I know, I know, what happened to Octavio? I get on a roll and then disappear. Three weeks ago I actually went to “The Linc” in Philadelphia and watched the Giants play live against the Eagles with my dad. We then came back to his place for a nice home cooked roast. Then I went to bed. I got back to New York the next day and had matters from that damn job that pays to attend to. And since I’d been gone for about 36 hours or so, I figured I’d spend some extra time with my four month old son later that night. At that point the timeliness of the game had slipped away anyway. So sorry, but no blog for that game; though I thoroughly enjoyed wearing my Giant blue among one of the more ornery fan bases in the NFL. Love those straight talking “Iggle” fans. Those upper level seats should get an “R” rating for language. Even though I was in hostile territory, I felt at home. God bless Philadelphia, and Dad, thanks for scoring those tickets. I had a blast...
The week after, I just could not stay awake while the game was on. Then again, who could the way the Giants played against the Skins that night? Call me lame, but I simply could not keep awake past the first quarter.
The following week, Octavio was down in the Washington DC area for Christmas. He was at his mother in law’s house last Sunday where football isn’t really acknowledged. Trust me; the temptation to turn on the TV was calling me like a Siren on the rocks, the voices tormenting me in my head: “WATCH THE GAME, WATCH THE GAME, WATCH THE GAME!!!!” But alas, I did the right thing and did Christmas stuff instead. Besides, being that I was in the DC area, I’m not even sure if I’d be able to see the Giants-Bills game anyway. I just had to write that one off.
And so Saturday night I did see the Giants play the New England Patriots. It was nice to be home after a peripatetic Christmas tour involving many friends, relatives and in-laws. It was also great to see the cats again. That’s right, I’m a cat person, so feel free to stop reading at any time. We were gone for a full week, logging nearly 900 miles between New York and the Mid Atlantic states with our four and a half month old son. Man he’s a trooper, and a natural born traveler to boot. It was great to hear some passion at the Meadowlands while the Giants were hanging tough as well. I don’t really want to sound like too tough of a fan since the media has been surprisingly kind to the Giants’ “valiant” loss, but you could feel this one slip away. Giant fans are some of the most intuitive fans in the NFL. I know, that probably sounds like East Coast snobbery coming out, as if to suggest New York fans are on a higher, more perceptive plane than those in, say, Green Bay; but they just know when things are about to go awry. We are not idealistic fans, we hate schmaltzy crap about Brett Favre’s wife, and we still don’t have cheerleaders. I frankly don’t want to get into a recap of this particular game. The Patriots are 16-0 and will likely win the Super Bowl. But here are a variety of thoughts regarding direct and peripheral matters about the NFL, the Giants, and perhaps some other stuff too.
1. What’s clear about the Patriots is this. They are not an impregnable force for four full quarters, they are an impregnable force in the fourth quarter. They can be beaten if any team is willing or able to play a complete game. In many ways, losing to New England is as much about being outplayed as it is psychological implosion. Think of the geeky guy wooing a beautiful woman at a bar. He makes her laugh, he makes her whole, and he makes her feel like…a woman. It’s too good to be true, the geeky guy just can’t believe a guy like him could ever win over such a catch, and thus before things get out of hand, he finds some way to sabotage the situation before he gets beyond his own perceived limitations. How could he ever live up to this elevated potential? It’s simply asking too much of him. Should he be able to pull off the impossible, he’ll never be able to step below this threshold…ever...again. The pressure is insurmountable. Clearly it’s safer for him to let her go, and thus, just when it’s time to ask her out, he finds some way to turn her off…for good. And now, thankfully, as a result of blowing it with this woman, things can now remain predictably status-quo for a long, long while. Time to go play darts with the boys again. To a certain extent, I feel this was the mindset of the Eagles, Ravens and Giants when they could have, but failed to beat the Patriots this season.
2. Even though I couldn’t see any of the afternoon games last Sunday, I was able to see the late game that night between the Vikings and Redskins. The Redskins won, but as it was well publicized, there was one play that basically determined the outcome of the game. The Redskins threw a pass that was ruled a completion for a decent gain. After seeing the instant replay, it was pretty clear that it really wasn’t a complete pass. Realizing this, Washington quickly marched down the field to spike the ball so Minnesota couldn’t challenge what would likely be a reversed call. However, in the process of trying to spike the ball in haste, Washington fumbled the snap and Minnesota recovered. As Minnesota’s offense took to the field, Washington challenged that the Vikings had 12 men on the previous play…hmmmmm. So the officials took a look under the hood and indeed the Redskins were correct, the Vikings did have 12 men on the field. Not only was the call reversed, the Vikings were penalized five yards and Washington resumed the drive with a favorable first and five situation. Al Michaels, who was calling the game with John Madden for NBC, said something like, “whoever decided to make that challenge deserves a raise”. No doubt that was some pretty savvy spotting by Washington, but here’s what I have a problem with.
First of all, Instant Replay is never to be used to reverse judgment calls. If a quarterback gets his head twisted around because a defender grabs his face mask and the refs miss it, so be it, that’s simply the imperfection of human beings officiating football games. Way it goes, move on, hopefully that quarterback still has a head. And while having 12 men on the field is more of a black and white situation, it’s still a judgment call that the officials on the field must make. And if they miss it…well…life stinks. In the case of the game between Minnesota and Washington, I don’t think that play should have been allowed to be challenged. My concern is this is going to set a precedent that could open up a wave of tedious challenges regarding technical judgment calls. You’ll have a game where team A throws a 60 yard touchdown pass, however team B, in hopes of getting a cheap break, will challenge the play because of a purported neutral zone infraction. This is NOT how Instant Replay is supposed to be used. I frankly hate Instant Replay anyway. There’s just something whiney about it, much in the way somebody cries to a motel manager because their Cheetos didn’t completely drop off the vending machine coil. Keep it human, keep it real.
3. I think Adrian Peterson, the Vikings sensational rookie running back for the first three quarters of the season, is going to be a one-hit-wonder. Too many teams have figured out how to shut him down, and since Minnesota is already unable to pass the ball, defenses can, and have, stocked up to stop the run at the point of attack. The truly great running backs can still overcome these smart coaching schemes designed to shut them down. Peterson is not among these backs.
4. Devin Hester isn’t overrated, but his impact is. Again, how long does it take before a kick returner fades into obscurity? Does anyone still remember Dante Hall with Kansas City (now with the Rams) way back from 2004?
