NO FRILLS, NO WORRIES

Going into Week Five with a 1-2 record, the Giants were a salesman needing a big month to offset a rough quarter. Beating the Redskins Sunday didn’t necessarily constitute a “big month”, but they satisfactorily met their goal. By winning they avoided the probationary letter this week, but to say that they’re in a secure enough position to buy that bigger house would be a bit premature. Management was reminded why they showed some patience. The Giants are reminded they’re only as good as their last game.

Coming off their bye week, the Giants had two weeks to meet, analyze and do whatever teambuilding drills were required to plug the leaks in their young season. There were tons of questions going into this game, with the biggest concerns being on the defensive end of the ball. The Giants, with all their depth on the defensive line, desperately needed some semblance of a pass rush and did; with Osi Umenyiora, Michael Strahan and Fred Robbins all getting a sack apiece. For most of the day, Redskins quarterback, Mark Brunell, was hurried, knocked around, and rarely with enough time to locate an open receiver. That said, there seems to be a noticeable disappearance from first round draft pick Mathias Kiwanuka. Kiwanuka’s play both in pre-season and the opening game against the Colts indicated a somewhat Taylorian presence. He’s quick and mean, not to mention a “find” coming out Boston College. Yet he seems to be relegated to cameo appearances. Why? Granted Michael Strahan still has some “gas in the tank”, but isn’t New York ready for some “MK?”

The other major defensive question was how well would the secondary play. In typical Washington DC fashion, the Redskins have enjoyed name-dropping their much touted “Al Saunders” offensive scheme. It took a few weeks for it to come together, but after the shootout against Jacksonville, it looked as though Brunell got ten years younger while Don Coryell sprinkled some magic dust over FedEx Field. Knowing how shredded the Giants secondary was in their previous three games, it was foreseeable that Santana Moss, Antwaan Randel El, and Chris Cooley could potentially post some career high numbers. It didn’t work out that way, as Chris Cooley, of all people, was the Skins’ top receiver with a paltry four receptions for 41 yards.

What made this victory significant was its situational timing as opposed to overall execution. In order for the Giants to have some motivation to keep playing this season, they had to beat the Skins. Plain and simple. If they didn’t, then questions of Coughlin having control of his team might snatch a morsel of the attention away from Joe Torre’s job status. Still though, (and this is when one goes on auto pilot when discussing the Giants) Big Blue showed once again that they can move the ball with great efficiency only to come up with less than seven points on all but one drive. As most of us know, this is a decades old rant starting with the Bill Arnsbarger era. Granted, the Giants didn’t have nearly as many drive stopping penalties as they did in previous games this season, but they did have a few. The most costly was an illegal pick by Jeremy Shockey that negated an Amani Toomer touchdown. Fortunately for the Giants, they didn’t need 42 points to win. Two safeties would have been enough to eclipse Washington’s lone field goal. Not every victory has to result with an impromptu block party. But this game gets them to 2-2, and with the deadlock in the NFC East behind Philadelphia, this game might be regarded as the springboard that kept the season alive.

Other Thoughts…

Giants Player You’ll Get To Know Better Next Week:

I have a sense that Visanthe Shiancoe, the Giants number two tight-end, is going to have a break out game next week against Atlanta. With the status of Jeremy Shockey’s ankle sill uncertain (MRI results due out soon) it looks as though Shiancoe might get a rare start. Shiancoe, though used sparingly, has shown that when he does get the ball, he holds on to it pretty well. Blocking is not his forte, in fact, you’ll have to go back to Dan Campbell (now with Detroit) to when the Giants had a tight-end that could actually block. In any case, with Shockey going into yet another season dinged up, look for Coughlin to work Shiancoe a lot more into the offensive game plan. Go ahead, read into the subtext on that one if you want. Even if Shockey did apologize for his comments after the Seattle game, I think Coughlin wants to make things a little unpleasant for New York’s favorite Okie since Mickey Mantle.

Giants Player You Got To Know Better This Week:

Tim Carter made a few key receptions Sunday against Washington. He still has to survive at least half a season before we get really exited about him. The Giants have shown patience with Carter mainly because of his speed, though that patience will continue to wear thin if the oft-injured Carter continues to drop key passes and get penalized at the most inopportune times. Each week though, Carter has gained steady ground to show he’s a legitimate third receiver after Plaxico Burress and the ageless Amani Toomer. Let’s see if that trend continues.

Five Other Football Thoughts:

1) I think it’s about time that Bill Cowher really consider retirement. After 15 years as the Steelers’ head coach, and finally winning that Super Bowl which has put him among the NFL’s elite coaches, there’s just a sense that his fire and gumption has evaporated. It’s a like a rock star who’s sold three multi-platinum albums based on angst ridden lyrics and throaty vocals. I mean, after three blockbuster albums, a house in the Hollywood Hills, and a crash pad in TriBeCa, how frustrated can one still be? What’s the fourth album going to be besides something…ummm…acoustic? That’s where I see Bill Cowher right now; as Alanis Moriseette post “Jagged Little Pill”. The loss to San Diego Sunday night proves it.

2) It’s too early to determine if Detroit Lions Head Coach Rod Marinelli is the reason to the Lions’ woeful start. Being that he’s so new, it’s easy to point the finger at Detroit’s GM, Matt Millen instead. It’s likely Millen will be ousted after this season. Too many poor draft picks, too many head coaches not succeeding (though I’m still a believer in Steve Mariucci), too many free agent busts. However, while catching the final seconds of the Detroit-Minnesota game Sunday, I watched Rod Marinelli waddle with a militant gait, like he’s got a thermometer in his lower orifice, with a clipboard stuck in the front of his pants, and I couldn’t help but think that this guy has the leadership skills of an anvil. Now I could be wrong here. After all, if you looked at Albert Einstein, you wouldn’t necessarily think he was a genius. But still, there are those types that strike an intuitive chord right off the bat, and I am sorry, but I’m just so not sold on Rod Marinelli. Based on Detroit’s current winless record, it doesn’t look like his team is either. With the exception of Andy Reid, seldom do position coaches ever make for good head coaches.

3) The St. Louis Rams are the most under-the-radar 4-1 team in the NFL right now.

4) The Dallas-Philadelphia match-up was one of the best games so far this season. But the hype around T.O. returning to Philly was about as overblown as the 1983 TV Movie “The Day After”. For those who don’t recall that movie, or weren’t born then, “The Day After” was about a nuclear attack on Lawrence, Kansas, and for weeks there was mass hysteria about the emotional consequences this film would have on its audience. The day after America saw “The Day After” everyone scoffed at the absurdity of the media hype. I mean, it was just TV…entertainment…and a B-movie at best, even if it did star the late Jason Robards. Ergo with T.O. coming to Philly. For God’s sake, he’s just a painfully insecure wide receiver who can’t keep his mouth shut, not Idi Amin coming out of exile. Extra security my foot, it would be better used guarding the Liberty Bell.

5) If there’s a team in the NFL that could use a youth movement right now, it’s the Buffalo Bills. It’s tough enough that they hail from a frigid Rust Belt city that’s seen better days, but to have two octogenarians run the show doesn’t suggest the Bills are on the cusp of football precocity. Throw in Dick Juron, a yard sale pick-up of a coach, and you’ve got the NFL’s version of Orange Julius from a mall built in 1973. Time for the Bills to find the next Jack Del Rio…now.

THE SNYDER INN

The Giants got what Sunday’s are generally intended for last week, rest. After back-to-back road games against two of the NFL’s better teams, they’ll have an extra week to prepare for a home game against the Washington Redskins. In theory, the Giants should have the advantage here. But as it’s been incessantly stated, the Giants are generally awful when coming off their bye. They also know that Washington will be ready to play after coming off a big OT victory against Jacksonville the week before.

It’s hard to gauge what kind of team the Redskins are this year. While Clinton Portis was hurt for the first two games, and Mark Brunell was ready to be shipped to the mothball fleet, it looked as though the Redskins were looking at yet another season that failed to live up to the hype. Now after trouncing Houston and beating the bruising Jaguars a week later, the ‘Skins are looking like a team that’s indeed to be reckoned with.

Nevertheless, despite the cottage industry that Daniel Snyder has turned his favorite football team into, when it’s come to winning overall, it’s been a whole different story. To use an everyday analogy, the Washington Redskins are like that poorly located hotel which every city has. One year stands a Howard Johnson’s, the next a Days Inn, and the year after a La Quinta. In other words, lots of new looks but the same old results. Would things be any different for The Snyder Inn?

In 1999 it was The Snyder’s Inn’s turn to see what they could do with this hexed location. The new owner (Daniel Snyder), short in stature but shrewd in nature, has lofty goals and begins to shake things up right away. His first step is to fire the existing manager (Norv Turner). Apparently he’d been there for way too long. The staff was getting complacent; making beds and cleaning toilets with a noticeable lack of joie, not to mention that the hotel was seldom full. Unfortunately it happens to be peak season when this decision is made, and so the market for a new GM is tight. Begrudgingly, Mr. Snyder promotes his Assistant Night Manager (Terry Robiskie) to ride things out, but isn’t encouraging about him being his man for the long haul. Seeing the writing on the wall, Robiskie soon finds greener pastures in Cleveland. Not sure what to do, Mr. Snyder takes a more conventional route, and offers the management of his property to an industry veteran who’s been around the block (Marty Schottenheimer). He’s not the sexiest recruit, but at least Schottenheimer knows what he’s doing. Neither men seemed thrilled with the situation, yet both realize they need each other for the time being. Schottenheimer is known as an old retread who can get a place turned around, but never up to the five star level. He’s also aware that his new boss knows this, and sees that he’s still meeting other potential managers for lunch. For at least the next year or so, Schottenheimer knows he’s got a steady paycheck, but afterwards, well, who knows? Nevertheless, regardless of who’s running the place, Snyder needs to spend money and jazz things up. He decides first to build a modern exercise room (Bruce Smith). Then he goes about building a swimming pool (Deion Sanders). With no limit to what he can spend, he puts in a restaurant that spins (Jeff George); then he installs satellite TV in every room (Dan “Big Daddy” Wilkinson). But where are the guests? Why isn’t the Snyder Inn booked solid three months in advance? Something is still amiss.

