This is one of those times I spoke about in an earlier blog. One of those times I stray away from any bull riding or little Urbex content I normally provide. And it is only because it is a topic I feel so strongly about, while sick to my stomach at the same time. I am unfortunately a New York Giants fan. Physically, I see red, white and blue from late August to the end of December. Mentally, I see red from late August to the end of December. The start of the new year is the same time I start thinking about joining another fan base. But who would ever accept me? They will have a let a cursed wolf into the henhouse. I will inevitably devour any good fortune. I promise I won’t want to. Then again, who are we to deny who we are.
Thurs. Sun. Mon.
These are three days every Giants fan has learned to be wary of. They are days the begin with smiles, boneless wings, and those special Miller Lites that even have our team logo on them! They rarely end how they started. A fight broke out in the third quarter because someone ate the last wing, and it wasn’t the guy who called dibs. There isn’t a dry eye on the lids of the toddlers who walked in front of the TV one too many times. Uncle Mike demands his 9th and final Miller while angrily fishing through his pockets for the car keys. Bonus if you’re with an Italian couple – divorce is on the horizon.
New Colors?
If I were to abandon this ship riddled with cannonball-sized holes quickly sinking into a handicapped parking spot next to Davey Jones’ locker, where would I go? It would need to be a place that smells of equal trash, but with the potential of roses. I can’t go from the Red Roof to a Ritz. And it might as well be a team in a place that feels like vacation. I’m too Irish and well-mannered for south Florida. Dolphins are out. I enjoy the Fall, but I’m out on the Winter so we can cross the Vikings off this goofy little list of mine. I don’t own any weapons so I can’t ever be a Falcons fan. If Seattle is really as rainy as I’ve always heard, I’m out on the Seahawks too.
Being a Rams fan sounds pretty cozy these days. Not only is he a rockstar on the field, but he’s a family man with a wife that puts the other ‘WAGs’ to shame. On top of that, LA is notorious for consistently beautiful weather. Another team could be the Bengals. ‘Danny Dimes’ is a great nickname, but ‘Joe Brrrr’ is a Super Bowl winning quarterback. These two teams above wouldn’t be practical, though. That would be going from janitor to CEO. That is exactly why the team I think I could most practically sneak onto their fanbase would be the Carolina Panthers.
Bryce Young is a bust, so I already know what to expect. Whether I’m in the Outer Banks or Hilton Head, I could still be a fan. But most importantly, and with no statistical backing whatsoever, I think a dynasty is rising. I can feel it in my loins.
An Ode to the Giants
Since everything above was hypothetical and I will always be a disgruntled Giants fan, here is an ode to these lovable fools:
My life is rough. My life is tough. Why? I am a Giants fan.
I cry each week. A single win is all I seek. Why? I am a Giants fan.
I say 'fuck' a lot. I think it's a script and all one big plot. Why? I am a Giants fan.
Every Sunday I eat, love, and pray, but the New York Giants still just cannot play.