5. The Redskins are going to the playoffs. I don’t want to sound heartless, but I do feel that the impact of Sean Taylor’s death has been overly dramatized. I know it’s a touchy subject since he was murdered in mid-season. No doubt it’s a tragedy since Taylor was only 24 when he died, and he seemed to have genuinely changed his life for the better as a result of his daughter being born. Yet, still, I never got a sense that he was that beloved of a player either because of his alleged aloofness, his prior involvement with some unflattering incidents both on and off the field, or the simple fact that he wasn’t far enough into his career to establish much attachment between teammates and fans. However, all that’s happened to Washington since then is that they’ve become the toughest, most determined team in the NFL. And while Todd Collins deserves the 2007 Jim Plunkett Award for career resurrection, one of the most underrated players of the Skins’ resurgence is wide receiver Reche Caldwell. All the guy ever does is come down with incredibly athletic catches two inches before he goes out of bounds. Granted I don’t live in the DC area anymore, but has there even been a whisper this season about the quality of this guy’s play?
6. With the regular season now over, speculation about which NFL coaches will be fired this week will generate plenty of discussion. There are many, many teams in the NFL who could use a new head coach, though I don’t see a rash of firings happening right now despite this. Even though some of these teams are playoff bound, these are the organizations that I believe could justifiably let their current head coaches go.
NY Jets
Pittsburgh
Denver
Kansas City
San Diego
Baltimore Brian Billick fired on 12/31/07
Cincinnati
NY Giants
Philadelphia
Chicago
Detroit
Minnesota
Atlanta
Carolina
St. Louis
San Francisco
I’ve refrained from adding Oakland, Miami and Arizona to the list since their head coaches are only in their first year and need more time before their effectiveness can be assessed. New Orleans is by far the most disappointing team in the NFL this season, but my gut simply chalks this down to being an off year for Sean Payton. I feel somewhat the same way about the Jets as well, but there were some extremely questionable coaching decisions made by Eric Mangini that can’t be overlooked. I don’t think his job is in jeopardy right now, I’m just saying he could be fired, as could a number of his brethren on the list. I realize that perhaps the most surprising team on that list is Pittsburgh, especially since they won their division and Mike Tomlin is a first year head coach. Like much of America, I often find myself rooting for the Steelers in most cases, but I really don’t think they’re that good of a team. The statistics conceal that the Steelers’ “winning” record of 10-6 could have been 12-4 or 13-3 had it not been for Mike Tomlin’s poor preparation in what should have been winnable games. In fact, I think much of the credit for Pittsburgh going as far as they did goes to Ben Roethlisberger’s improvisational skills of turning busted plays into positive gains. That said, I have feeling that Mike Tomlin is a bad seed that could set the Steelers back at least five years if they’re not careful. And with Pittsburgh’s historical stance of showing extreme patience and support for their head coaches (I mean, Mike Tomlin is only the third head coach the Steelers have had in my lifetime), this team could be in a downward spiral while much of their talent gets squandered in the process. Rooney family, you’ve been warned.
The reason why I don’t see much turnover with these head coaching positions is that the usual farming grounds for recruiting NFL head coaches are in the midst of an extreme famine. The most traditional route for finding talent is hiring a hot shot coordinator from another team. However, all the current “hot shot” coordinators seem to be previously failed head coaches like Marty Morhinweg, Mike Martz, Gregg Williams and Al Saunders that are stale and unwanted. In fact, I’m not sure how “hot” these guys really are, but how many other coordinators can anyone really think of? Sure, Dallas’ Jason Garrett is probably the first name that comes to mind, though it’s pretty obvious he’s the heir apparent once Jerry Jones decides to throw Wade Phillips under the bus. On the other side of the spectrum, you have a bunch of young, unknown, up-and-comers that show promise, but lack the experience to carry a team just yet. Oakland’s Lane Kiffin is one of those potential wunderkids that unfortunately might have been picked before he was ripe. So with coordinator bag being so light, the next most obvious place to pluck talent from is the NCAA. But considering the recent fiascos involving Steve Spurrier, Nick Saban and Bobby Petrino, the last thing any NFL GM wants to do is import that kind of cancer from a major college program. So who’s left? Jim Fassel? Marty Schottenheimer? Steve Mariucci? With such slim pickings, one can see how guys like Scott Linehan and Herm Edwards could remain employed for at least another year.
7. Giants back-up tight end, Kevin Boss, has quickly made many forget about Jeremy Shockey.
8. Jacksonville will be the most dreaded AFC team to face in the playoffs besides New England.
9. And as much as I hate to admit it, Washington will be the most dreaded NFC team to face in the playoffs…period. This team, really, really, wants it.
10. On a final non football note, I think the soon-to-be-released film, “The Bucket List”, looks like a God-awful schlockfest that neither, Jack Nicholson, Morgan Freeman or producer/director Rob Reiner needs a paycheck from. From the trailers, this flick simply appears to be ersatz “Grumpy Old Men” with more stunts. One has to wonder who bit first, Morgan Freeman or Jack Nicholson. My guess is that Morgan Freeman took the bait on this project first since his son, Alfonso Freeman, is also cast in this movie and wanted to help launch his career before…ahem…kicking the bucket himself. As for Jack Nicholson, it looks like he’s yet again playing the curmudgeony misanthrope who likes to run over squirrels while driving. Look, Jack, a little career advice, play something else man. I mean, if Clint Eastwood can show his tender side in “The Bridges of Madison County" then so can you. You’re getting predicable buddy, and the last thing you want to do is finish your career in such ignominious fashion.
HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE…
OCTAVIO
Monday, December 31, 2007
Monday, December 03, 2007
YOU MEAN...THEY WON????
It was a game of two maligned quarterbacks. One who was benched for a good portion of the season and started playing better, the other was in the midst of his third season as a starter and playing worse. Both teams were vying for a Wild Card berth in the mediocre NFC, yet both have a knack for getting in their own way at the worst times. One team came off a huge comeback win in overtime the week before, the other was reeling from one of their most desultory performances in the last decade. Somebody had to win, and in this case it was the Giants by a score of 21-16.
Considering how poorly the Giants played (or perhaps existed would be a better word) last week against Minnesota, traveling to Soldier Field in early December didn’t exactly provide the best palette for painting a comeback picture. For years, the Giants have had one of the most brittle psyches in all of sports, so bouncing back after delivering a healthy dose of fodder to the New York media seemed like a daunting task. And just when the situation begged for a major purge in 2008, the Giants pull off a fourth quarter road win in Chicago. In many ways, rooting for the Giants is like a wife finally having the courage to ask for a divorce, only to then have her husband donate a kidney to save her dying father. Fewer teams make it so hateful to love them; you’d think Shakespeare could have written a play about this.