So Mr. Snyder realizes his fledgling hotel still needs something else to make it sparkle. No doubt a lot of money has been poured into the place, and people had been taking notice, but what was keeping the Snyder Inn from really taking off? “Ah-ha”, the ambitious young owner thought, it was no longer about bells and whistles, it was about themes and style; an unorthodox way of doing things. Schottenheimer was fine at keeping the books and seeing that the place was clean, but it wasn’t enough to get the staff, or his guests, really exited. While attending a hospitality convention, Mr. Snyder met this hotshot professor from the University of Florida (Steve Spurrier). Apparently, he gave a whizbang presentation that immediately struck a chord with Mr. Snyder. It was all about numbers, big numbers…the kind of numbers that would instantly make the Snyder Inn one of the hottest properties in town. Mr. Snyder had something to prove, and he didn’t like seeing these expensive amenities being underutilized. But Snyder’s ego yearned for more than just proving something to his critics, he wanted to embarrass them as well, and there was no better way of doing it then posting gaudy numbers for everyone to see.

There was only one catch. Steve Spurrier’s theories had never been tested in the real world. While ensconced in the provincial world of academia, he was a star. Some even said he was brilliant, though he never practiced his own work where the going got tough. This posed a huge dilemma for Spurrier, either remain in his cozy little hole in Gainesville, or step beyond his comfort zone to show he was for real. The former gave empty security; the latter, precarious fulfillment. Either way it was a tough call until Mr. Snyder broke out his tattered checkbook.

As he expected, Schottenheimer got his one year managing the Snyder Inn before being let go in favor of a man who was sure to make a big splash no matter what. Snyder, who was no stranger to generating publicity himself, announced a big press conference once Spurrier came to town. He said all the right things, and gave hints about his big plan to turn the Snyder Inn into a stalwart property, though without ever getting specific. At last Daniel Snyder had the guy he really wanted running his place. Happy days were finally on the horizon.

Naturally, things didn’t shoot right out of the gate. But that was OK, Snyder figured the magic lamp just needed some extra rubbing. Spurrier organized various promotions that had worked marvelously in Gainesville, such as Hawaiian luaus, beach volleyball, clambakes and two-for-one Jell-O shots on certain nights. To some extent, he got the locals to stop by once in a while, but what the Snyder Inn desperately needed was full occupancy – overnight guests – to achieve the stratospheric numbers that Spurrier was supposed to bring. It seemed that all Spurrier could do was bring a party atmosphere to a place where people didn’t really come to party. Sure they moved a lot of booze and chicken wings, but the real money was renting rooms to folks with deep pockets -- adults in other words. And after a short while, it was clear that Spurrier’s head was still in the deepest galaxies of the collegiate universe. He was damn expensive to boot.

Once again Snyder was in a pickle. Not only was the Snyder Inn considered the Edsel among local hotels, there was considerable snickering going behind Snyder’s back as well. The gist of the chatter was that the whole is always greater than the sum of the parts, and the fancy, brand name parts that Snyder purchased were grossly overpriced, didn’t fit, and had expired warranties. “He had enough lemons to sink a fleet of barges”, one tradesman said. “But they only made enough lemonade to fill a thimble.” Snyder felt both fleeced and humiliated, but he was smart enough not to fling Spurrier back to the world of tweed and bubbly co-eds; at least not yet. Snyder knew that firing Spurrier too soon would be a huge admission that he hadn’t a clue to what he was doing; which is the last thing in the world he wanted to admit. And since Spurrier was still under contract, and making the sum of a small state’s lotto jackpot, Snyder decided to change things up with a laissez-faire approach. In essence, he was no longer going to be that rich micro-managing owner, instead he was going to let his guys run things their way, have some breathing room…maybe even a little fun. By doing it this way, when Spurrier got fired the following year, it wasn’t by Snyder’s volition, but because Spurrier pushed his head through the noose on his own. Secondly, while letting Spurrier do his little rah-rah thing by himself, Snyder had more time to pull what would be the ultimate coup in his brief history with the Snyder Inn.

Rather than focus so much on the future, Snyder delved into the past. It seemed that distancing himself from the day-to-day operations of the Snyder Inn was doing him some good. He did some research, and went to the library to learn more about the hotel he was struggling to own. At one time, he learned, the location where the Snyder Inn now stood was one of the region’s most prestigious properties, the Cooke Hotel. Adored by his staff, the hotel’s founder, Mr. Jack Kent Cooke, was known as a bit of an eccentric, not to mention a philanderer. However, when it came to running a first class operation, few other owners were ever in his league. It was here where the movie stars, foreign dignitaries and senators stayed. In fact, one of Cooke’s most frequent guests was Bobby Kennedy. So often did the Senator stay at the Cooke Hotel, that after he was assassinated in 1968, Mr. Cooke renamed his main banquet hall the RFK Room. It was in the RFK Room where the hotel’s most glorious memories took place.

Cooke though, didn’t do it all on his own. He was a great judge of character, often hiring solid managers who’d ultimately do even greater things, but there was one particular manager who elevated the Cooke Hotel to the top echelons of the industry (Joe Gibbs). Gibbs was a modest man with a Southern drawl that at first seemed like a misfit for such an established property. Nevertheless, he commanded respect that his reserved manner might otherwise conceal. Despite Gibbs’ illustrious career, he didn’t go without his challenges; showing his resiliency by reaching the pinnacle of success while forging through two labor strikes. In addition, he also had the misfortune of witnessing one of his best employees lose his leg on the job. Perhaps what Gibbs was best remembered for was getting the everyday worker to be as productive as possible. “He had a bunch of these big fat guys working here called ‘The Hogs’,” recalled a former employee. “But after a while those ‘Hogs’ became the backbone of the hotel. They were a hard charging bunch of guys, and everyone else followed suit.” Still though, with all the accolades and adoration Gibbs’ received after twelve years of service, it was time to move on.

While researching, Snyder learned about all the supporting characters that made the Cooke Hotel so special. There was a crazy bartender named Riggins countered by a more sedate concierge named Monk. The poor guy who lost his leg was named Joe. All these different personalities working as one cohesive unit. Snyder thought if he could only get a guy like Gibbs to run his place he’d be set. Then the “eureka” moment struck him, why not try to lure Gibbs himself?

Gibbs however, had left the hotel business all together and was now immersed as a team owner in the world of motor sports. Racing was big business, and watching cars speed around an oval track was far less stressful than running a major hotel. But even if it was an easier lifestyle for Gibbs, Snyder thought, there had to be void from the hotel business that racing just couldn’t fill. Was rubbing elbows with mechanics really as glamorous as schmoozing the Hollywood A-List? Not that the Snyder Inn even catered to the Hollywood G-List, but, well, Gibbs didn’t need to know that right away. In any case, Snyder would keep things open-ended to gauge Gibbs’ interest. If Gibbs still gave Snyder some pushback, Snyder figured he could just buy him off. He was right.

While Gibbs and Snyder secretly hammered out their negotiations, Steve Spurrier started whining about how homesick he was for campus life again. Even the most grizzled alumni were nothing compared to the sharks who stayed at the Snyder Inn. And now of all things, several rooms had become infested with mice. Spurrier tells his boss that if he has to remain in the awful world of accountability for much longer, he just might have a nervous breakdown. “Forget about the contract,” Spurrier pleads. “Just let me go home.” Snyder happily acquiesced, and, just as he planned it, made sure that Spurrier publicly blamed himself for squandering the dream job of working for him. The revolving door spins again.

The announcement of Joe Gibbs returning to where it all began took place on a frigid January morning in 2004. Had the President been shot that same day, it’s doubtful if anyone would have noticed. Of course it was a whole new organization, where the industry had rapidly changed since he stepped down in 1993, in a building that’s completely foreign from the Cooke Hotel. Nevertheless, it was still on the same piece of land, and now he was a far richer man than he ever needed to be. Which made many wonder…what the hell was he doing this for anyway?

Regardless of Gibbs’ motivation, it was pretty clear what Snyder’s was, and that was to tell the rest of the hospitality world to GET OFF MY BACK. Snyder’s attempt to lob a grenade at the naysayers, via Spurrier, only resulted in the same grenade blowing up in his lap. He learned his lesson about gimmicky hires, and now by orchestrating Gibbs’ comeback, Snyder pulled off the recruitment version of D-Day. People were impressed, and more importantly, they shut up. Snyder was finally for real, he hoped.

Since Gibbs came on board, the Snyder Inn has seen a healthy boost in occupancy. Room rates, naturally, have been jacked-up, and there’s now a gift shop where Snyder Inn sweatshirts can be bought for $30.00. Parking which previously was for free, now costs guests an additional $17.50 a day. And for $21.00, one can have a lukewarm cheeseburger sent to their room. For the most part, staying at the Snyder Inn feels no different than paying $36.00 for free-range chicken at a celebrity owned restaurant. Seldom does having one’s wallet siphoned feel so good.

While Gibbs’ presence is still felt throughout the Snyder Inn, he’s relinquished some of the control that he kept in the past. Sales and marketing have been almost entirely delegated to a seasoned professional (Al Saunders), while operations is completely in the hands of another (Gregg Williams). With this management team in place, the Snyder Inn is confident that while increasing profitability they’ll achieve what they’re ultimately striving for, credibility. As for quality control, there are still some consistency issues. Overall satisfaction from the guests isn’t quite where it needs to be yet, and there are some noticeable swoons with the production of certain employees. Job related injuries are also a concern. But all in all, if Snyder’s dream of having a five star property is ever going to be realized, this is the team that’s going to get it done. If not, then it’s time to see the Snyder Inn boast the name of another billionaire with bigger ideas and an even bigger head.

BIRD FLU INFECTS BIG BLUE

Jim Fassel was the master at striking early only to see his lead slip away, Tom Coughlin likes to hand the game over with hopes of stealing it back. Imagine if the Giants played football for four full quarters? For the second consecutive season, the Giants traveled to Seattle play the Seahawks. The original production was marginal at best, the sequel is ten times worse.

It’s hard to determine what reeked most about this debacle, though the bad buzz started before the Giants even landed in Latte Land. Much like last year’s drubbing in San Diego, where the defense just weighed down the plane, the Giants were teed up to fail all during the preceding week. Though the truth was severely skewed, the Chargers’ crafty media office got their traditionally passive fans riled up about Eli Manning – the quarterback who spurned their team – coming to town. It was successful propaganda, generating a raucousness that made San Diego sound like Rome after the World Cup. In Seattle, it was a similar set of circumstances. Earlier in the week it was leaked that a particular team (hmmm…the Giants perhaps???) had suggested to the league office that the high decibel levels coming from Seattle’s Qwest Field were contributed to artificial noise being piped through the stadium’s P.A. system. The Seattle media couldn’t resist when they caught wind of this, portraying the Giants as whiney New Yorkers complaining as if their bagels’ weren’t buttery enough. So with the hope of a noiseless Qwest Field quashed, the Giants arrived looking uglier than the Fremont Troll.

