This is why I'm rooting for the Giants

Is it even possible to express how great it is to be a JETS fan at this point in time?

I am being sarcastic.

The Patriots, our traditional division rival whipping boys, are on the verge of NFL history. The OTHER NY team is challenging them.

Pinch me, I'm dreaming. And again, being sarcastic.

Let the fat cops pretend they're football heroes by proxy, beer and pick-up trucks all white trash decked for tail gaiting.

I actually knew a NY Giant football hero. (And I actually need a pick-up truck, but that's a story for a different day.)

The only real reason I'm rooting for Big Blue is because I knew one of the old-timers who played for the Giants before they had carbon plastic helmets and fake plastic grass. He was the grandfather of a girl I dated for a couple of years. After he retired from playing the game, he was a famous announcer for the NFL on NBC. His name was Al.

I delivered a eulogy at his funeral. The funeral was attended by Wellington Mara and his sons--the very owners of the Giants franchise. In attendance, not to mention, was every major sports figure residing in the Northeast circa 1995. LT, Phil Rizzuto, Phil Simms, Bill Parcells, Mr. Bilicheck, Joe Namath, Bob Costas, Marv Albert, Mike and the Mad Dog...It was massive. I was on the news. I cried with his brother.

Al was a good man. He liked his Chianti, he loved his wife, he was a source and figure of adoration. Natalie was the light in his eye. He liked that I played hooky with his granddaughter. He knew it was just a day in the sun to be appreciated.

Let's go Giants.