You can say that any game in the NFL is a must win, but this was one the Giants really needed. And while it would be a bit of a stretch to call them frauds, their credibility and respectability had taken a steep dive in recent weeks. The Giants have stayed atop by feeding like hyenas off such lifeless clubs as Atlanta, San Francisco and the Jets. But as soon as anyone decent, or even showing signs of ascending progress came to town, the Giants would fold like the proverbial lawn chair. Seemed that many weren’t so much looking for rays of hope when the Giants played Chicago, as they were seeking confirmation that their team was just a shell of an organization who only thrived off the league’s scrap heap. You have to love a fan base that looks for reasons as to why they shouldn’t root for you. Clearly this game was a colossal disappointment for millions of Giant fans.
Eli Manning (16/27, 195 YDS, 1TD,2INT) however, will still keep the naysayers chirping for another week. Though it would be an almost preternatural feat if he were able to out-suck his play from the week before, Manning still did enough to provide snippets of an encore performance. The two most noteworthy mistakes were interceptions thrown to Brian Urlacher and Charles Tillman. The former occurred less than two minutes into the opening sequence of the game, resulting in an efficiently run touchdown drive by Rex Grossman (25/46, 296 YDS, 1 TD, 0 INT) to put the Bears up 7-0. The latter snuffed out a 14 play drive in the end zone after chewing up nearly half of the third quarter. Both did much to curtail the Giants momentum, but the defense rarely let up.
Playing without Aaron Ross and Gibril Wilson in the secondary, the Giants defense bent but never broke against the Bears. Knowing that their secondary, even when healthy, is not always able to cover, the Giants resorted to the old game plan of rushing the quarterback hard and heavy. This didn’t happen right away, not until the Giants got the scare -- and the break -- of their lives when Devin Hester had a guaranteed touchdown pass bounce right off his shoulder pad to go incomplete. From there the Giants really put the press on the line of scrimmage, always seeming to get that big sack at the most opportune time. Justin Tuck, as predicted a few years ago, has clearly emerged as one the Giants most formidable pass rushing threats.
Offensively, despite fumbling the ball that resulted in a Chicago score, Derrick Ward (24/154, 1 TD) offered a bruising blend of hard up-the-middle running mixed with bursts of speed to the outside. Unfortunately, he was not able to finish the game because of an ankle injury. Again, this poses concerns about the durability of the Giants backfield, as all season long the Giants have had to rotate backs in and out of the line-up due to injury. As for other solid offensive play, the “under-the-radar” award for this week goes to Giants fullback Madison Hedgecock, who made key blocks at critical times all day long. Hedgecock has shown both speed and brawn in his blocking; not to mention great vision. At times he resembles a pulling guard, sprinting to the end of the line to kick out the defensive end. In other situations, Hedgecock shows his patience by waiting for the play to develop, quickly finding the defender with the best pursuit angle, and getting to him…fast. Hedgecock’s value will certainly rise as the season winds down, especially since the Giants will see more and more blitzing schemes with their passing attack hampered by injuries.
The Giants have another road game next week against Philadelphia. Perhaps the only team in the NFL more erratic than the Giants right now is the Eagles, so predicting the outcome of this one could be anyone’s guess. The Eagles could be high and mighty next week if Donovan McNabb is back. The Eagles could be God-freaking awful if Donovan McNabb is back. Go ahead, roll the dice, this one could go either way. As with most of these streaky teams, it usually boils down to special teams anyway. The biggest story about Devin Hester Sunday was that he was a non story. Add in the frigid temperatures that have finally arrived this winter, and this could be another one of those games of attrition rather than the classic knife fight these teams often bring to the table. If that’s the case, than expect another disappointing week Giants fans, Big Blue just might play irritatingly well enough to win this one too.
Considering how poorly the Giants played (or perhaps existed would be a better word) last week against Minnesota, traveling to Soldier Field in early December didn’t exactly provide the best palette for painting a comeback picture. For years, the Giants have had one of the most brittle psyches in all of sports, so bouncing back after delivering a healthy dose of fodder to the New York media seemed like a daunting task. And just when the situation begged for a major purge in 2008, the Giants pull off a fourth quarter road win in Chicago. In many ways, rooting for the Giants is like a wife finally having the courage to ask for a divorce, only to then have her husband donate a kidney to save her dying father. Fewer teams make it so hateful to love them; you’d think Shakespeare could have written a play about this.
You can say that any game in the NFL is a must win, but this was one the Giants really needed. And while it would be a bit of a stretch to call them frauds, their credibility and respectability had taken a steep dive in recent weeks. The Giants have stayed atop by feeding like hyenas off such lifeless clubs as Atlanta, San Francisco and the Jets. But as soon as anyone decent, or even showing signs of ascending progress came to town, the Giants would fold like the proverbial lawn chair. Seemed that many weren’t so much looking for rays of hope when the Giants played Chicago, as they were seeking confirmation that their team was just a shell of an organization who only thrived off the league’s scrap heap. You have to love a fan base that looks for reasons as to why they shouldn’t root for you. Clearly this game was a colossal disappointment for millions of Giant fans.
Eli Manning (16/27, 195 YDS, 1TD,2INT) however, will still keep the naysayers chirping for another week. Though it would be an almost preternatural feat if he were able to out-suck his play from the week before, Manning still did enough to provide snippets of an encore performance. The two most noteworthy mistakes were interceptions thrown to Brian Urlacher and Charles Tillman. The former occurred less than two minutes into the opening sequence of the game, resulting in an efficiently run touchdown drive by Rex Grossman (25/46, 296 YDS, 1 TD, 0 INT) to put the Bears up 7-0. The latter snuffed out a 14 play drive in the end zone after chewing up nearly half of the third quarter. Both did much to curtail the Giants momentum, but the defense rarely let up.
Playing without Aaron Ross and Gibril Wilson in the secondary, the Giants defense bent but never broke against the Bears. Knowing that their secondary, even when healthy, is not always able to cover, the Giants resorted to the old game plan of rushing the quarterback hard and heavy. This didn’t happen right away, not until the Giants got the scare -- and the break -- of their lives when Devin Hester had a guaranteed touchdown pass bounce right off his shoulder pad to go incomplete. From there the Giants really put the press on the line of scrimmage, always seeming to get that big sack at the most opportune time. Justin Tuck, as predicted a few years ago, has clearly emerged as one the Giants most formidable pass rushing threats.