When asked about the crowd noise, Giants’ Head Coach Tom Coughlin said, “It sounded like Sunday afternoon.” Nobody says that playing on the road is easy, but crowd noise can be controlled by the visiting team. For a professional football team to stress the adverse affects of crowd noise is like a comedian blaming a “rough audience” for getting no laughs. Rather than moan about a hostile house, good comics still go out and deliver funny stuff. As for the Giants crying about Seattle’s “12th Man”, good teams simply play well in order to shut them up; which, if you can recall any defensive highlights from this game, did occur on the very first play when Corey Webster wrestled the ball from Darrell Jackson for an interception. For a moment it looked that both Jackson and Webster had equal possession of the ball, which by rule, has the tie going to the offense. So luck, at least between sips of Gatorade, was in Big Blue’s favor as well.

Yet in a matter of a few plays, the break the Giants so badly needed was squandered by a slew of turnovers, porous line play, non-existent pass rush and a secondary covering from different zip codes. As a result the loud got louder, forcing three procedure penalties. Perhaps Luke Petitgout, Kareem McKenzie and Dave Diehl should form a singing trio called “The False Starts”. Anything would sound better than giving reasons for trailing 35-3 at the half, which, incidentally, was the widest halftime deficit in the Giants’ 82 year history. After the game, Jeremy Shockey, the Giants’ “volatile” tight end, went on record to say the Giants were outplayed and outcoached.

Which they were…

After all, with all the focus the Giants have put on the defensive line in recent years, how else can a line consisting of Osi Umenyiora, Michael Strahan, Fred Robbins, et al, suddenly look like an instant scab team? Last week in Philadelphia, the Eagles thwarted whatever line pressure the Giants had with screen pass after screen pass. And when they didn’t do that, they made a star out of tight end LJ Smith who did nothing fancier than run slant patterns all day long. Outcoached? It’s not like Andy Reid tried to replicate the siege at Vicksburg. For Seattle it wasn’t much more complicated, just force the Giants to play in nickel and dime coverage all day so Matt Hasselbeck has enough time to sort through his recyclables. For extra measure, put in a gimpy Shaun Alexander and you’ve got a line that’s waiting for the play instead of pursuing the point of attack. Shockey was indeed right that Seattle showed them things they hadn’t seen before. Last year the Seahawks won by running down the Giants’ throat, this year it was Air Holmgren until garbage time forced Seattle to chew the clock up on the ground. In essence, the Giants brought green screens against a team owned by Paul Allen.

Upon gladly leaving the state of Washington, the Giants will prepare during their bye week to host the Redskins from Washington, DC. As always for Big Blue, the bye week presents a Giant paradox. With many players already banged up, the rest is surely welcome. Then again, fewer teams have been more dreadful than the Giants when coming off their bye; going just 3-14 since the 17-week season was introduced in 1989. Whether the Giants are able to purge the past of let the Seattle stew simmer is to be determined. Should it be the latter, then crowd noise from the road may be welcome compared to the deadly silence at home.

JUST SIGN THE DAMN RECEIVER

You can take a wide receiver out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of a wide receiver. So with that said, Keyshawn Johnson, who now claims he loved playing in New York, was across the Hudson on Tuesday to meet with Big Blue about a second stint in the Meadowlands, this time as a Giant instead of a Jet. It’s an interesting thought, especially since Keyshawn Johnson identifies himself with Los Angeles more than a David Lee Roth video. And as we all know, many Californians who’ve played for the Jets and Giants have said that winds of Giants Stadium, and it’s immediate surroundings, remind them of the breezes of Redondo Beach. Personally, I love the smell of Bain de Soleil while driving past the fuel tanks of Carteret, not to mention all those pick-up volleyball games at the Grover Cleveland Service Area.

All kidding aside, signing Keyshawn Johnson to the Giants could be interesting provided that the money’s right and (and this is a big and) that Keyshawn Johnson understands his role from the get-go (think Alfonso Soriano). True, he’s a chronic malcontent when not in the proper system, but with Tom Coughlin giving Plaxico Burress the kick in the ass he needed early in the season, as well as the fact that he was a wide receivers coach under Bill Parcells’ tutelage in the 1980s, Johnson and Coughlin just might be that oddball couple who winds up growing old together. For years, Johnson’s made no bones about giving his all for Bill Parcells with the Jets and Cowboys, and with Coughlin being cut from the same cloth, the loquacious Johnson just might know when to shut up if he wants to be happy.

With the Giants being about $4 million under the salary cap, signing Johnson to join an already well stocked corps of receivers may seem frivolous in terms of addressing their top priorities. One didn’t need Luminol to detect that the real bleeding came from the Giants’ linebackers and secondary. And with Will Allen signing with Miami, and Will Peterson’s career likely over, the Giants, despite acquiring Sam Madison, still have gaping holes to fill in their pass defense. On the linebacking front, it’s also been mentioned that LaVar Arrington (another chronic malcontent) would beautifully complement his former teammate Antonio Pierce, particularly in the wake of Barrett Green getting cut and Nick Greisen likely to be jettisoned as well. Word on the street is that Arrington wants around $15 million in guaranteed money before he signs with anyone. Right now it’s understood that cap-happy Cleveland is in the LaVar Arrington hunt, so signing Keyshawn Johnson could drain the Giant’s liquidity in a bidding war with the Browns.

Should Johnson become a Giant, it will expose how much those gritty seven and eight yard receptions were missed when the Giants cut Ike Hilliard in 2005. Despite the erratic, and, yes, disappointing performance of Eli Manning in the latter half of the 2005 season, the Giants offensive arsenal came with plenty of playmakers but still lacked a “go-to” receiver to move the chains. Johnson fills that void. No need to belabor all those botched third down conversions, however, a receiver like Johnson could be the final answer from taking the Giants offense beyond the cusp of contention and into prime time. Say what you want about his mouthy behavior and selfishness, Keyshawn Johnson still remains one of the toughest and most fearless receivers in the NFL. And with him as a legitimate threat in the slot position, expect another productive season by Tiki Barber enjoying the soft, drop back coverage by linebackers forced to spot Johnson. In addition, with Johnson in the scheme, the Giants could really open up the passing game by playing four wides. Such a formation could finally benefit receivers like Tim Carter and Jamaar Taylor, who have been waiting for breakout seasons for several years now. It’s no secret how Keyshawn Johnson’s presence has done much to elevate many of his past teammates into the limelight.

More than anything else, this is likely to be the final season for Giants’ General Manager, Ernie Accorsi who’s legacy will no doubt be determined by the production of Eli Manning. With yet another toy for Manning to play with, Accorsi’s betting the ranch on Manning’s pedigree may finally be insured. As for Manning though, should he have Johnson as a teammate, he’ll likely have a do-or-die type of season like Joey Harrington just had in Detroit. There is one way that Manning can shun the scrutiny…just get Keyshawn the damn ball.

COLTS, KARMA & MAYFLOWER TRUCKS

With all the weeping sentimentality leading up to the AFC Divisional Playoff’s, you’d have thought the Indianapolis Colts were the NFL’s version of the 1980 U.S. Hockey Team…”do you believe in Miracles?” Well, perhaps the official reviewing Troy Polamalu’s non-interception does. But even that wasn’t enough to allow America’s sports punditry their desired shmaltzfest. That said, the Colts are back in their stables, morosely looking back at their “destined” season while football’s epicenters shift to Denver and Seattle.

With the NFL clearly the Goliath of all professional sports, it would seem criminal, if not downright absurd, for them to be headquartered anywhere but New York City. However, even the mighty NFL can succumb to the deadly spores of marketing garble from nearby Madison Avenue. And with Tony Dungy, a black, mild mannered coach who’s even less innocuous to white audiences than Morgan Freeman, and Peyton Manning, the tall white quarterback who hails from football’s most blessed gene pool, you have all the elements in place to sell the Colts the way Proctor & Gamble sells Tide. Add in Manning’s hometown being ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, and Tony Dungy losing his eldest son before Christmas…and, well, what’s stopping a shiny bow from being tied around this Hollywood script of a season?

While the temperatures got colder, the Colts presumably got hotter. Oh yes, they were 13-0 as December rolled in, but they were not just any 13-0 team, they were perhaps the most “complete” 13-0 team of all time. Sure there have been past juggernauts. The ’85 Bears are often the first to come to mind, but they lacked proper “balance”. Too defensively oriented, some said, not to mention lacking a durable quarterback in Jim McMahon. Still, they won the Super Bowl by trouncing the New England Patriots 46-10. Then there were the ’98 Broncos who also went 13-0 en route to winning their second Super Bowl. Yet despite their dominance, they too came with chinks in their armor; hinging too much of their fate on the aging arm of John Elway. But these Colts…these 2005 Indianapolis Colts…had every nook and cranny filled. They could run, block, pass…oh could they pass…and better yet, this year’s model came with a defense. Add on the most accurate kicker in NFL history, and here was a team with more bells and whistles than the 1958 Edsel. What could possibly go wrong?

Early signs of slippage came as the Colts let up towards the end of the regular season. Sure they lost to San Diego, a team that could beat anybody when they had their act together; which they did when they handed the Colts their first loss on December 18th. So history wouldn’t be rewritten, and Don Shula, Nick Buoniconti and the rest of the 1972 Dolphins could breath a sigh of relief knowing their perfect season remained solely intact. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Past teams like the ’85 Bears and ’98 Broncos both went on record to say that they were relieved from the pressure of replicating the Dolphins’ perfect season when they finally took their first loss. So now the Colts could focus on what really mattered most, winning the Super Bowl. But rather than step up to make a statement that they to be feared in the post season, Indy took the safe route and rested its starters; losing again to Seattle and then eking out a win against the moribund Arizona Cardinals in Week 17. For all the mushy rah-rah we were supposed to embrace with the Colts, a backlash was looming.

And what is it about these guys that’s so great anyway? Peyton Manning gets paid $98 million to quarterback the Colts. Granted he works hard and probably watches more game film than aspiring pilots log hours in the air, but with that kind of salary, what’s to make him tug at our hearts more than a Trent Dilfer, Jeff Hostetler, Doug Williams or Kurt Warner? The gulf of talent between these guys and Peyton Manning stretches multiple area codes, yet, unlike Manning, they all won Super Bowls for their teams. And Marvin Harrison? Indeed, he gets the nod for his professional demeanor in a position synonymous with self-aggrandizement. The NFL could probably use more Marvin Harrison’s and fewer Terrell Owens’, but you’d be hard pressed to see him take a hit across the middle. When Marvin Harrison isn’t in the end zone, he’s sprinting for the sidelines or diving to the turf so he doesn’t get hurt. Say what you want about the shenanigans of guys like T.O., Michael Irvin and Keyshawn Johnson, at least they weren’t afraid to take their shots. As for Edgerrin James, his number 32 jersey and gangsta persona reminds us of O.J. Simpson in more ways than one.

