Monday, January 14, 2008
When Romo drops back, the place holds it's breath. He slings a perfect spiral into the end zone, and our season hangs by a string. It's hard to see what exactly happens, but all I know is that when the ball lands, it is clutched by one man in Giants blue.
The roar shatters the silence in this dark Irish bar until it shakes the walls, and people are pounding on tables and dancing and we are on each other's shoulders and New Jersey explodes in a chorus that hasn't been heard in years. Sometimes, a team puts together something so beautiful, so fucking ballsy, that you can't help but be amazed.
We are stunned. All of of us. You are a team of nobodies, a team of rookies and journeymen. The jerkoff with the biggest mouth is hurt, and our "star" running back is retired. We were not supposed to do this. We were supposed to go quietly into the Texas night, like we always have.
But not this night. Our cinderella season continues, running on pure balls and the will to win.
They say that as they were walking in to halftime, Toomer looked at Strahan and said, "This isn't the last time we'll be on the field together."
And how about that shit, Plax? You motherfuckers actually brought this thang home on Sunday night. It is rare that I say this because of our ugly history... but Goddamnit we love you New York. Thank you.
Hey Texas, this is for you, with love.