The Giants vs. New England

If you are a Yankees fan-- even the tiniest bit of one-- you are obligated to hate the Red Sox. If you are a Yankees fan, the Red Sox are the Osama Bin Ladin to your twin towers. The Red Sox are evil predators leaching the Yankees success. The sweetest Yankees’ wins are always accompanied by miserable Red Sox’ losses.

If you are a Jets fan in even the most minimal form you are morally bound to spit on the New England Patriots. They are the evil empire. They are the recipient of all your venom. And even the most gentile of Jets fans wishes mortal doom on Tom Brady and Bill Belichek. Brady and Belichek are the Hitler and Mussolini to your allied powers.

I was raised to (predominantly) be a Yankee and Giants fan. But both my parents also believed in being loyal to all New York teams (with the exclusion of Buffalo—they were too far upstate). So I am also a Mets and Jets fan too.

And thus it was with total angst that I watched the NFC and AFC championship games this past weekend. I am exhausted from the mental strain. In the first game I spent every second cursing the Patriots. I despise Tom Brady. I hate that he left his first baby-mama to knock up Giselle-- his second baby-mama. And Bill Belichek is a conniving cheater who is such a poor sport he often does not shake the hand of the opposing team’s coach. I would spit on him if I could. And I nearly vomited when the Raven’s field goal missed the uprights thus ending the game. The Patriots escaped punishment—again.

And the Giants game was so stressful I had to alternate between watching  it and watching happy stupid David Tutera and Oprah’s station. Because I just love Eli Manning. I love him because I imagine that he is the lanky more talented younger brother who was always overshadowed by his older d-bag brother Peyton. Eli looks like the smart nice quasi- nerdy guy who was too timid to talk to girls. He is the brother that I would have dated. And Eli and the Giants did not disappoint on Sunday. The Giants’ game was a war of wills—not so much a who was going to win type game but more of a who refused to lose or choke type game.

So the Superbowl is set between the most evil of empires—the New England Patriots--against Eli Manning—the Luke Skywalker/grandmaster of the New Order of Jedi. It is a rematch of good versus evil. The last Superbowl they played against each other I piddled in my pants---and by that I mean I actually piddled in my pants when Plaxico Buress caught Eli’s pass to take the lead and win the game. It was a symbolic gesture—I pissed on my opponent. So this time I will be prepared. I will fed-ex Eli a new Jedi sword and I will wear a pair of Depends. This is war. And nothing would please me more than to see Brady and Belichek vaporize from Eli’s supernatural touch—because after all—the force is with him.