Then of course you have Tony Dungy seeing his “storybook” season marred by the tragic death of his 18-year-old son. Surely nobody wants to wish this upon anyone, much less a very decent guy like Tony Dungy. But in all fairness, fans like coaches for who they are, how they coach, and how they cope with adversity on the field, not by what happens off the field, even when it comes to losing a son. America didn’t suddenly bleed Yankee pinstripes during the World Series after 9/11, nor we did become instant Colt fans because of Dungy’s tragedy. If anything, we may have felt a bit manipulated by the whole thing. Hence more anti-Colt backlash.

Finally there’s the intangible element that’s yet to be brought up. So at the risk of sounding a little earthy, I make this point. The untold truth of the Colts failing again is because they are still in karmic debt from bolting from Baltimore in 1984. It was a surprise and sleazy move, where the footage of Mayflower trucks leaving in the middle of the night remains etched in our minds like that of the Zapruder Film. The Colts were the soul of Baltimore; which at the time was so depressed it banked its economic future on the success of a new aquarium. A blue-collar city where business lunches consist of spiced crab and draft beer, Baltimorians found out via the local news that their storied franchise had up-and-left to a sterile, Midwestern city known best for a speedway before dawn. A new stadium awaited the Colts in Indianapolis – a dome of all things – while Memorial Stadium was left to rust. Through another ugly uprooting of a beloved franchise from Cleveland, Baltimore eventually got a new team in 1996. In fact, their replacement team even won a Super Bowl in 2001. But saying the Ravens are the same to Baltimore is like saying Sammy Hagar is the same to Van Halen fans raised on the kicks and screams of David Lee Roth. The wound may have stopped bleeding, but the scar tissue remains.

As for kicks and screams, Colts’ kicker Mike Vanderjagt provided plenty for all that were watching Sunday’s defeat to Pittsburgh. More than a just a kicker who could tie the game in the final seconds, Vanderjagt was thrust into the role as the Colts’ lone representative to the karmic parole board. As he got ready to attempt his 46-yard field goal, the Steelers called time out to “ice” the kicker, and perhaps, give an extra moment for the Powers-That-Be to deliberate. The ball was snapped, Vanderjagt planted his left leg and then watched, watched, watched the ball badly sail wide to the right off his kicking foot. Clearly a verdict had been reached…

PAROLE DENIED.

LOOKING LIKE WHAT THE CATS BROUGHT IN

Despite the mild January temperatures, low winds and raucous crowd, you’d have better luck finding a spark with two twigs than what the Giants brought to the field. And while LT, Harry Carson and Carl Banks were brought in for inspiration, the way the Giants linebackers played, perhaps they should have suited up instead. Even the toll collectors on the Jersey Turnpike could have stopped the run better. Oh, but if only the linebackers were the problem…

In the opening minutes of the game, the Giants, who were hosting their first playoff game in five years, seemed poised to cash in on home field advantage. Their opening kick coverage was fast and swift; of which Carolina stumbled with two false start penalties, not to mention having a frazzled Jake Delhomme looking sucked in beneath a Big Blue undertow. Unfortunately, the currents quickly changed, of which the stench of low tide lingered for the rest of this agonizing game.

It’s hard to pinpoint where the game turned, but the Giant’s recent formula as the sleepy dinosaur coming to life shouldn’t have been in their playoff game plan. They had a chance to seize control early, as they moved the ball nicely on their opening drive, only then failing to convert while passing on a third and two on Carolina’s 45-yard-line. Somehow, somewhere that seemed to send a message that the door was wide open, even if it was only the opening minutes of the game. Didn’t they learn anything for their dismal loss to Washington two weeks ago?

In terms of performance, Eli Manning (10/18, 133 yards, 3 INT’s) was simply awful. Sure, one could say it was his first NFL playoff game, but Manning’s “aw shucks” demeanor seems better fit for Baskin-Robbins than it does the NFL. Early in the season, we were in awe of his “poise” and “composure”, not to mention his being uncannily unflappable. Instead, it’s quite obvious that Manning now needs a wet towel snapped on his ass before each possession. Beating the Giants is simple: force Manning to win the game on his own and watch him lead the Giants’ head right through the noose. And with Tiki Barber relegated to a supporting role (13/41), Manning was rowing with just one oar.

While Manning couldn’t get anything going all day, it was Carolina’s simple exploitation of the Giants’ porous run defense that put this one away early. With the Giant linebackers looking sent over from a temp agency, Carolina ran the ball with a scheme simple enough for a Pop Warner team to follow. No draws, no counters, just rammed it right down the Giants’ throats with balanced production by DeShaun Foster and Nick Goings. Perhaps the most incriminating case of this came late in the first half after Jeff Feagles pinned Carolina to their own 7-yard-line. With the Giants only down by a touchdown, and a 3rd and 7 situation looming for the Panthers, a stop on this play would force a punt and presumably give good field position for the Giants to score. The Giants instead allowed Carolina to convert with a screen to Goings. Three plays later, Carolina faced a 3rd and 11 from their own 18-yard-line. Same scenario for the Giants, yet again  Carolina runs Goings up the middle for a first down. When the Giants finally did force a punt, Carolina still gets the ball back, as the Giants muffed the return as the result of a bad punt gone good. Somehow, the Panthers were only up 10-0 at the half.

There are plays that speak volumes in games even though they may not have had much impact on the overall outcome. The Giants have been playing on the defensive in recent weeks. First by an ugly, unconvincing win against Philadelphia, then by getting manhandled at Washington, and finally by surviving a lackluster yawn-athon in Oakland on New Year’s Eve. Sure they’ve won games, just as Silicon Valley produced paper millionaires, but there’s been very little meat besides what Tiki Barber has done recently. In Sunday’s game against Carolina, the one play that may have ignited some badly needed mojo came with an asterisk. It came in the opening play of the third quarter on a 44-yard floater to Jeremy Shockey. Sure Shockey caught the ball, then it squirted out, but thanks to a quick whistle he was ruled down by contact. After numerous replays it seemed pretty apparent that Shockey did indeed fumble. But because he was ruled “down by contact” the play could not be reviewed. In essence, the Giants biggest play of the day was fraud. They knew it, and carried out the rest of the drive, and game, as if they didn’t deserve it.

Ironically, Tim Lewis, the Giants defensive coordinator, will interview with Green Bay and St. Louis in the wake of one of the most abysmally played performances by his squad. No doubt he’ll have some tough questions to answer. The Giants too, have plenty answers to search for; starting with a long look in the locker room mirror.

COWBOYS EIGHTY SIXED IN MEADOWLANDS

Maybe it had to do something with Bill Parcells being back in Giants Stadium, but the way the Giants played Sunday, one would think he was still at the helm of Big Blue. In a 17-10 slugfest against the Cowboys, the Giants looked so 1986 that one had to wonder if Leonard Marshall wasn’t wearing Kendrick Clancy’s number 70 jersey or if Carl Banks wasn’t Antonio Pierce’s stunt double. All that was missing was a punt return cameo by Phil McConkey to cap the afternoon.

Like the days of yesteryear, the defense stepped up where the Giants offense let down. For those longing for old school defensive play, they got everything and a bag of chips. On the flip side, the Giants molluskine movement of the ball made their receiving corps look like clones of Ernest Grey. In many ways it’s hard to believe the Giants were the highest scoring team in September; even drawing juxtapositions to the Air Coryell Chargers for about fifteen minutes.

For Manning it wasn’t a great game. In fact it was a bad game, with one interception that cost them a chance to score and another that all but handed Dallas a touchdown on a silver platter. Sure he’s had great quarters; great fourth quarters, but you’d have to go back to October before Manning has had a completely solid game. As for Sunday’s performance, well, he had good pass protection, with greatly improved left line play by Luke Petitgout (only one false start) and Dave Diehl. Running wise, Tiki Barber 30-115 did his share to keep the pressure off his young QB, however Manning still connected with his receivers like satellite TV in a thunderstorm.

It was also a game of missed opportunities for individuals to step up in a big game. For a few seasons, several Giant players have hung around but have only been used sparingly. Wide receiver Tim Carter has been among them. No doubt he’s got great speed, but Carter has been injury prone and thus never in position to become the “go-to” receiver. He had his shot Sunday, where the entire tone of the game could have shifted had he not dropped a 54-yard bomb while covered by a gimpy Aaron Glenn. He doesn’t get that many chances, plays like that help to explain why.

Defensively, cornerback Frank Walker had his chance to shine in the opening series as the Giants played nickel and dime formations all day long. Flagged first for a stupid pass interference penalty that sustained the drive, Walker got an even more stupid personal foul penalty a few plays later. Welcome to the doghouse express.

Then there’s Jay Feely, making a Namath-esque promise that he’ll hit every kick. He made one low-pressure field goal with the wind to his back. But the one that would have iced the game with a two-possession lead Feely botched; ricocheting the ball off the right upright from just 33 yards out. Not since Ali Haji-Sheik has a Giant place kicker risen and fallen so fast. He’ll soon be going down the road Feely bad if he doesn’t return to form.

Just as some opportunities were missed, others grabbed the reigns. Jim Finn, the Giants underutilized receiving fullback, made a critical drive-sustaining run late in the game. And since Ivy League players are all the rage with the performance of the Rams’ QB Ryan Fitzpatrick from Harvard, perhaps some noise should be made for Jim Finn who went the University of Pennsylvania. Not sure why he’s not used more in screen options, or in third down situations like that of Parcellian niche player Tony Galbreath, but the Giants did make a priority of re-signing him during the off-season. Would like to see more from Mr. Finn.

Justin Tuck, a defensive star waiting in the wings (who also looks a lot like Carl Banks) got his first career sack. A special teams standout throughout the season, Justin Tuck is filling nicely in the interior line play for the injured William Joseph. One play that really looked great was when the Giants stacked their “book ends”, Osi Umenyiora and Michael Strahan, on the left side which gave Tuck a clean lane to Drew Bledsoe from the right. This kid has been on my watch all season.

