By Sam Rubenstein
I’m at my girlfriend’s family’s house in Connecticut. Don’t have a lot of time to write this. Am taking the 26th off. It’s been a rough past few days. Yesterday I watched the Cowboys lose to the Eagles, giving Philly a 3 game sweep of the NFC East on the road. I still hate the Boys more than any other team in sports, but because of Khalid and my friend Liz, the Eagles are a close second. All of Lang’s teams are third. So the Eagles are going to win the NFC East. Man, do I hate Khalid Salaam.
But I’d like to share a little Christmas moment with you all. Not that I celebrate Christmas.
On Saturday night, the 23rd, I went out to a bar and had more to drink than I should have. The next day, Christmas Eve, I found myself in a friend’s basement watching the Giants-Saints game. Late in the first half, with the Giants clinging to a 7-6 lead, I felt a little woozy from the drinking combined with playing a touch football game without anything in my system except some water. I stepped out to go get a slice of pizza. Started feeling dizzy…
Reached down to tie my shoe and threw up all over the block. Disgusting. My first time vomiting from alcohol in about 2 years.
In hindsight, maybe that happened as a sort of excorsist-like warning about the future. The Giants collectively gagged and tossed their cookies even worse than I did. The way they quit on the season and their coach was totally humiliating. I am embarrased to have ever worn a blue shirt, let alone a Giants shirt or hat. The vomit that dripped from my mouth was the perfect symbolism for what this team has put me through. I kneeled there on the street, feeling like a dirtbag. And yet, this would be the least repulsive moment of the day.
I didn’t watch much of the second half. I was in bed, trying to get rid of a hangover with the game on the radio. At least 15-year veteran Bob Whitfield only got called for 30 yards worth of disciplinary pnealites. Nice work Tommy Boy. You run a tight ship.
Fire Coughlin. Cut Tiki today so he can’t retire with “dignity.” Get Strahan away from Jared from Subway before they fall too deeply in love. Use a laser to take off all of Shockey’s tattoos, then use that laser on his face. Use Plaxi Lady’s visor like a gag on his mouth. Fire Coughlin again.
There are dozens of other players and front office types I’m pissed off at, but most imporantly, young Elisha Manning…
You disgust me. I hate your face. The only thing you are good at is having the last name “Manning.” Other than that, you are dead to me.
The Giants aren’t even mathematically eliminated. The final insult will come when they make the playoffs and have to play a road game in Philly.
I hate this team so much.
Merry Christmas everyone.
