Today is a make-or-break day for the 2006 edition of Your New England Patriots.

I know, time for me to switch to decaf, pop a valium, call up this week’s edition of “Celebrity Fit Club” on the TiVo and forget watching the game this afternoon, lest I lose whatever remains of my feeble mind.

You’re probably right. Just go along with me on this one for a second.

True, it was only five years ago that the Patriots limped from the gate 0-2 and rode a late-season avalanche to their first of three Vince Lombardi trophies.

And it was three years ago when they were absolutely punked by the Buffalo Bills in the season opener, inviting every pundit in America to slap himself silly with speculation about the divided loyalty of the alleged mutineers in the Patriots’ locker room. That was the start of September. February began with most of us clutching a champagne bottle.

Last time anyone checked, New England beat Buffalo last Sunday. The Patriots are 1-0, baby, which would be reassuring if the same couldn’t be said for the Saints, Cardinals and yes, today’s gnat-like pest of an opponent, the Jersey Jets.

Call me an alarmist, but I’m generally scared speechless about this NFL season in general, and specifically leery of this week’s encounter in the swamp.

Those Ghosts of Patriots Past had moxie, an abundance of youthful enthusiasm and all the benefits of Bill Belichick’s grand pyramid scheme of coaching genius.

Not that any of us need to be reminded of the gradual attrition from the closest thing to a dynasty any of us will ever see in the salary cap era, but here’s a quick, not necessarily all-encompassing rundown: Willie McGinest, Adam Vinatieri, Ted Johnson, David Givens, Ty Law, Lawyer Milloy, Damien Woody, the old Tedy Bruschi, Ted Washington, Drew Bledsoe, Doug Flutie, Joe Andruzzi, Charlie Weis, Romeo Crennel and Eric Mangini. Oh, and now Deion Branch.

What the current coaching staff and management have tried to present as a reasonable facsimile is a thousand miles ahead of what Dallas, San Francisco and Green Bay tried to slide past their fans in a desperate attempt to avoid falling on their collective arse as the forerunners in this new economic reality. With a little duct tape, some tender loving care and more than a modicum of luck, the flagrantly rebuilding Patriots could win an overrated AFC East.

But there are holes and questions. Huge, run-stuffing nose tackle-sized holes.

Actually, the most sobering sight last Sunday didn’t come from Foxborough. It was watching Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Trent Green get scraped off the Arrowhead Stadium turf after his Grade ZZZ concussion. If that didn’t reinforce for all of us that we are one heartbeat away from Matt Bleeping Cassel as the leader of our depleted offense, nothing will.

To borrow a phrase from my favorite figurative and literal football finger-pointer, Peyton Manning, the Patriots had some serious “protection issues” in front of Tom Brady against Buffalo. Those issues are all fun and games until Brady has a problem seeing how many fingers the team neurosurgeon is holding up. Brady will not survive 15 more games getting whacked around by the Takeo Spikes of the world, you can bet your replica Super Bowl championship rings on that.

It’s tempting to wax giddy about Corey Dillon and Laurence Maroney looking like the second coming of Jim Kiick and Larry Csonka, or less ominously, Craig James and Tony Collins. Get back to me after Week 8 or 9 and let me know how the experiment’s working. Dillon has an uninspiring track record at being a good citizen when asked to share the load (for further reference, see “Rudi Johnson..”)

As far as the receiving corps is concerned, well, what receiving corps? This has a distinct mid-1990s retro look when every third-and-7 play was a quick slant to Ben Coates. If Russ Francis thinks he was molested in that playoff game 30 years yonder, he ought to compare notes with Ben Watson when this season’s over.

Defense? Hey, I love ’em all. The depth chart is jammed with Hall of Famers and borderline Hall of Famers. They’ve exorcised the demons of Kenneth Sims and Chris Canty a hundred times over. But they are officially older than the dirt covering the site of the old Foxboro Stadium. Aside from Richard Seymour, our hopes rest upon the shoulders of a guy who’s had a stroke, a guy with an arthritic hip, a guy whose knee ligaments were shredded less than a year ago and a guy who was retired last month.

Oh, and lest we forget, Stephen Gostkowski has yet to make a meaningful kick that he didn’t dream in black-and-white just a few seconds before his wake-up call.

It just occurred to me that I said I was leery. What I meant was frightened.

The skinny on today’s divisional dance is simple. If the Patriots find a way to win, they are firmly entrenched as the favorite to steal the AFC Least in a season that is flagrantly, obviously a re-organizing year. Lose, and they fall a game behind a team that hired away one of their brightest young minds (Mangini) and is clearly engaging in the sincerest form of flattery with a five-year plan.

New England is tucked in the valley between two five-year plans. While that gives Patriot Nation cause for unbridled exultation about the past and the future, it doesn’t exactly provide the miracle cure for queasiness in the precious present.

Kalle Oakes is a staff writer. His e-mail is [email protected].