What really seemed interesting about this game was the indifference the crowd showed for the offense and the passion they showed for the defense. When Feely missed that second field goal, for sure a cascade of boos would fall upon him. But no, that’s not what happened, instead there was a sense that indeed, the Giants defense will not fail. Soooo 1986. A few months ago, Big Blue was tagged as “not your father’s New York Giants”. Well, if this game is any indication, I think Daddy has done much to repossess his old team. After all, New Yorkers hate change even more than they hate the Dallas Cowboys.

OH PLEASE, NOT APPLEBEE'S

“Oh that is such bull$*&t,” I said after seeing a television commercial for Applebee’s during Sunday football. The spot went something like this. It’s closing time at Applebee’s, while the TV news reports their high school football team losing a real heartbreaker. The staff pouts their heads. You can see it, this one really hurt. Man if there were ever a place where these boys could find a dose of encouragement; an “attaboy” about keeping their chins up, it was here at Applebee’s. Oh, but wait, Applebee’s is closing up for the night, and…oh no…of all things, the team bus just pulled up! Jeez, not now, not in this deep state of gridiron malaise. A few players hop off the bus, where seeing the dark Applebee’s sinks their morale even further. But wait, there’s hope. The kid wiping the bar says, “I can stay for a while,” as if ready to lay sandbags behind a swelling levee. The rest of gang decides they can stay too! And who were we to assume this is just another corporate restaurant chain? Finally the manager, all swell and avuncular, opens the door and says, “Come on in boys, I bet you’re hungry.” Applebee’s to the rescue…THE END.

As I wiped the oozing contrivances from my television set, I wondered if this ad was focus grouped anywhere besides Mayberry. I mean, I’ve eaten at Applebee’s before, and they’re generally a friendly bunch, even without pinning bonhomie on their suspenders. However, to position themselves as a late night support group is preposterous. You’d have thought Walter Cronkite just delivered some somber news from Dallas the way this ad began. Clearly these ads are a preemptive strike to avoid being an accomplice in the continuous raping of Main Street. The message: Applebee’s obviously cares about the towns whose outskirts they reside in, unlike, say, the big bad Wal-Mart across the highway. And yet, other than Manhattan, one would be hard pressed to find this “local” eatery anywhere besides spitting distance from the Interstate. So much for “Eatin’ Good in the Neighborhood” as their slogan suggests.

I called a number of Applebee’s stores around the country, just to see what kind of neighborhood presence they really had. According to Applebee’s website, 75 percent of their stores are individually franchised; so there’s your grassroots connection, I guess. Their stores are also supposed to have a “neighborhood message board” posting community affairs. So what’s on that board at the Applebee’s in Chantilly, Virginia? “Let me check,” Kelly, the cheerful assistant manager, said. After a moment of pleasant hold music, she comes back on, “There’s nothing up there,” she said. “But seriously, if you have something, by all means let us know.” Great. When asked the same question in Aurora, Colorado, I got the menu specials, where an extra push was put on the shrimp scampi. I rephrased the question, where I was then told they participated in some fundraising with a regional hospital. OK, but was this fundraising effort initiated by this particular Applebee’s? “It’s done as part of the Mountain Division,” she said. Nice, but not exactly a direct link to the community.

I then called the Applebee’s in Mesquite, Texas near Dallas. Of all the stores contacted, this location seemed to have the greatest community involvement. Andy, one of the managers, told me “We have fundraisers with the drill teams and cheerleaders at Horn High School all the time.” Happy to hear this, I asked where he was in case I’m passing through Dallas, “On the service road next to I-635, between Home Depot and Kohls.” For some reason, I’m betting this isn’t a spot where kids play stickball in the street.

Car washes are also a popular fundraising event at Applebee’s. Anthony, in Edison, New Jersey said “We did…umm…one in late August, I think.” He wasn’t sure about doing anything with the local schools, but said laughingly, “we do hang up a few team pictures.” When talking to Danny, a five year veteran with the chain in Tucson, about the TV commercial being aired, he chuckled, “Well, I don’t know if I can convince everyone to stay if a bus pulls up after we’re closed. But we do whatever we can to accommodate everyone.” Danny’s Applebee’s is located next to two other restaurants indigenous to Arizona, Red Lobster and Boston Market.

Lastly I spoke to David, the manager of the La Habra, California Applebee’s near Anaheim. “We do lots with the Boys and Girls Clubs. In December we’re doing a breakfast with Santa where all employee’s volunteer.” They do fundraisers with the police and fire departments as well. Then he added that these fundraisers were largely “a corporate thing.” “A corporate thing,” a ha, my skepticism was confirmed.

I’m sure Applebee’s also claims cleanliness and being pest free. However, with claiming a connection to their “neighborhood”, I will always smell a rat.

RAMS TAKE GIANT BATTERING

Would the person who predicted the New York Giants to be the NFL’s highest scoring team please stand up? Hello…is there anyone in the room fitting that description? Anyone? Anyone?

Yet it’s true, in the first four games the New York-Ball-Control-Chew-Up-The-Clock-Run-It-Up-The-Middle-Football-Giants have amassed 136 points, averaging 34 points per game. Perhaps some of Don Coryell’s old magic traveled back with the Giants from San Diego last week. Something, after all, had to come out of that disgraceful loss. The Giants responded in a 44-24 home dismantling of St. Louis, even playing a little defense to boot.

Starting right away the Giants fired out of the block, scoring on their first five possessions. And while the NFL focused on their game in Mexico, the Giants focused theirs around Plaxico. Plaxico Burress that is, who shined brightly after being shunned in Tom Coughlin’s doghouse the week before with ten receptions for 204 yards and two TD’s. “He’s becoming our Go-To guy,” Giants’ Center Shaun O’Hara said of Burress. “You throw the ball up in the air, and he’s bigger and stronger than most corners, and he’s gonna come down with that ball nine times out of ten.”

Manning, who in a losing effort last week, jettisoned much of his greenness remained in top form; completing 19 of 35, for 296 yards with four touchdowns and no interceptions. In all, the Giants generated 456 total yards without committing any turnovers.

The big thing about this game, however, was Tom Coughlin making strides to connect with his players. It’s been well documented about the “distance” that Coughlin has with his team. If “Gentleman” Jim Fassel was the sweet smelling rose, Coughlin is the prickly cactus whose spines can cause pain for weeks, even months at a time. Last week in San Diego, Coughlin usurped the spirit of the team with two critical decisions. The first was the opening drive where they went for the chip shot field goal instead of the touchdown on fourth and inches. The second, was again, going for the field goal with 15 seconds remaining in the first half instead of taking a shot or two in the end zone. The players were hungry and determined, but Coughlin played the part of the controlling, overprotective parent; which is always a prescription for failure. So Sunday, against St. Louis, Coughlin went for it on fourth and goal in the first quarter. Even more so, they passed on that play, rather than predictably pound it through on the ground. The ball, which blooped in the air from Manning’s arm like a mortar shell, landed acrobatically in Amani Toomer’s hands. It was Toomer’s first touchdown grab since December 28, 2003. “I just felt like that was the call, it came from the gut,” Coughlin said. “In that situation, I felt like we were there, we had driven the ball and I felt like we needed to come away with a touchdown there and Eli and Amani made a heck of a play.” It was also an apology and admission of poor conservative judgement from the week before. The Giants embraced the move with a 17-7 first quarter lead. All seemed well, the fence between team and coach was mended. Some scribes are even calling this new offense, “Air Coughlin.” That call, as the season progresses, will later be linked to the Giants’ continued success in 2005. It’s the play that will signify Coughlin and the team finally being in synch.

PLAYER TO WATCH AS THE SEASON MOVES AHEAD: Justin Tuck

On the ensuing kickoff after the Manning to Toomer touchdown play, Justin Tuck continued to set the tone with a crushing tackle. Nothing fancy, just charging hard downfield, but when he made contact, it really made a statement that said: “that door’s stayin’ closed.” He’s feisty and hungry, and has something to prove after being passed over by other teams until the Giants snatched him in the third round of the 2005 draft. Expect to see more of him as the aging Michael Strahan needs more time to catch his breath. He, like Brandon Jacobs, should give the Giants’ underrated scouting department some additional cred.

IF YOU CAN’T COVER ‘EM AT LEAST MAKE ‘EM PAY, was the message the Giants’ linebackers and secondary sent to the Rams. St. Louis couldn’t run, but they still could pass (Mark Bulger, 40-62, 442 yards, 2 TD, 3 INT). Though unlike last week in San Diego where the Giants were a bunch of arm-tackling sissies, Giant defenders made the Rams pay for their yards. Gibril Wilson snapped his sophomore slump Sunday with a brutal stick that forced one of five St. Louis turnovers. He may not be able to cover, but he does hit hard, sort of a 2005 version of Terry Kinard; and thus easier to forgive. Curtis Deloatch made us forget more about Will Peterson than Will Peterson. Shaun Williams, dinged up old mule that he is, did all he could to thank the Giants’ front office for keeping him on the roster. Nice job by linebackers Antonio Pierce and, another player in Coughlin’s doghouse for shoddy play last week, Reggie Torbor, with an interception apiece. Maybe the Giants will be one of those defenses that helps opposing players achieve their incentive clauses without giving up too many points. Not the ideal situation, but a workable one provided that the Giants’ offense continues to click. If they have to give up yards, at least do it with a mean streak. They did that Sunday against St. Louis.

BEING A LITTLE NIT-PICKY HERE BUT…Kareem McKenzie, the Giants right tackle who commanded a left tackle salary, got called for a holding penalty for the second week in a row. Last year, while with the Jets, McKenzie didn’t get called for holding the entire season. That’s not to say McKenzie hasn’t been an outstanding addition to the line, quite the contrary (as look what’s happened to the Jets’ O-line since he left), but still, the holding penalties have been noted.

The Giants have a bye next week before traveling to Dallas to face the Cowboys on October 16th. Historically, bye weeks have affected the Giants momentum like Strychnine. This year, however, the extra week to look at game film and build off their improvements should be welcome instead of as a sign for the genie to go back in the bottle. The Giants also have to show they can win outside of the 201 area code. Who better than the hated Dallas Cowboys for the Giants to make such a point?


EIGHT OTHER POINTS FROM OCTAVIO:

1) In case you’re wondering what team is ranked 31st out of 32 teams in offensive production, it’s the Baltimore Ravens, who employ Jim Fassel as their offensive coordinator. Their average points per game is 10. The Houston Texans are 32nd.

2) The Washington Redskins aren’t really 3-0 are they?


