It was a somber halftime.
My roommate and loyal Giants compatriot could barely muster the enthusiasm to enjoy his Mrs. Fields cookie. And though that chocolatey goodness usually gave him such pleasure, today it barely had a taste. Seated in section 223, we slumped in our chairs next to two Jets fan friends of ours who held peculiar faces.
They didn't want to show their hands just yet. No, now was not the time to gloat. They knew there was plenty of game left to be played. But beneath their careful expressions lay two barely visible smirks. They were allowing themselves to begin to fantasize about walking down the ecalators after a Jets victory. They could taste it. Sense the bus ride home. Feel their impending joy.
It's why I've never liked Jets/Giants. I just don't need it. I don't need the pressure. It's quite enough worrying about Dallas, or Philly or Washington. I really don't need the extra pain of having to ensure we beat this unusual team in green. The Jets are the only team in New York that doesn't wear blue. I feel that needs to be pointed out. My friends, no doubt, felt the same, but sensing a possible victory they were perhaps even beginning to think that maybe this rivalry was a good idea after all. Rivalries are always more fun when you win. They may have even begun to think of their post game jig in the parking lot.
We were beginning to think about it as well, and I might have even dwelled on it had I not been mulling something far worse. You see, while many Giants fans and followers have been questioning Eli Manning since his first pass, I have not. The day he was drafted I essentially fell in love. Ahh, a Manning. Our Manning. I instantly became one of Archie's boys, a son, a brother. We were Mannings.
I was immediately convinced of his greatness and have watched patiently and happily ever since. I am of a small minority, or maybe it's larger than I realize, who have been pretty confident Eli is going to turn out just fine. He may not be Peyton. That's ok. No one else has ever been Petyon either. But as we took the field with under a minute to go in the first half deep in our own territory, he did something that finally shook me. An errant pass, a costly interception and while some were questioning the coach I was far more worried than that. I was worried I was wrong about our quarterback.
I thought Eli was beyond plays like that. I thought that was an interception he wouldn't make anymore, nor the type of first half it was possible for him to play. A text from a friend said it all, "That was the worst INT I've seen since the Dave Brown era." It's hard for any Giants fan to ever utter the phrase the Dave Brown era, not only because you have to admit we once had Dave Brown, but that we had him for an era.
"This is a big half for Eli Manning," I thought.
Did he completely deliver? Well, he wasn't incredibly brilliant. It wasn't exactly as I fantasized. But at the moment I was certainly going to take it. He was efficient. He made plays, and better yet, he clearly shook off the feelings from the first half and didn't dwell on it. These were all good signs. The day was saved.
But ultimately, as much as I had dreamt of it being, the day wasn't about Eli Manning. For Jets fans it may have been about poor Chad Pennington, who still scares me, but clearly is struggling. I feel for the Jets fans. It's hard not like Chad. He works so hard and he's been very good for them. But the sight of his ass wiggling as he runs before he throws yet another delicate pass must be tough to take. You want a strong-armed quarterback. Having a quarterback with a weak arm is probably something like a meathead dad finding out his son is gay. Sure he loves him, but he can't say it doesn't bother him. Kellen Clemens does have red hair. This may be relevant.
Alas, for me, this game wasn't about Chad Pennington either. (I really don't care about Chad Pennington, but I felt he had to be mentioned. One interesting note, I did hear a fan in front of me refer to him as Chad Cuntington which I can't believe I'd never heard before and I rather pathetically chuckled).
No, this game was about one of our guys. My Jets fan friend early into the third quarter leaned over to me and said, "I know he hasn't done much, but I wish we had Plaxico Burress on my team. I think he's my favorite non-Jet in all of football." Little did he know, he was about to see an awful lot of him.
Plaxico's rise this year has coincided nicely with Randy Moss's. Both physical freaks. Both crazy tall and athletic, and both with reputations of ill repute. But Plaxico has become easily the best Giants free agent signing ever. For a bargain price they've gotten a receiver the likes of which we'd never seen. As good as he's been and as much as I've loved him, it's kind of hard to believe Amani Toomer is the best receiver we've ever had. That likely has to change now.
Plaxico has allowed us to forget Tiki -- even booing his highlights at the game. (Has there ever been any player that handled his retirment worse? What happens when they retire his jersey? Will he be booed?" The only thing next for him to do was show up at the Yankees game in an Indians cap ala Lebron). So while Tiki is having lunch with his idol Matt Lauer, Plaxico has taken charge of the offensive playmaking.
While his efforts surely guaranteed the win -- along with Aaron Ross who appears to be the rarest of Giants corners, the type who intercepts passes -- Plaxico did far more than that.
He gave me the ability to stand up and clap as the Giants walked off the field, look down at my worthless Jets fan friends with their hands in their laps and smile. "Gentlemen...we ready to go. I belive I've seen what I came to see."
The Giants are king of New York. We wear blue in this town.
Thank God.
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