Offensively, despite fumbling the ball that resulted in a Chicago score, Derrick Ward (24/154, 1 TD) offered a bruising blend of hard up-the-middle running mixed with bursts of speed to the outside. Unfortunately, he was not able to finish the game because of an ankle injury. Again, this poses concerns about the durability of the Giants backfield, as all season long the Giants have had to rotate backs in and out of the line-up due to injury. As for other solid offensive play, the “under-the-radar” award for this week goes to Giants fullback Madison Hedgecock, who made key blocks at critical times all day long. Hedgecock has shown both speed and brawn in his blocking; not to mention great vision. At times he resembles a pulling guard, sprinting to the end of the line to kick out the defensive end. In other situations, Hedgecock shows his patience by waiting for the play to develop, quickly finding the defender with the best pursuit angle, and getting to him…fast. Hedgecock’s value will certainly rise as the season winds down, especially since the Giants will see more and more blitzing schemes with their passing attack hampered by injuries.
The Giants have another road game next week against Philadelphia. Perhaps the only team in the NFL more erratic than the Giants right now is the Eagles, so predicting the outcome of this one could be anyone’s guess. The Eagles could be high and mighty next week if Donovan McNabb is back. The Eagles could be God-freaking awful if Donovan McNabb is back. Go ahead, roll the dice, this one could go either way. As with most of these streaky teams, it usually boils down to special teams anyway. The biggest story about Devin Hester Sunday was that he was a non story. Add in the frigid temperatures that have finally arrived this winter, and this could be another one of those games of attrition rather than the classic knife fight these teams often bring to the table. If that’s the case, than expect another disappointing week Giants fans, Big Blue just might play irritatingly well enough to win this one too.
Monday, November 26, 2007
ENOUGH ELI
Seems that every time the Giants play Minnesota it’s either a game of giveth or taketh. In one game the Giants are the fearsome drubber. The next they’re the dreadful drubbee. Seldom is there ever a gray area when these two teams meet. As for Sunday’s 41-17 thrashing at the Meadowlands, the Vikings could have been shouting “Valhalla” by the second play of the game.
We’ve seen this so much in the Fassel-Coughlin era, the Giants first showing such promise only to follow up the next week as utter duds. Though the Giants 16-10 victory in Detroit the week before wasn’t the most convincing of wins, it was at least enough to show that they could beat another team in playoff contention. So here come the visiting Vikings; supposedly an even lesser foe than the fast fading Lions, yet the Giants, as they have for the past ten years or so, show once more that they’re the most bipolar team in the NFL. Sure, the Giants have let games slip away; the playoff collapse in San Francisco five years ago will still take an entire generation to shake off. Heck, they’ve even let seasons slip away…but not this time. This time it will finally be different. As cynical as the Big Blue faithful are, there’s still a wide eyed belief that any team can still be beat.
That said, there is something about Sunday’s loss that cuts deeper than the fact that the Giants completely failed to show up. That they again -- in a supposedly fourth season under the “disciplinarian” reign of Tom Coughlin -- got called for stupid penalties, couldn’t tackle, catch, or run correct patterns. What cuts deeper about this game is that it marks the official point where Eli Manning’s pendulum has swung to the side of being a bust. Better said, two, five or ten years down the road, when the dust finally settles on whether or not Manning was the real deal or not, the point where hope truly faded will be traced to this game. Nobody expected a Manning miracle, at least not right away. There’s been plenty of data to show that Eli, at this stage in his career, is roughly at the same point where brother Peyton was with his career in Indianapolis; we know, we know, we know. But there was something about Peyton that showed some fire, determination and commitment to make the once moribund Indianapolis Colts into a winner. By New York standards, lots of patience has been shown with Eli. We’ve seen rookie Eli, first-year-as-a-starter Eli, that’s-why-we-gave-a-king’s-ransom-to-San Diego Eli, and fire Ernie Accorsi Eli. He’s made miracle comebacks as much as he’s given games away (though the latter seems to be what’s best remembered). We’ve sampled all the combinations this Chinese menu of a quarterback has to offer, but now we’re feeling the after affects of MSG.
For the record, Manning tied his career worst with four interceptions Sunday of which three (Darren Sharper 20 yards, Dwight Smith 93 yards and Chad Greenway 37 yards) were returned for touchdowns; indirectly becoming the Vikings top scorer while only throwing one TD pass to Plaxico Burress in a garbage time score. Afterwards Manning said, “They just had a good plan. They made plays when we didn’t. I didn’t play real well. I kept turning the ball over. They just outperformed us and they made a lot of good plays.”
And that’s where the concern lies. No so much that Manning stunk up the joint, but this perennial nonchalantness, this aw shucks attitude, this filling station goofball who pliantly asks if it’s OK to check the oil. In the past, when Manning was first getting broken into the league, his demeanor was positively spun as “unflappable” and “even keeled”. This is fine in a September match-up against the Arizona Cardinals, but with December looming, in his third full year as a starter, against a mediocre opponent at home, it’s time to step up and win…period. Enough of the drawling euphemisms. Seems that Manning is nothing more than a wealthy doll that says “I just got to make more plays” whenever the string in his back is pulled. We don’t expect Manning to take some magic pill and start snapping wet towels against the backsides of his teammates, but we do expect some fire. Thus far, Eli Manning’s approach to quarterbacking the New York Giants seems as much of a rote exercise as a cube dweller waiting for 5 O’clock. We’ve allowed a certain threshold for this “franchise quarterback” to settle into his groove, but time is up now. The pendulum has swung…
With the playoff picture starting to shape up, one would hope that the Giants would not choose the more difficult road, but alas, they have yet again. Next week the Giants travel to Soldier Field to play a very psyched up Chicago team who pulled off a huge comeback win Sunday against Denver. The week after, they’re at “The Linc” against a resurgent Philadelphia team who just gave New England their biggest scare of the season. After a six game winning streak earlier in the season, one would finally hope the Giants would be in pole position for a Wild Card berth. But these are the Giants, and this may be our quarterback for a long, long, time.
We’ve seen this so much in the Fassel-Coughlin era, the Giants first showing such promise only to follow up the next week as utter duds. Though the Giants 16-10 victory in Detroit the week before wasn’t the most convincing of wins, it was at least enough to show that they could beat another team in playoff contention. So here come the visiting Vikings; supposedly an even lesser foe than the fast fading Lions, yet the Giants, as they have for the past ten years or so, show once more that they’re the most bipolar team in the NFL. Sure, the Giants have let games slip away; the playoff collapse in San Francisco five years ago will still take an entire generation to shake off. Heck, they’ve even let seasons slip away…but not this time. This time it will finally be different. As cynical as the Big Blue faithful are, there’s still a wide eyed belief that any team can still be beat.