3) Tough break for the Detroit Lions in that replay. Still though, the game probably should not have gotten to the point where the outcome hinged on one play. This team is way overdue in terms of getting its act together. Would it be belaboring the obvious that Joey Harrington isn’t going to cut it?

4) The Minnesota Vikings are simply awful. Remember when Ronald Reagan told Gorbechev to tear down the Berlin Wall? Well message to new Vikings owner, Zygi Wilf: TEAR DOWN THIS DOME (which is named after Hubert Humphrey). The Vikings have never been the same after moving indoors. Make teams play in the frigid Minnesota air when they come to see you. Make only passionate fans endure the elements. Glad to hear it’s happening. Let Bud Grant cut the ribbon when the new stadium opens.


5) What happened to Buffalo? Last year’s late season darling almost had Mike Malarkey as a coach of the year candidate. Now they’re 1-3. Maybe they should go back to the throwback uniforms they wore in the first two games. Those looked good.

6) OK, kind of showing the effete side of football writing here, but I CAN’T STAND the Jets wearing green pants while on the road. For God’s sake, just wear white.


7) What media conspiracy is going on that’s afraid to say that Kansas City Chief’s defensive coordinator, Gunther Cunningham, is the most overrated, overly romanced, ineffective defensive coordinator of the last 20 years. And what’s up with those yellow glasses he wears, is he going pheasant hunting after the game? If I were a Chiefs fan, I’d load my Winchester with more than birdshot. Yellow glasses = pink slip.

8) When the Seahawks traveled to play the Skins yesterday, the score read: Seattle Washington. Well, at least I thought that was interesting.

JINTS JOLTED BY BOLTS

For the first two weeks of the season the Giants scored a lot of points, in Sunday’s 45-23 road loss to San Diego, the Giants gave them back. For a team that showed balance in just about every area against the Cardinals and Saints, it appeared that only the Giants’ offense made the cross-country flight while the defense remained stuck in Newark.

Eli Manning heard it loud and often in a raucous Qualcomm Stadium, a venue not really known for its “hostility” unless they’re feeling the pain of a jilted lover. Manning, as it was incessantly publicized in the previous week, spurned the Chargers after being taken by them in the first round of the 2004 draft. Now he was going to hear about it, and did. Of course that was the “official” story anyway. Somehow it was forgotten that San Diego’s front office bled the Giants for a king’s ransom in order to put Manning in the Meadowlands. The Chargers drafted Manning for his leverage, not his arm, yet somehow this was spun wholly as the kid’s decision. Kudos goes to the Chargers’ PR department with assisting in this win.

In the opening drive, Manning remained unfazed as the boos and jeers rained down from the crowd. The Giants moved the ball with precision in an 11-play drive for 75 yards before getting thwarted near the Chargers’ goal line. On second and goal, Tiki Barber was stopped for no gain. The first crack of the game was about to show as Brandon Jacobs, we all thought, was surely going to convert a third-and-one if not score a touchdown on the next play. He didn’t, thus unleashing the ghosts of short-yardage past that were all too reminiscent of another running back who also wore number 27. Rather than go for it on fourth and inches, the Giants went for the easy field goal, resorting back to Fasselism with just three deflating points. “We’d all like to get a touchdown, but on the road you have to take the points when you have an opportunity,” Coach Tom Coughlin said. “I’ll stand by the call.”

As the first half progressed, the Giants got their offensive rhythm going, with Manning not only showing poise and patience but some mobility too. Known, albeit sometimes euphemistically, for his “pocket presence”, Manning demonstrated his ability to see the open field beyond the lanes of his offensive line. In some ways he had no choice, the Giants running game was stalled throughout the game, but it spoke volumes of Manning’s comfort and maturity; going from last week’s budding stem to this week’s burgeoning blossom.

In what’s likely a vignette for years to come, Eli Manning showed the fire that his trademark nonchalantness often keeps hidden, as the Giants showed the comeback moxie of a bygone era. At one time down 21-3, the Giants had closed the gap to 21-17 with one final possession to close the opening half. With time ticking the Giants had gotten into field goal range with 15 seconds remaining. Plenty of time for at least one shot in the end zone, maybe even two, but again they opted to kick the field goal on first down. Word was the Giants were having difficulty sending in plays. So rather squander the opportunity to score, the Giants took the easy three trailing only 21-20 at the half. An admirable comeback no doubt, but alas, the Giants were moving the ball with touchdown in their eyes. It again seemed that settling for the field goal had a deflating effect, even to the extent of feeling undermined by Coach Coughlin’s prudence. Ironically, it was the defense that proved this true.

When not discussing Eli Manning’s place of employ, the other back-story regarding the San Diego game was stopping LaDainian Tomlinson. Hardly a back-story, it was rather a full frontal assault steeped with shoddy tackling as if Giant defenders were afraid of conducting a skin rash from Tomlinson’s uniform. Tomlinson rushed for 192 of San Diego’s 485 yards of total offense. It was the most yardage given up by the Giants since November 13th, 1988. Unlike the previous two games, the Giants were unable to control the line of scrimmage, failing to ever get quickly to Drew Brees and having no sacks. Pass defense still remains an alarming concern. The Giants are simply not getting to the ball; holding their arms up like a prop in a carnival game while their footwork looked worse than a tango mixer in Fort Lee. “I was disappointed with everything defensively,” said coach Tom Coughlin. “We didn’t stop them. We didn’t stop anything. They ran the ball when they wanted to and they passed the ball when they wanted to.”

Next week the Giants host the erratic St. Louis Rams; a team that has historically given the Giants trouble dating back to when they played in Los Angeles. Again, it will be against a team with a high powered passing threat that will undoubtedly look to exploit the Giants inept secondary.

The Giants fought as much as they wilted. This wasn’t a gracious loss, but there was at least some gold found in the offensive pan. It was balance that won their first two games. Hopefully the long flight back from San Diego will help regain their equilibrium.

GIANTS PLAY THEIR CARDS RIGHT

You’d have to go a long, long way to recall the Giants showcasing their arsenal with such completeness as they did Sunday at the Meadowlands against Arizona. While it’s a far cry from a perfect game, Big Blue finally looked like a dam that can both hold water and generate some electricity. Time will tell if this new trend of scoring points, converting short yardage situations and fewer penalties is here to stay. But if Sunday’s 42-19 drubbing is any indication of things to come, then much of the sports punditry should get ready to eat crow (or Cardinal).

Let’s get the quarterback business out of the way. No, Eli Manning (10/23, 2 TD, 2 INT, 175 yards) didn’t have a Hall of Frame performance, but nor did play poorly. Just think of him as that humble bus driver who got you across town safely and without incident. Sometimes a workmanlike performance is all that’s necessary; especially when your surrounding cast is playing, and even more importantly, believing in what the team is doing. “That performance is not OK by me…I got to play better,” Manning said. Easy kid, you’re still green.

At first, the opening half looked like a microcosm of the 2004 season, if not much of the Jim Fassel era. The Giants took command of the opening drive. Running here, running there, a pass, a zig, a zag and poof…Manning to Shockey for a clean touchdown strike. But as the half progressed, the ghosts of yesteryear swirled within the balmy winds of the Meadowlands. Manning threw two picks, of which one was returned for a touchdown by Karlos Dansby, and, as we’ve seen so many times before, when the game throws out a sneeze, the Giants catch a cold; going into halftime trailing 13-7. Excerpts from Chicken Soup for the Soul were likely not incorporated into Coach Coughlin’s halftime speech.

The second half however, thankfully, did not look like a microcosm of last season. And with not one, but two touchdowns coming off of special teams, it was anything but a reminder of the misbegotten Jim Fassel era.

There’s so much to like about this game, but there’s always a player or two that falls under the radar. Besides Eli Manning, one of the greatest beneficiaries of the signing of Kareem McKenzie is Dave Diehl. If there was any adhesive on the Band-Aid that held the Giants’ offensive line together in 2004, it was Dave Diehl. A left guard by nature, Diehl stepped up last season by playing right tackle; receiving quiet recognition as the one bright spot in the Giants porous line play. This year he’s back in his is sweet spot, leading the freight train with aggressive downfield blocking as well as making quick, agile pulls to the opposite side. Just watch the number of running plays shooting through Diehl’s gaps. Luke Petitigout looked good too.

The Giants’ pursuit on the defensive side of the ball looked crisp and mean, with standout penetration from William Joseph chasing Kurt Warner like a famished grizzly after Timothy Treadwell. They didn’t just hit, but they hit and wrapped; finishing the tackle and doing it often with a swarm of blue jerseys. A team’s heart and discipline can be measured in how they tackle. Antonio Pierce can sum up the Giant’s inspired play when he said, “Today was probably the best team effort you are going to get for opening day.”

For Big Blue, the key is playing every game like it’s opening day.

Five More Early Summer Thoughts

1) Has anyone noticed that the “Beach Reading” displays in most bookstores are really just the books you were forced to read in high school? I expect to see something airy and vapid and get “Moby Dick” and “My Antonia” instead. I don’t think I’ll be reading “A Tale of Two Cities” on the beach this summer, but don’t let me stop you. If you’re among the ones who read the Cliff Notes and feel you’ve cheated yourself, just about any Barnes & Noble will help to assuage that guilt. For me, despite being among the Cliff Noters, I still remember what happens to Pip, Captain Ahab, et al, and thus will go the more contemporary route. My guess is we’ve been through enough hard knocks to “get” life without reliving what transpired on the Pequod…especially in the summer. Maybe I’ll finally break down and read the “Da Vinci Code”, or the latest from Masha Hamilton.

2) Seems the biggest news of the NBA Finals was that nobody watched them. Oh, but there was the draft too.

3) For those of you who get thirsty walking around New York City, worry no more, Big Gulps are here. For the first time in my life I saw a 7-Eleven in Manhattan on the NE corner of 23rd and Park. At first I thought it was a sick joke, like, who knows, maybe it was a vintage clothing store with a convenience store motif. They do that kind of stuff in New York; like making shoe stores feel like subway cars and so forth. But no, this 7-Eleven is for real. It hasn’t opened yet, but God willing it should soon. Nothing better than a Slurpie during the dog days of summer. And you thought life was getting worse...

