If you read my blog (translation: if you're my wife a.k.a. my only reader), you might know I'm a Giant fan. Cuz I mentioned it once, I think. Just to clear up any confusion, I'm not:
- a fan of the San Francisco Baseball Giants
- a very large fan
I am:
- a fan of the New York Football Giants
- friendly with some tall people
For the purposes of this post, let's stick with my fascination with the New York Football Giants. I inherited my fandom from my dad. He grew up in New Jersey in the days when kids played stickball in the street. Back then, the Giants were pretty good. I grew up in Rochester, NY. The closest NFL team was the Buffalo Bills. My mom's parents lived in Buffalo, and I remember my grandfather watching the Bills play. It was the O.J. Simpson days, long before the glove and the white Bronco. But all the kids in the '70s liked the Cowboys or the Steelers - between the two of them, they were winning pretty much everything. My brother liked the Cowboys. I think I kinda liked the Steelers, but not really. I don't remember my dad watching much football in those days. For one thing, the Giants were awful. Also, we didn't have a TV.
When I was 9, my parents got divorced. My dad moved into a house a few blocks away, and he got a TV. In the '80s, you could only watch the NFL games that were broadcast in your market. In Rochester, that was the Bills and the Giants. My dad started watching again, but the Giants were still pretty bad. One day, when I was 10, he was watching the Giants play the Cowboys. Scott Brunner was the QB, because Phil Simms was hurt. My dad used to say that Brunner was all heels - I think he meant that he couldn't run. But this game, the Giants beat the mighty Cowboys. And it occurred to me for the first time that maybe I could like the Giants. It was tough, going against the grain - remember, all the cool kids liked the Cowboys or the Steelers. But my dad (the coolest kid of them all) liked the Giants.
Coincidentally, this was also the beginning of some pretty good years for the New York Football Giants. Bill Parcells was the head coach, Bill Bellichick was the defensive coordinator. They had a young linebacker named Lawrence Taylor, perhaps the best defensive player to ever play the game. Over the next 10 years, the Giants won two super bowls. And until I left for college, I watched pretty much every game with my dad. I don't think I realized it at the time, but it was one of those life choices that helped me to be close to my dad. When I was in college, we didn't watch the games together. Mostly because I was in Ohio. I was in college and I was busy and somewhat oblivious and I didn't even notice that I wasn't talking to my parents much or telling them about my life. But every Sunday during football season my dad and I would talk on the phone. The game gave us an excuse to talk - not just about football, but about life. It was nice.
Many years later, I still watch the Giant games. My dad's gone, but I've tried to instill a love of the Giants in my son, with marginal success. Maybe "marginal success" is overselling it. I think he likes the Giants just a little bit less than he likes seeing me suffer. This year, the Giants were supposed to be pretty good. They're not. They're bad. Really bad. So bad that we fans are torn between wanting them to win a few games (unlikely) and wanting them to keep losing so they can get a high draft pick next year. I don't like rooting for my team to lose, but it's tempting sometimes. Several years ago, in the middle of the season, I found myself rooting for the Giants to lose. I had a talk with myself, decided that I wouldn't do that. No matter how bad things got (and they were pretty bad), I was gonna root for them to win. And then they started winning. And winning. And they won the Super Bowl, taking down the undefeated Patriots.
So here I am again. Actually, this season is much worse than that one. And I'm tempted to root for them to lose. Yesterday, my wife and I were walking our dog and we saw some neighbors walking a dog that wasn't theirs. He's a Giant fan, too (the neighbor, not the dog). As we were walking away, he turned around and yelled, "hey, we're playing for a draft pick!" Which is code for wanting them to lose, or at least accepting that they're going to keep losing.
"I know!" I yelled back. But I just can't quite bring myself to do it.