That said, there is something about Sunday’s loss that cuts deeper than the fact that the Giants completely failed to show up. That they again -- in a supposedly fourth season under the “disciplinarian” reign of Tom Coughlin -- got called for stupid penalties, couldn’t tackle, catch, or run correct patterns. What cuts deeper about this game is that it marks the official point where Eli Manning’s pendulum has swung to the side of being a bust. Better said, two, five or ten years down the road, when the dust finally settles on whether or not Manning was the real deal or not, the point where hope truly faded will be traced to this game. Nobody expected a Manning miracle, at least not right away. There’s been plenty of data to show that Eli, at this stage in his career, is roughly at the same point where brother Peyton was with his career in Indianapolis; we know, we know, we know. But there was something about Peyton that showed some fire, determination and commitment to make the once moribund Indianapolis Colts into a winner. By New York standards, lots of patience has been shown with Eli. We’ve seen rookie Eli, first-year-as-a-starter Eli, that’s-why-we-gave-a-king’s-ransom-to-San Diego Eli, and fire Ernie Accorsi Eli. He’s made miracle comebacks as much as he’s given games away (though the latter seems to be what’s best remembered). We’ve sampled all the combinations this Chinese menu of a quarterback has to offer, but now we’re feeling the after affects of MSG.
For the record, Manning tied his career worst with four interceptions Sunday of which three (Darren Sharper 20 yards, Dwight Smith 93 yards and Chad Greenway 37 yards) were returned for touchdowns; indirectly becoming the Vikings top scorer while only throwing one TD pass to Plaxico Burress in a garbage time score. Afterwards Manning said, “They just had a good plan. They made plays when we didn’t. I didn’t play real well. I kept turning the ball over. They just outperformed us and they made a lot of good plays.”
And that’s where the concern lies. No so much that Manning stunk up the joint, but this perennial nonchalantness, this aw shucks attitude, this filling station goofball who pliantly asks if it’s OK to check the oil. In the past, when Manning was first getting broken into the league, his demeanor was positively spun as “unflappable” and “even keeled”. This is fine in a September match-up against the Arizona Cardinals, but with December looming, in his third full year as a starter, against a mediocre opponent at home, it’s time to step up and win…period. Enough of the drawling euphemisms. Seems that Manning is nothing more than a wealthy doll that says “I just got to make more plays” whenever the string in his back is pulled. We don’t expect Manning to take some magic pill and start snapping wet towels against the backsides of his teammates, but we do expect some fire. Thus far, Eli Manning’s approach to quarterbacking the New York Giants seems as much of a rote exercise as a cube dweller waiting for 5 O’clock. We’ve allowed a certain threshold for this “franchise quarterback” to settle into his groove, but time is up now. The pendulum has swung…
With the playoff picture starting to shape up, one would hope that the Giants would not choose the more difficult road, but alas, they have yet again. Next week the Giants travel to Soldier Field to play a very psyched up Chicago team who pulled off a huge comeback win Sunday against Denver. The week after, they’re at “The Linc” against a resurgent Philadelphia team who just gave New England their biggest scare of the season. After a six game winning streak earlier in the season, one would finally hope the Giants would be in pole position for a Wild Card berth. But these are the Giants, and this may be our quarterback for a long, long, time.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
JET LAGGED JINTS SURVIVE FUTILE FISH
With the exception of the history that was made by the NFL playing its first ever regular season game in Europe, there were few memorable things that could be taken from the Giants’ 13-10 win over Miami. As far as this new initiative with transcontinental competition goes, the NFL, at least this time around, exported a game that perhaps could have been outpaced by glacial meltdown.
In much of the same way a productive salesman has to break from his routine to work a tradeshow in Las Vegas, the notion of playing football in England felt more like a contractual obligation than a passionately primal way to earn a living. That said, the Giants in bland, often sloppy, workmanlike fashion did just enough to survive a game with three more points than their winless adversary. Now it’s time for the Giants to go home, but at least they’re coming home 6-2.
Not surprisingly, London provided a meteorologically appropriate welcome with plenty of rain and a thick “pitch”, which provided nice, muddy uniforms that we turf-raised American fans have all but forgotten. However, because of these limiting conditions, the purportedly raucous crowd of 90,000 got a first-hand look at what’s euphemistically known as a “ball control offense”. Better said, it was a game of hand-offs, incomplete passes, and a flag-happy officiating crew that’s now made referee, Gerry Austin, an international celebrity. Add in the fact that Miami’s injury report is now longer than Pacman Jones’ rap sheet, and you have all the ingredients for what should later be known as Yawn Bowl I.
If anyone had an exciting afternoon, it was Brandon Jacobs who ran for a career high of 131 yards. This is finally the Brandon Jacobs that those hailing in Giantdom have been patiently waiting for. When Jacobs is on his game, and the Giants offensive line gelling, the Giants running attack can roll over just about any opponent with Blitzkrieg belligerence. Though despite this, there’s still plenty of trepidation every time he touches the ball. No doubt his 264 pound frame brings relief to defenders once they see he’s running to the opposite side of the field they’re covering, yet Jacob’s durability still comes into question. As of the conclusion of Sunday’s game, there were no injuries to report on Jacobs. Still though, once can’t help but feel that hinging the running game on Brandon Jacobs is like entering a rally race with an armored Fiat.
Come Monday, it’s likely that much of the sports punditry will attack this Giant victory. Much of what’s plagued the Giants in the first three years of the Coughlin regime seemed to rear its ugly head in London; especially in the second half. For most of the first half, the Giants kept control of the game in an effective, albeit milquetoast fashion of running the ball. However, as soon as the third quarter opened up, the Giants abandoned their game plan by passing the ball. One has to wonder if there was some sort of entertainer’s burden to get the English crowd exited; maybe a tap on the door from Commission Goodell, as if trying to inflict some sort of comic relief during Macbeth’s soliloquy. No doubt there was a noticeable rise in the decibel level every time the ball was thrown, but since when should that become a priority? As soon as the running game shifted to the back burner, Miami found new life in the way of creating two turnovers off passing plays. Not good.