4) I think I’m conflicted about all these chains moving into New York. I talk about this a lot, so here I go again. Union Square Park, the main epicenter of all things Left, has this “Farmers Market” there all the time. For us Urbanites this is supposedly a good thing; a vast array of stands with “organic” products from little upstate towns. There are flowers and vegetables and cupcakes and syrup and all those wonderful things you’d buy next to a cornfield along a country road. After walking past this Farmers Market dozens of times without giving it much attention, I finally broke down when my insatiable sweet tooth steered me towards one of the bakery stands. I purchased a bigger-than-average, but not huge, cookie that was admittedly overpriced. I thought what the heck, splurge a little, it’s going to be yummy coming from the Farmers Market. Well, unfortunately, calling the cookie sub-par would be generous. It was extremely bland and crumbled in my hand like a dead leaf; hardly an auspicious way to get introduced to the Farmers Market. Nevertheless I went again because I wanted to like this Farmers Market the way a Star Wars fan wants to like Jar Jar. This time I was thirsty, and figured some cold cider would hit the spot. So I go to a different stand and, again, get an admittedly overpriced cup of cider that’s slightly bigger than what’s affixed to your standard office water cooler. It took only two gulps to finish and so I asked in a half- joking, half-serious tone if there were free refills. She says no, somewhat scoffingly, of which I get the most searing “what a dork” look since trying to boogie to “Rock Lobster”. Strike two.

So, earlier this week, I had bunch of loose change in my pocket. I had a craving for those Jamaican meat patties at Golden Krust. It’s a tasty, cheap snack, and very filling. But what drives me nuts is that, for the nine-millionth time in my life, something that costs $2.85 on the menu ends up being $3.08 with sales tax, and I NEVER have that @#&*#$! eight cents when it comes in handy. Dig? Anyway, with the 92 cents that’s destined to get lost in my shorts, I figured I just spend it on a little afternoon dessert at, once again, the Farmers Market. I got a mini gingerbread man (the fluffy, spongy kind) for 75 cents. Once again, it was admittedly overpriced; considering its volume and density were about the same as two and a half marshmallows...but what the hell. Much to my dismay, my mini gingerbread man had the flavor of an unsalted rice cake…and…dare I say it…was as dry as the Mojave Desert. For me that dryness is a real showstopper. Strike three for the Farmers Market.

Meanwhile, as previously mentioned, the Invasion of the Chains has dangerously encroached the main epicenter of all things Left. Just south of Union Square Park, a Whole Foods Supermarket made Fourteenth Street home a few months ago. I like Whole Foods, at least the one in Time Warner Center off Columbus Circle, but I assume the one on Fourteenth is pretty much the same. It’s perhaps the only supermarket in the world that’s also a tourist destination. I kid you not, I’ve seen clusters of people gawk at the porterhouse steaks like it was the Mona Lisa. The place is massive, where the ushered checkout process feels like going through customs at JFK. And, yes, once more the place is also admittedly overpriced, though if you know where to look some bargains can be found. The key difference is quality. I don’t shop there for groceries, but I’ve had a few meals from the variety of self-serve food bars and it’s been A+ every time (meats succulent and juicy, sauces tangy and balanced, breads moist and textured…good stuff). However, with Whole Foods being the Neiman Marcus of supermarket chains, the downtowness of Union Square has gotten chafed. If the Farmers Market is the yin of Union Square, Whole Foods is the yang. But at the risk of committing blasphemy, I must be fair and say that Whole Foods kicks the bejesus out of the Farmers Market. I already sense lightning ready to strike me. In fact, dark clouds are forming as I write this. Early rumblings of thunder make their warning sign, and I’m in search of some rubber-soled shoes. But the truth will always set one free. Whole Foods begrudgingly wins, chalk one down for the Chains. Time for a good long cry.

5) Was celebrating my mom’s birthday this weekend and took her and my girlfriend out to dinner at a place called Luigi’s in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. Anyone familiar with the Denver area will see where I’m going with this. Luigi’s is a fine place, real down-home and local, sans much of the inflicted quaintness found elsewhere. Huge, rich, delicious portions with friendly service from waitresses who call you “Hon” and “Dear.” Just about everything is great, but Luigi’s is especially known for their pizza. I had their pizza special Saturday night: barbecued chicken with bacon, onions and barbecue sauce (and my cholesterol level has jumped to???). It’s hard to describe, but the pizza has this special flavor that I’ve had only once before. I pondered the déjà vu my taste buds were experiencing and…eureka…it hit me…Beau Jo’s pizza in Idaho Springs, Colorado!!! They didn’t have the honey for the crust, but if you’ve been to Beau Jo’s you know what I’m talking about. We have great pizza here in New York, but it’s not as ubiquitous as Big Apple propaganda would like to suggest. Beau Jo’s is some of the finest pizza on the planet. Same goes with Luigi’s. Make the effort whenever you’re in those areas.

Some Early Summer Thoughts

1) I think I know why I’ve always regarded Spin Magazine as ersatz Rolling Stone. I’m having a very hard time with their declaring Radiohead’s “OK Computer” the best album of the last 20 years. I’ll admit it; I own this album because I connect some memories to the song “Karma Police”. Can’t say those memories come from the best period of my life, nor am I crazy about the album, but “Karma Police” does have some personal significance. I guess it’s a “bold” move on Spin’s part to praise a band that everyone loves to hate; as if they’re seeing the meaning through what many feel is a calculated and synthetic sound. Won’t matter, to me Radiohead will always remain as organic as Diet Mountain Dew.

2) I guess I’m not terribly surprised that “Cinderella Man” is dogging at the box office with a cumulative $43.9 million recorded thus far. Granted it’s competing with some heavyweights (no pun intended) like the new Batman and Star Wars movies, but I think the American public has had just one too many of these schmaltzy, nostalgic flicks pandering to Oscar’s agenda.

3) I think the harder the NBA tries to promote the league internationally, the more it’s disclosing just how disinterested people are about it at home. There’s a lot of subtext to what’s meant about “the implications of the Ron Artest incident;” stuff that nobody really wants to come out and say. But with ratings way down and nobody watching the NBA finals, some very tough questions need to be addressed about how the NBA will, if ever, deliver the type of TV audiences advertisers want.

4) I think Michelin, the French tire manufacturer, is a convenient scapegoat to the Formula One fiasco earlier this week in Indianapolis. I mean, when in doubt blame the French…right? Putting F1 on an oval track in the American Midwest is about as backwards-assed as hosting the Daytona 500 at the Nürburgring. Bad idea all the way around. Everyone just chalk this down as an expensive lesson learned and move on.

5) Seems that the most notable thing to come out of Wimbledon so far is Serena Williams smashing her racket. Well, at least that’s the New York Post’s standpoint. At least she won.

6) What is it with tornadoes always hitting trailer parks and helicopters always falling into the East River?

7) Was on the 11:07 Tuesday from Grand Central going to South Norwalk, Connecticut. Message to Jane from Rowayton: sorry that you made the early morning trip to Manhattan only to then discover that your meeting was canceled, but life’s full of these nuisances, so please get over it. I doubt your friends are overly concerned about this, and I can promise that your fellow passengers on Metro North aren’t concerned either. So next time, if you feel so compelled to use your cell phone for the entire 59 minute train ride, do it quietly, or in the doorway, or just read the newspaper. I don’t get a sense that life has dealt you that bad of a hand …thanks Jane.

8) Was also on the 11:07 Saturday from Grand Central going to Fairfield, Connecticut. Very crowded train for some reason. Couple of twenty-something’s, a guy and a girl, plow their bicycles down the busy isle while unapologetically grazing other passengers with their bikes. They find two coveted seats and stash their bikes in two other coveted seats before an elderly couple politely asks if they could move their bikes and sit down. The twenty-something’s give some flack about this, and a moment later the conductor comes to make order of this escalating matter. Voices get raised, and the conductor quickly decides to haul the bikes out to the platform and kick the twenty-something’s off the train. Way to go Mr. Conductor. The male twenty-something cowardly yells “F.U.” while the conductor has his back turned and storms off. Message to you two twenty-something’s: get over your f***ing sense of entitlement and show some courtesy. If you’re in shape enough to ride a bike, you’re in shape enough to stand with it in the doorway area. Better yet, since you have a bike, just ride the damn thing to wherever you have to go. There was nobody siding with you on that train. NOBODY!

9) Does anyone know how Quiznos, once the epitome of also-ran sandwich chains, found in Denver’s most forgotten strip malls, has planted itself in some of the most plum locations in all of New York City? Good God, they're smack-dab in the middle of St. Mark’s Place in the East Village. I mean, have their sandwiches gotten that much better? I thought for sure they’d be stuck among the lowest echelons of the fast food world; forever in the company of Chi-Chi’s, Arthur Treachers and Orange Julius. Shows what I know, but I’m still loyal to my boys at A&F Deli.

10) I think I’m having a hard time admitting how entertaining the Village People were the other night outside of Lincoln Center.

WIMBLEDOOM

I don’t know, it could be me; growing up on the East Coast where Anglophilia came with the same conditioning as eating your peas, but Wimbledon was once a really big deal. Nowadays, it sneaks in and out like yet another Peter, Paul & Mary revival. The tournament is underway, lots of foreign players with polysyllabic names grunting their shots down the line. There are some Americans too, but most of them come from Florida and have no edge. Who these people are is anyone’s guess. The revolving door spins so fast that fans can’t even thrust their nationalism in time before the next teenage flavor of the month takes over: She’s from where, Doc, Lithuania? No, Latvia…I think. The only player that currently sticks out is Maria Sharapova. Don’t ask me about her game. I don’t know if she’s even right or left handed, I just know that she happened to win Wimbledon last year…and, oh yeah,…that’s she’s hot. Admit it, she may be good, but she’s not the sport’s poster girl because of her forehand volley.

Tennis, God, if there were ever a sport where bravado was king and decorum a curse it’s tennis. Where petulance reigns endorsements thirty years past one’s prime. I mean, who wouldn’t buy shaving cream from Ille Nastase? I blame the demise of tennis on the Swedes, with Bjorn Borg being Public Enemy Number One. Yes, I know, I’m sounding like a gringo-jingo. One of those ugly Americans that performs an expletive filled tirade because he can’t wear shorts into the Sistine Chapel. The one’s who eat McDonalds after a morning promenade along the banks of the Seine. But I’m right on this one. Tennis ruled when crass, ornery Americans dominated the sport. It wasn’t about playing a tenacious baseline game or storming the net. It was about bawdy swagger.

I blame the Swedes because they were the anti-Connors and anti-McEnroe; the kids who put apples on the teacher’s desk. The ones who sat in the front row and wouldn’t let you copy their geometry proofs when you were in a jam. They were what Herman’s Hermits were to the Rolling Stones. Matts Wilander and Stephan Edberg were simply sissies. But it was Borg’s mild mannered ways that anesthetized tennis to Orwellian levels; playing like a cat on carpet with his small wooden rackets…allegedly raising the bar with his passive on-court demeanor. As a result the sport slit its throat by debunking the shenanigans of Connors and McEnroe; unknowingly killing the golden goose of attitude that put Wimbledon on par with the Super Bowl. In its wake we got syborgs like Ivan Lendl, Boris Becker and Pete Sampras driving the ball with stolid blitzkrieg might. Our interest waned.

