Issue: Giants Psychosis

| 17 Feb 2015 | 02:13

    ball fan in New York! Big Blue is back with a vengeance. Who can stop them now, eh, C.J.?

    The Bears? They have no idea who their quarterback is, and their coach, Lovie Smith, has the name of a Motown has-been. The Redskins? Mark Brunell passing for 41 yards in a playoff game is not exactly what I call ready-for-the-big-dance material. Let Sean Taylor spit in the face of a Jim Finn, and see a fist sandwich penalty meted out on the spot.

    Look at our G-men. Look at the pride! Did you see an avuncular Harry Carson counseling Michael Strahan on the sideline? That's what I call the "chain of destiny," my friend. Shockey, Tiki, Plaxico-they've each been to a Super Bowl, but this year, it's clear as day that they're gonna win one. Yesirree, they've got the mojo.

    What's Seattle going to say about it, huh? Shaun Alexander? Matt Hasselbeck? These guys are third-rate stars, from a piddly-shit city and, in Hasselbeck's case, from a plebian NFL lineage. Indeed, the Tabasco-hot loins of NFL royalty Archie Manning did sire bright Eli. The youngest Manning continues to rise to the occasion, ascending toward the trophy so long denied his noble patriarch. Has the kid ever looked better?

    God, all this Super Bowl excitement has likely tossed legendary Giants forbearer Frank Gifford back on top of Kathy Lee.

    I can see it now, C.J. In just a few short weeks, the strain from Tom Coughlin's angry purple face will turn slap-happy pink as Luke Petitgout and Kendrick Clancy hoist him triumphant atop their heroic shoulders.

    Avast, ye Gatorade boys! The Giants express is making a non-stop trip to Super Bowl XL.

    SULLIVAN: OK, Dave, move away from the computer and turn off ESPN Classic Sports. I realize that as we get older, football seasons start to merge, and in some part of your mind you can see Eli Manning throwing to Homer Jones and Frank Gifford backing up Tiki Barber. I understand that last Sunday's trouncing by the Panthers was so traumatic that your brain has now frozen and is doing a replay of the 1990-91 Super Bowl season. So let me be as gentle as possible: The Giants got their friggin' clocks cleaned by the Panthers.

    I mean they got smoked, stroked and they damn sure choked. Coughlin's game plan was out of the '50s. To be shut out at home is one of football's great disgraces.

    Team Pride? Dead Owners?

    None of it mattered. The Panthers played like they knew what call Manning was going to make ahead of time. The Panthers were on the Giants like white on rice. Carolina H.C. Jim Fox lived up to his name and out-foxed Coughlin. So much so that U.N. Diplomat Tiki Barber came out and said that the Tall Men were "out-coached."

    Dave, it's over. Football in New York is done. The Giants are one and out in the playoffs and the Jets lost their head coach for a 4th round pony pick. The only team left to root for is New England. Mid-America's Steelers, Panthers and Colts now rule the land. Our dream of the Giants in the Super Bowl is over. New York Press is off the hook for our plane tickets, seats, hotel rooms and hookers. Now is the winter of our discontent.

    HOLLANDER: W-w-what are you saying? I don't understand. I don't? Oh, I get it! Look, C.J., I know our column has often been a forum for humor and jocularity. And, I enjoy a hardy guffaw as much as the next man. But this is a time for serious football-big, bad, blue New York Giants football!

    Preparations must be made. The new NFL kings will soon be crowned and their names are Umenyiora, Toomer, Feagles and Greisen. Oh, what a time we'll have! Grandpa will make his special chili. Little Sister is baking cookies, and Mom is frying up the chicken wings. Why don't the Giants have touchdown song like "Fly Eagles Fly" or "Hail to the Redskins"? I think I'll write one.

    No, no, C.J., you sly fox, you. Stop teasing already and join in the festivities. I betcha Wellington Mara is dancing in heaven with a Bushmills in hand. What the hay, I might even spend $11.50 for a shitty movie at a Loews cinema just to honor the Tisch family.

    You know, once we blow through the NFC, who's there to stop us from the AFC? I fear not the muddled brains of Tony Dungy and Bill Belichick, still mourning the passing of immediate family members. I fear not chronic runner-up Peyton Manning and his Indianapolis Dolts. Teddy Bruschi is a play-action pass away from collapse. And let me tell you something: Jerome Bettis is a fucking disgrace. The man looks like a human Jiffy Pop.

    Clear sailing is what I see. No one can stop these G-men now. This is truly becoming a dream season for Giants fans. Neither you nor anyone else can spoil it.

    I wonder if Mayor Bloomberg will hold a ticker-tape parade. I'll write him a letter today.

    SULLIVAN: I fear that my colleague is fast becoming the Christopher X. Broudeur of sports writing. Call 311 with your ravings. Help will be on the way. Dave, it's over. All that is left of the NFC East is the Washington Redskins.

    Coughlin decided his old school rules worked all year, so he broke out his grandfather's playbook and the Panthers went to town. I went to watch a Giant playoff game, and the Jets showed up.

    Given Sunday's debacle at the Swamp, it is easy to see how my colleague has devolved into psychosis. Being a New York sports fan is fast becoming a dangerous job. In basketball, we have the Knucks and the Nots. Football is the Midgets and the Propeller Planes. During baseball season we endure the Mutts and the Jerkees. Our only hope is hockey, and God save us from that.

    This has been a terrible century for New York sports fans. So bad it leaves seasoned writers like Hollander spewing inanities and refusing to see just how dire the landscape has become. We are in Dark Times, and the only light at the end of the tunnel is a train coming straight for us.

    The only hope is when pitchers and catchers open up in Florida, and at least we can have hope until the summer, when the future will catch us and dash our hopes as it has in this loneliest of young centuries. New York is fast becoming the new Cleveland of the sports world. God save us all.