets end of the bar. They’re in the back of the room with us. And they’re standing right behind the Jets fans who have set up on the Pats end of the bar. They get louder and louder as the game goes on, and by the middle of the third quarter, even the Dolphins fans have taken notice.

At the end of the third quarter, Pats safety Victor Green intercepts Vinny Testaverde and runs 90 yards for a touchdown. And then, something happens that I would have never predicted. In a bar on Manhattan's East Side, Patriots fans and Dolphins fans, once upon a time the bitterest of enemies, band together to taunt the home crowd.

"J-E-T-S. Suck, suck, suck!" Zach Thomas yells it. And all of his buddies. The guys in the Pats caps on the Jets end of the bar yell it, too. And the half-dozen Pats fans gathered loosely around the Jets crowd that has encroached on their usual territory.

Don yells, too. And so do I. You don’t have to be on the Patriots bandwagon to appreciate a victory. You certainly don’t have to believe in the Pats to hate the Jets.

Two minutes later the Jets score what will be their only touchdown of the game. It doesn’t matter, and everyone here — including the Jets fans — knows it. The Jets are outclassed by a team that is about to get all the respect it can handle.

As the game winds down, and the Pats’ second team moves toward a final touchdown that will put the icing on the Jets’ embarrassment, a big, 35ish-looking guy in a black T-shirt wanders into Mo’s and walks up to Don.

"You guys Pats fans?"

Don tells him we are and he tells us he’s just come from another bar where, in spite of what’s happened in this game, he’s been harassed mercilessly by a roomful of Jets fans. No kidding, I think. Jets fans who don’t know when to shut up. Shocking.

Kevin Faulk goes into the end zone on an easy two-yard run.

"This is so satisfying," the new guy says. "This is like a filet mignon from Peter Lugar’s."

Or like losing a side of a bar that was never yours to begin with only to win it back. That's what I think as I watch those first three Jets fans pay their tab and begin the long walk across the room to the door.

Sean Glennon is a freelance writer living in Northampton. He can be reached at sean@thispatsyear.com