More concerning was the rash of stupid penalties, particularly early in the fourth quarter, where perhaps Luke Petitgout was thought to have rejoined the team in order to see London for free. At one point the Giants were even facing a third and 33, with the kicker being the ultimate in bonehead penalties of getting called for an illegal substitution. In another situation, Antonio Pierce, the Giants’ de facto defensive leader, was called for a late hit; making for his third personal foul penalty in the last two games. Again, debate will surely spawn of whether or not the Giants are slipping back to their undisciplined ways, or if it’s nothing more than just sleepwalking through a long business trip and feeling ready to get home.
And with those penalties, the Giants too will be called out for their shoddy tackling. Cornerback Sam Madison was by far the most noteworthy culprit, who must have had both his arms fail to get through customs at Heathrow airport; thus using his upper torso to hopefully impede the ball carrier. Pilots don’t always have to fly perfectly in order to get everyone on the ground in one piece. And with that, one could say it was a turbulent flight for the Giants D, though ultimately ending with a safe arrival. Sometimes that’s the best you’re going to get when playing five time zones away in the rain.
The Giants will now have two weeks to shake off the jet lag and get ready for Dallas. Though watching the film of this game will likely be as tedious as the long flight home (or the game itself), it’s likely to just be cast off as “that London game.” At least they better hope so… November football is here.
In much of the same way a productive salesman has to break from his routine to work a tradeshow in Las Vegas, the notion of playing football in England felt more like a contractual obligation than a passionately primal way to earn a living. That said, the Giants in bland, often sloppy, workmanlike fashion did just enough to survive a game with three more points than their winless adversary. Now it’s time for the Giants to go home, but at least they’re coming home 6-2.
Not surprisingly, London provided a meteorologically appropriate welcome with plenty of rain and a thick “pitch”, which provided nice, muddy uniforms that we turf-raised American fans have all but forgotten. However, because of these limiting conditions, the purportedly raucous crowd of 90,000 got a first-hand look at what’s euphemistically known as a “ball control offense”. Better said, it was a game of hand-offs, incomplete passes, and a flag-happy officiating crew that’s now made referee, Gerry Austin, an international celebrity. Add in the fact that Miami’s injury report is now longer than Pacman Jones’ rap sheet, and you have all the ingredients for what should later be known as Yawn Bowl I.
If anyone had an exciting afternoon, it was Brandon Jacobs who ran for a career high of 131 yards. This is finally the Brandon Jacobs that those hailing in Giantdom have been patiently waiting for. When Jacobs is on his game, and the Giants offensive line gelling, the Giants running attack can roll over just about any opponent with Blitzkrieg belligerence. Though despite this, there’s still plenty of trepidation every time he touches the ball. No doubt his 264 pound frame brings relief to defenders once they see he’s running to the opposite side of the field they’re covering, yet Jacob’s durability still comes into question. As of the conclusion of Sunday’s game, there were no injuries to report on Jacobs. Still though, once can’t help but feel that hinging the running game on Brandon Jacobs is like entering a rally race with an armored Fiat.
Come Monday, it’s likely that much of the sports punditry will attack this Giant victory. Much of what’s plagued the Giants in the first three years of the Coughlin regime seemed to rear its ugly head in London; especially in the second half. For most of the first half, the Giants kept control of the game in an effective, albeit milquetoast fashion of running the ball. However, as soon as the third quarter opened up, the Giants abandoned their game plan by passing the ball. One has to wonder if there was some sort of entertainer’s burden to get the English crowd exited; maybe a tap on the door from Commission Goodell, as if trying to inflict some sort of comic relief during Macbeth’s soliloquy. No doubt there was a noticeable rise in the decibel level every time the ball was thrown, but since when should that become a priority? As soon as the running game shifted to the back burner, Miami found new life in the way of creating two turnovers off passing plays. Not good.
More concerning was the rash of stupid penalties, particularly early in the fourth quarter, where perhaps Luke Petitgout was thought to have rejoined the team in order to see London for free. At one point the Giants were even facing a third and 33, with the kicker being the ultimate in bonehead penalties of getting called for an illegal substitution. In another situation, Antonio Pierce, the Giants’ de facto defensive leader, was called for a late hit; making for his third personal foul penalty in the last two games. Again, debate will surely spawn of whether or not the Giants are slipping back to their undisciplined ways, or if it’s nothing more than just sleepwalking through a long business trip and feeling ready to get home.
And with those penalties, the Giants too will be called out for their shoddy tackling. Cornerback Sam Madison was by far the most noteworthy culprit, who must have had both his arms fail to get through customs at Heathrow airport; thus using his upper torso to hopefully impede the ball carrier. Pilots don’t always have to fly perfectly in order to get everyone on the ground in one piece. And with that, one could say it was a turbulent flight for the Giants D, though ultimately ending with a safe arrival. Sometimes that’s the best you’re going to get when playing five time zones away in the rain.
The Giants will now have two weeks to shake off the jet lag and get ready for Dallas. Though watching the film of this game will likely be as tedious as the long flight home (or the game itself), it’s likely to just be cast off as “that London game.” At least they better hope so… November football is here.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
HOME FOR SUPER BOWL XLI
As Super Bowls go, Sunday’s showdown between Chicago and Indianapolis was hardly memorable. Super Bowl XLI, Miami, almost sounds like a trade show that everyone dreads attending. And it rained as well, which made for sloppy play, where both teams refused to take a game from an opponent so eager to give it away. One thing about the NFL though, is that they are consistently prompt. But being that it was the Super Bowl, I figured that a 6:25 kick-off time really meant 6:32. For years the National Anthem has been part of the show, which in this period of inflicted patriotism, is often punctuated by a squadron of F-16’s roaring overhead. Then there’s the coin toss, which, again, can take a few minutes if the commemorative coin is delivered via bald eagle or parachuting Green Baret. This year it came with minimal fanfare as Dan Marino brought out the coin with remarkable efficiency. Too efficient for me however…
In my pledge to remain sequestered from Super Bowl hype this year, I avoided all the milquetoast pre-game schlock, and spent the preceding hours enjoying the Ghost Hunters marathon on the Sci Fi Channel instead. I’ve taken a particular interest in the paranormal lately. For one, I feel like my innate psychic powers have been greatly honed in the past few years. Secondly, I’ve had personal encounters that make me a believer. And lastly, being that I now live in an old Brooklyn neighborhood, and have a blind cat that routinely cries around 3:15 AM every night, I wonder what spirits have me sharing their apartment as well. Naturally, the episode of Ghost Hunters coinciding with the Super Bowl kick-off is a particularly meaty one, and I’m hooked to the end because I just have to see them disclose the evidence of their investigation. I flip to CBS for a second at exactly 6:25…OK, good, Dan Marino and a jittery, first-time Super Bowl referee, Tony Corrente, are gearing up for the coin toss. All should dovetail perfectly with the conclusion Ghost Hunters and the actual kick-off. I flip back to Ghost Hunters to see a murky gray splotch rustling curtains on videotape – very good stuff. I flip back to CBS at 6:31. Chicago is up 7-0. What the hell????