These days Wimbledon is just a nice little tennis tournament, dying with the WASPs on rainy Edgartown mornings instead of enticing a new generation’s worth of interest. Wimbledon, Wimbledoom…pass me a taco Bucky.

OLD HAT

I can’t hold it in anymore. Just can’t. I don’t like to use this site to bash other writers; one’s that get paid to do this sort of thing. But alas, I can’t take it any more. The voices in my head, the tossing and turning at night, the pent up need to exorcise these emotions is just too overpowering. So here we go: I love Sports Illustrated, but I can’t stand Frank Deford.

I know this is somewhat sacrilegious to those who hail from the old school. It’s along the lines of assassinating the integrity of Walter Cronkite or panning the latest schmaltzfest by Ron Howard, but so be it. Longevity and awards hardly make one sacrosanct, in fact, if anything, it demonstrates adherence to established journalistic norms rather than challenge the system. And Deford, who writes with the provinciality of a tweed-laden English professor, couldn’t be more of a “yes man.” A token wonk to give sports rags some Ivy League cred.

One story by Deford that really struck a chord (no I’m not trying to write in verse…thank you) was called “Heap Big Hypocrisy”. The piece was a recycled rant about the continued defilement of the American Indian thanks to nicknames like the Redskins. To be fair, there is some legitimacy to this argument. Even I, who at times can be “sensitivitally challenged”, will agree that logos like that of the Cleveland Indians are pretty disrespectful. But that’s not the point. The point is forging ahead after 15 years of self-censored speech. The thing with offensive team nicknames is old; rehashing the days when political correctness reached its zenith in the early 1990s. Some organizations, sadly, did cave under the pressure. The Portland Oregonian, for example, enacted a policy that abolished the use of “offensive” nicknames in its stories. When writing about, say, the Atlanta Braves, the paper would simply refer to them as “the baseball team from Atlanta”. St. Johns University, formerly known as the Redmen, became the Red Storm.

Deford goes on to say, “Now, at last, the NCAA has begun a review of the situation, with an eye toward considering whether it indeed might possess the authority to force member schools to change their dubious nicknames.”

Dubious nicknames? Where do you draw the line? Lets throw famous brand names like Indian Motorcycles, Cherokee Clothing and Red Man Tobacco into the mix as well.

Maybe the Boston Celtics should modify their “cartoonish” logo in order to stay PC among the Irish. How about the Minnesota Vikings? Someone in the Twin Cities must find them offensive; besmirching the folklore of the area’s Scandinavian heritage. Is the fleur-de-lis on the side of the New Orleans Saints helmet a sign of French disrespect? Perhaps the Saints should change their name altogether. After all, the Church could hardly be thrilled about a team called The Saints paying grown men to knock the crap out of other human beings. The Chicago Bulls anyone? PETA members get your placards out. How dare a nickname suggest bovine zeal when it’s really about killing cattle in the old stockyards. It’s offensive and sneaky, not to mention glorifying an industry synonymous with worker exploitation. Awful.

Where does it end?

Houston Rockets? Could be construed with exacerbating the Cold War; a war that put America trillions of dollars in debt. Pacifists and fiscal conservatives should unite until a more suitable nickname is found.

Pittsburgh Steelers? Anyone know how harmful the steel industry was to the environment? Why haven’t the PIRGs led a siege onto Heinz Field? A name change is clearly in order.

San Antonio Spurs? Naming a franchise after an implement used to impale horses is vile; even for Texas.

Kansas City Royals? Lots of fine, red-blooded Americans died to keep our country liberated from monarchy oppression. And to have a team called the Royals in our heartland isn’t just offensive, it’s contemptuous.

New York Knickerbockers? The name refers to New York’s blueblood upper crust; a ruling society that thumbed their nose at the working class. It’s an outrage to have a name promoting class envy like this. Amazing we haven’t seen race riots outside of Madison Square Garden…at least not yet.

Ridiculous? That’s the point.

Deford also says, “sport nicknames may seem like a small, even foolish, thing, but their visibility helps keep Indians trapped in history, cartoon figures frozen on the warpath." I agree, it is a small, even foolish thing, however for years these small foolish things have grown into monumental warts on our society; leaving self-inflicted gag orders to keep things innocuous and vanilla. Political correctness has already made American sports that much more banal. Names like the Jacksonville Jaguars and Washington Wizards (formerly the Washington Bullets) reflect the focus-group-friendly world that Deford craves. Enough with taking the safe route.

Maybe teams should just abandon competition all together. Just email each other’s game plan and call it a draw. That way no one gets hurt, or worse…offended.


OTHER NOTES:

A few thoughts about, well, things going on. Granted I’m sort of “borrowing” Peter King’s “Ten Things I Think I Think” from his outstanding Monday Morning Quarterback column. But Peter King is open about what he borrows too. So what goes around, comes around.

1) I think New York City’s soul was saved thanks to the West Side Stadium getting nixed by the state legislature. New York City has been the last frontier for America’s corporate chains, but thanks to stratospheric rents, only the chains can afford to move in here now. There are already two Home Depots in Manhattan. TWO! And with the Disneyfication of Times Square well entrenched, a West Side stadium would provide a hugely fertile swath of asphalt for the likes of Ruby Tuesday and all its clones. For the first time in my life, something significant happened in Albany. Lou Reed should write a bad song about it.

2) I also think it’s a blessing in disguise that New York will likely not get the 2012 Olympics. We don’t need the prestige and we don’t need seven years of jackhammers, traffic, and every official on the planet telling us how to make the city “safe”. Big Brother has already found a home in our fair city, and he’s not very welcome. In terms of making money, the city is better off selling lemonade on the street than hosting the Olympics. Get over it New York, we have nothing to prove to the world. Work on Ground Zero instead.

3) Saw Pedro Martinez pitch live for the first time on June 2. It was an unseasonably chilly night for early June, but for five bucks we put up with the discomfort (yes there actually are some bargains in New York). Was too far up in the right field upper deck to gauge Pedro’s stuff, but his charisma belted us like fresh menthol pellets placed in a steam bath. He’s got the “it” factor, that’s for sure. He’s been a fantastic acquisition for the Mets. I’m on the Pedro bandwagon.

4) I agree with the consensus that Eli Manning will have a big season with the Giants. I also think that Chris Snee will again show how the Giants have historically drafted better in the second round than in the first.

5) Saw the movie “Lords of Dogtown” despite being ten years north of the film’s target age. Damn good flick. Sort of where “Friday Night Lights” meets “Boogie Nights” on skateboards. This movie should make anyone feel deprived of not growing up in 1970s southern California. Heath Ledger borrows a little from Sean Penn’s Jeff Spicoli and a little from Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrison. Nevertheless, he plays a very likeable and memorable character. Check it out, even if your MTV was the one that showed videos.

6) I think “Hustle and Flow” will be the summer’s surprise movie hit both critically and at the box office.

7) Anyone see the Tony Awards recently? How about the French Open? Anyone? Anyone?

8) I think the Texas Rangers will get really hot in the latter half of the season.

9) I think the Mets are on the right track, but won’t be a playoff team in 2005.

10) I’ve always thought Starbucks coffee sucks.

NO WAY L.A.

If Peter King is writing about why he thinks the Minnesota Vikings are a Super Bowl contender, then the well for football news must be pretty dry. The Vikes have had a good off-season, especially with all the bumps involved with their ownership change, but I have just two words as to why Minnesota will continue to sputter: Mike Tice.

Another NFL topic with the shelf life of canned beats is putting a team in Los Angeles. The stakes seem high for NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue to have a team in LA. After all, it is the second largest television market, and despite legions of Angelenos “escaping” to less frenetic locales, LA is still a growing metropolis. In addition, it looks silly, even embarrassing, for the NFL not to have a team in a market that has two franchises in each of the remaining three major sports. But for a city that’s notoriously fickle about, well…everything, LA seems more fertile for a Capezio revival than pro-football.

Though the Rams and Raiders are what first comes to mind, the Chargers, too, had their inaugural season in LA in 1960. And while you may not have drank Lowenbrau since the USFL, LA had a team there as well called the Express, where Steve Young began his pro career. With the exodus of both the Rams and Raiders in 1995, LA has had four teams leave or go bust in just a 35-year time span.

For years some of the more obvious reasons for pro-football flailing in LA have been mentioned. The weather of course is a big one, as catching rays on the beach is preferred to catching rays in the decrepit LA Coliseum. Another is the town’s transient nature, where football deprived transplants generate ratings, but swear allegiance to their hometown teams. But what’s sorely misunderstood by the NFL is that teams comprised of hefty, thick-necked men are far less appreciated in a town that’s enamoured with professional beauty more than anywhere else in the world. Los Angeles sells people like Proctor & Gamble sells shampoo, and thus the city is conditioned to see, hear and connect with stars in mass consumption; hence its love affair with the Lakers. Hard to do with guys covered in helmets and pads. You can’t serve steak to a town feeding on sizzle. The NFL thinks it can.

The NFL has tried to ratchet up its sex appeal for several years now. Players such as Michael Vick have been placed on a national pedestal for us all to “ooh” and “ahh” about. But despite the NFL’s efforts to create an A-list of players, football will always remain a team-oriented sport. Los Angeles, however, still remains an anomaly in this regard, where they’re used to seeing an individual’s sparkle turn bombs into blockbusters. This ingrained culture trickles to sports as well, which is why the NFL conflicts with the ways of LA. Anyone remember the Kings before Wayne Gretzky? After?

If not already, the NFL can surely find a billionaire or two to pay for a new team. A new stadium shouldn’t blemish the sprawl too much, but God forbid they have to “settle” for a guy like Peyton Manning. Nothing fancy, just a guy with a golden arm, but unfortunately lacks the charisma to even endorse tires. Would La-La Land give him the nod, or is he dining at Red Lobster in Garden Grove?

Julia Roberts and Magic Johnson will always shine in the klieg lights better than armored giants banging the hell out of each other. What works in Green Bay doesn’t work in LA. Rule number one in Tinseltown is never be desperate. The NFL is starting to look that way. Perhaps Paul Tagliabue should take heed to one of Hollywood’s greatest lines… “A man has to know his limitations.”