Scrunched down in the recliner last night, in front of the TV, bored out of my skull, like a few million other football addicts, watching a make-believe football game called the NFL Pro Bowl; I had this epiphany! Yeah, honest! An epiphany! And it hit me like a cold, wet slap to the face, by a really big, calloused, hand. Wham! I suddenly knew, Lord help me, I wasn’t just a “football” addict — and why else would I be watching a blown-up, pretentious, version of Arena Football, if I wasn’t? No, I wasn’t just a “football” addict; I was a “NY Giants football” addict.
Yes, it’s true! How else can I explain the embarrassingly, pathetic fact that I actually watched the whole damn thing last night? Yeah, Honest to God, the whole damn, goofy, thing!
Because I kept waiting for a glimpse of Eli or JPP or Cruz or Snee. I was completely uninterested in anything but their plays on the NFC squad. Nothing else. No one else. I ate up the Eli to Cruz TD and Cruz’s patented salsa dance, the JPP sack and his interception, and yes, believe it or not, I actually, raptly, watched Chris Snee play left guard instead of his regular position at right guard. Why? Because last night was the last time, I’ll see those guy until next preseason; and I’m strung out, already!
And that, brothers and sisters, is a stone, dyed in the wool, lifelong, NY Giants football addict; and believe me when I tell you, I know about addiction. Don’t ask me how I know; just trust me, I just know. And I’m telling you right now, no bullshit, straight-up, politically correct euphemisms aside; I’m a NY Giants junky. How bad is my addiction? It’s bad. It’s real bad. There! I admitted it, and I’m glad, because the first step to curing an addiction is to admit it; and I just did. Hallelujah! Can I get an amen?
In rehab, they leave out bowls of candy for the patients. The sugar in the candy presumably speeds up the metabolism, which is slowed down by the illicit drugs; and supposedly, the sugar helps metabolize the treatment medications faster.
It’s also supposed to partially satisfy the horrific cravings, while you sweat and shiver at the same exact time, and your bones and joints dissolve into cooked tapioca pudding. That’s what the Pro Bowl was: a serving of candy with no nutritional value: just some sugar to partially ease the craving for NY Giants football.
And, let’s face it, that’s what free agency is going to be, too; and the draft, and the OTAs, and the mini-camps and eventually training camp: empty calorie candy to get us through the craving for real, live, actual, NY Giants football. Um, excuse me; anybody out there got a Hershey Bar? A Three Musketeers? Some Haagen Dazs? Skittles? Any damn thing? Please, I’m dying, here!