I quickly sensed that it was going to be one of those Super Bowls. You know, the kind that provides comforting white noise while paying the phone bill, sorting through the recyclables, and scooping clumps of cat pee from the litter box. And with my interest already diminished by an opening kick return that I didn’t see, we got onto more pressing matters such as what to have for dinner. We took a pass on pizza, which on Super Bowl Sunday is like going to Philadelphia and ordering a chicken cheesesteak. But so be it, as New Yorkers we take pride in having a myriad of food choices at our disposal. So as the teams kept turning the ball over, my wife and I went through the heaping stack of take-out menus kept in a designated drawer. It’s goes like this:
“You want Thai?”
“Jesus, where’s the pass protection…what?”
“Thai?”
“For the Super Bowl? C’mon…” I reply.
“Well you didn’t want pizza”.
“How about Indian?” I suggest.
“For the Super Bowl? C’mon…”
This went on for a possession or two until we decided to order burritos from a Tex Mex joint neither of us had tried before. My wife took the helm with placing the call. She’s a great qualifier in terms of getting their size, dimensions, ingredients and price; as we all know that not all burritos are the same. She relays the breakdown to me, where we jointly hash out the pros and cons of this major purchasing decision.
We decided to go for it. Still, the game is barely five minutes old.
Twenty minutes later the buzzer rings, where I spring off the couch and hump the air in knowing that dinner is but two staircases away. By now the Colts were moving the ball pretty well. My wife opens the door where an Indian or Pakistani kid of about 17 years holds two bags of food. “Wow, is that all for us?,” she asks. I could see the look on his face. It’s the of look of being confronted with a problem, which up to this moment was previously unknown, and thus, would have appreciated it if we helped him keep it that way. He looks at me; I just shrug because I don’t want to get into problem solving mode while the Super Bowl is played. I delegate this matter to my wife, Ellen, by suddenly taking great interest in what the Colts do next. She starts dissecting the contents of the bags: “wings, tacos…more tacos,” she says, as if doing the annual inventory at K-Mart. It didn’t take a super sleuth to realize that this kid was missing the other delivery ticket. Seeing all this food sprawled on the floor, I now take less interest in what the Colts are doing and join the cats with inspecting the edible goods. They start pawing the plastic bags before Ellen can shoo them away. I get another look from the kid. He’s clearly indicating that his life would be much easier if we just took all the food and paid him what we owed. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the restaurant botched the orders, and besides, why not get two meals for the price of one? I respond, this time with a more sympathetic shrug that lets him know I’m on board with his thinking, however, since my wife just performed autopsies on these two bags, we’re committed to getting this resolved.
“You got the phone number for the restaurant?” the kid asks.
“Don’t you?” I say, adding my voice to this crippled exchange for the first time.
He looks at the ticket, for some inexplicable reason there’s no phone number on it, nor does he have extra menus to hand out. Since when does a business in New York fail to promote itself? He threw it back our way about having the phone number. After all, we didn’t order the food via messenger pigeon, surely we must have it somewhere. Which we did of course, though it meant sifting through the Yellow Pages…again. I could see the gears turning in his head; we should have taken the deal he telepathically offered us a moment ago. Wasn’t all this phone book nonsense a pain in ass? And by the way, you just missed a magnificent 53-yard touchdown pass to Reggie Wayne. What????
My interest in the game just sank further; particularly now after missing that play as well. Nevertheless, we find the number while two homophobes endorse Snickers bars from a garage. “Do you have a phone,” the kid asks. I figured, if the kid doesn’t have the phone number for his place of employ, why would he have a cell phone either? Who knows, perhaps it might come in handy in case he’s got the wrong address, especially on a night where the outside temperatures finally gave us something in common with the Midwest. “Here you go,” I say while handing him my cell phone. Not that I have a choice or anything, it’s not like I’m going to send him down to the corner payphone and catch hypothermia. I mean, as obtrusive as this transaction had become, I hadn’t forgotten what it’s like to be 17. Ellen reads him the number from the Yellow Pages. He’s made himself quite comfortable while locating the phantom recipient who’s dinner still rests on our floor…would you like to take a hot bath? Though a moment later his aggravation starts to resonate, tracking down tacos like a lost Mother’s Day bouquet. Ellen and I look at each other wondering why this was so complicated. Seeing the way he got bounced around, you’d think he was seeking Windows tech support or something. Now the kid starts spewing expletives as the ensuing kickoff gets underway. He’s getting a little too comfortable. And while I can relate to his predicament, it’s time for him to get going. I give him the universal twirl-of-the-index-finger sign that says wrap it up baby. He gets the hint, though I have to remind him that the cell phone he’s holding still belongs to me. It’s an honest mistake, like when you pocket a pen someone’s just lent you, yet before leaving, he gives us a ranting diatribe about what a “f—king dickhead” his boss is. I refrained from telling him that he’s likely to be the first of many, as I believe it’s best to learn those hard knocks on your own. Now they’re calling him back to the restaurant, clearly something has gone very much awry. Still though, we tipped him four bucks anyway…just because. Even food delivery comes with panache in Brooklyn.
At this point I don’t recall what the score was. Our burritos were a little cold and the refried beans had morphed into spackling putty, but they still had plenty of flavor, and flavor is key. By now, the Super Bowl was simply about savoring the last morsel of football season hoping, as I do each Sunday night, that the weekend will hang around just a little longer. Like every Super Bowl, this game will be boiled down to a few plays then looped incessantly during the fortnight before the Big Game in the years to come. As for SB XLI, Ellen went to bed shortly after what’s-his-name from Indy ran Rex Grossman’s interception back for a touchdown. I at least hung around to the end while wet confetti extinguished the final embers of the 2006 season. Out, out, brief candle…it was soon time to hit the sack myself.
