Super Bowl: The Giants, St. Jude, and Casey

Can someone please slap Asante Samuel. Eli throws into triple coverage and Samuel happens to deflect the pass. Now he is posturing like he made a game-saving interception.

Grocery stores in Glendale are still open—the bananas have arrived.

7-3 at the end of the third quarter? St. Jude, I owe you big time.

WHAT IS SHOCKEY DOING IN THE LUXURY BOX? IS HE DOWNING BEERS? I’M NOT EVEN DOWNING BEERS. Everyone say after me: trade-bait, trade-bait, trade-bait. Get rid of him.

Tyree for 6!

This can’t be happening. St. Jude what exactly do you have in mind for repayment?

Hail to John Johnson! - Keeping Giants healthy since 1948.

9:30 left and I am fighting myself. The Giants are leading, but I don’t want to set myself up for the ultimate letdown.

Sure enough the Patriots rally.

2:30 remaining.

Steve is at level 3 of Dino Puzzle (I have no idea. I am simply reporting what was going on at Edgemere Drive).

ELI! ELI! ELI!

TYREE! TYREE! TYREE!

PLAXICO! PLAXICO! PLAXICO!

When Eli lobbed that pass in the air, there was a moment of silence in the room. For the first time in I don’t know how long I felt that magical moment of satisfaction in cheering for the Giants. Nothing else mattered. All the dropped passes, false starts, and over thrown passes that were all too common earlier this year seemed like distant memories. I leapt from my chair and kinda had a Jim Valvano moment—looking for someone to hug. I quickly recomposed myself. Josh and The Rock had a ‘deer in the headlights look’ when they saw me coming at them. Kinda like—yo Mr. G - we enjoy coming to your crib and all, but we are not at the hugging level yet.

I settle for a few high fives.

4 and out for the Pats.

Eli genuflects.

Someone pinch me…OW! Not that hard! 

The hairdo on the trophy platform was scary.

I’m a Giants Fan—I have no more misery.

Thank you, St. Jude.

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