In my pledge to remain sequestered from Super Bowl hype this year, I avoided all the milquetoast pre-game schlock, and spent the preceding hours enjoying the Ghost Hunters marathon on the Sci Fi Channel instead. I’ve taken a particular interest in the paranormal lately. For one, I feel like my innate psychic powers have been greatly honed in the past few years. Secondly, I’ve had personal encounters that make me a believer. And lastly, being that I now live in an old Brooklyn neighborhood, and have a blind cat that routinely cries around 3:15 AM every night, I wonder what spirits have me sharing their apartment as well. Naturally, the episode of Ghost Hunters coinciding with the Super Bowl kick-off is a particularly meaty one, and I’m hooked to the end because I just have to see them disclose the evidence of their investigation. I flip to CBS for a second at exactly 6:25…OK, good, Dan Marino and a jittery, first-time Super Bowl referee, Tony Corrente, are gearing up for the coin toss. All should dovetail perfectly with the conclusion Ghost Hunters and the actual kick-off. I flip back to Ghost Hunters to see a murky gray splotch rustling curtains on videotape – very good stuff. I flip back to CBS at 6:31. Chicago is up 7-0. What the hell????
I quickly sensed that it was going to be one of those Super Bowls. You know, the kind that provides comforting white noise while paying the phone bill, sorting through the recyclables, and scooping clumps of cat pee from the litter box. And with my interest already diminished by an opening kick return that I didn’t see, we got onto more pressing matters such as what to have for dinner. We took a pass on pizza, which on Super Bowl Sunday is like going to Philadelphia and ordering a chicken cheesesteak. But so be it, as New Yorkers we take pride in having a myriad of food choices at our disposal. So as the teams kept turning the ball over, my wife and I went through the heaping stack of take-out menus kept in a designated drawer. It’s goes like this:
“You want Thai?”
“Jesus, where’s the pass protection…what?”
“Thai?”
“For the Super Bowl? C’mon…” I reply.
“Well you didn’t want pizza”.
“How about Indian?” I suggest.
“For the Super Bowl? C’mon…”
This went on for a possession or two until we decided to order burritos from a Tex Mex joint neither of us had tried before. My wife took the helm with placing the call. She’s a great qualifier in terms of getting their size, dimensions, ingredients and price; as we all know that not all burritos are the same. She relays the breakdown to me, where we jointly hash out the pros and cons of this major purchasing decision.
We decided to go for it. Still, the game is barely five minutes old.
Twenty minutes later the buzzer rings, where I spring off the couch and hump the air in knowing that dinner is but two staircases away. By now the Colts were moving the ball pretty well. My wife opens the door where an Indian or Pakistani kid of about 17 years holds two bags of food. “Wow, is that all for us?,” she asks. I could see the look on his face. It’s the of look of being confronted with a problem, which up to this moment was previously unknown, and thus, would have appreciated it if we helped him keep it that way. He looks at me; I just shrug because I don’t want to get into problem solving mode while the Super Bowl is played. I delegate this matter to my wife, Ellen, by suddenly taking great interest in what the Colts do next. She starts dissecting the contents of the bags: “wings, tacos…more tacos,” she says, as if doing the annual inventory at K-Mart. It didn’t take a super sleuth to realize that this kid was missing the other delivery ticket. Seeing all this food sprawled on the floor, I now take less interest in what the Colts are doing and join the cats with inspecting the edible goods. They start pawing the plastic bags before Ellen can shoo them away. I get another look from the kid. He’s clearly indicating that his life would be much easier if we just took all the food and paid him what we owed. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the restaurant botched the orders, and besides, why not get two meals for the price of one? I respond, this time with a more sympathetic shrug that lets him know I’m on board with his thinking, however, since my wife just performed autopsies on these two bags, we’re committed to getting this resolved.
“You got the phone number for the restaurant?” the kid asks.
“Don’t you?” I say, adding my voice to this crippled exchange for the first time.
He looks at the ticket, for some inexplicable reason there’s no phone number on it, nor does he have extra menus to hand out. Since when does a business in New York fail to promote itself? He threw it back our way about having the phone number. After all, we didn’t order the food via messenger pigeon, surely we must have it somewhere. Which we did of course, though it meant sifting through the Yellow Pages…again. I could see the gears turning in his head; we should have taken the deal he telepathically offered us a moment ago. Wasn’t all this phone book nonsense a pain in ass? And by the way, you just missed a magnificent 53-yard touchdown pass to Reggie Wayne. What????
My interest in the game just sank further; particularly now after missing that play as well. Nevertheless, we find the number while two homophobes endorse Snickers bars from a garage. “Do you have a phone,” the kid asks. I figured, if the kid doesn’t have the phone number for his place of employ, why would he have a cell phone either? Who knows, perhaps it might come in handy in case he’s got the wrong address, especially on a night where the outside temperatures finally gave us something in common with the Midwest. “Here you go,” I say while handing him my cell phone. Not that I have a choice or anything, it’s not like I’m going to send him down to the corner payphone and catch hypothermia. I mean, as obtrusive as this transaction had become, I hadn’t forgotten what it’s like to be 17. Ellen reads him the number from the Yellow Pages. He’s made himself quite comfortable while locating the phantom recipient who’s dinner still rests on our floor…would you like to take a hot bath? Though a moment later his aggravation starts to resonate, tracking down tacos like a lost Mother’s Day bouquet. Ellen and I look at each other wondering why this was so complicated. Seeing the way he got bounced around, you’d think he was seeking Windows tech support or something. Now the kid starts spewing expletives as the ensuing kickoff gets underway. He’s getting a little too comfortable. And while I can relate to his predicament, it’s time for him to get going. I give him the universal twirl-of-the-index-finger sign that says wrap it up baby. He gets the hint, though I have to remind him that the cell phone he’s holding still belongs to me. It’s an honest mistake, like when you pocket a pen someone’s just lent you, yet before leaving, he gives us a ranting diatribe about what a “f—king dickhead” his boss is. I refrained from telling him that he’s likely to be the first of many, as I believe it’s best to learn those hard knocks on your own. Now they’re calling him back to the restaurant, clearly something has gone very much awry. Still though, we tipped him four bucks anyway…just because. Even food delivery comes with panache in Brooklyn.
At this point I don’t recall what the score was. Our burritos were a little cold and the refried beans had morphed into spackling putty, but they still had plenty of flavor, and flavor is key. By now, the Super Bowl was simply about savoring the last morsel of football season hoping, as I do each Sunday night, that the weekend will hang around just a little longer. Like every Super Bowl, this game will be boiled down to a few plays then looped incessantly during the fortnight before the Big Game in the years to come. As for SB XLI, Ellen went to bed shortly after what’s-his-name from Indy ran Rex Grossman’s interception back for a touchdown. I at least hung around to the end while wet confetti extinguished the final embers of the 2006 season. Out, out, brief candle…it was soon time to hit the sack myself.
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