Bleacher Report - Articles by Elisabeth Galina

Kevin Costner to Make Another Baseball Movie (Humor)

Elisabeth Galina — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 07:48:47 -0400

Intercepted—an email from Academy Award winner Kevin Costner to Bull Durham director Ron Shelton.

Ronnie,

Took the kids to see Batman this weekend. Wow. We need to get in on this. I’ve been toying with the idea of doing a Superhero movie for some time now and I think you’re just the man to direct it. Imagine the possibilities! We can enjoy the same success we enjoyed after Bull Durham. Anyway, the movie’s about an All Star baseball team that fights crime. Let me know if you’re interested.

BatMen: MLB the Movie

Disorder. Chaos. Costner—This tag line will sell the movie. I mean it.

Plot: Baseball players by day, crime fighters by night!

A group of renegade crime fighters instill order in Majorleagueville, a city rife with mayhem. Using their powers of swing, fastballs and base stealing this group of over-paid men stay above .300 while never revealing their true identities. When A-Rod is kidnapped by the evil Madonna, the BatMen must band together to rescue the third basemen before he spends his hard earned $252 million on Kabbalah bracelets.

—I’m thinking Kevin Smith should write the script. Or the guy who wrote Major League. Wait, was I in that? I can’t remember anymore. Too many baseball films! LOL.

Cast:

Derek Jeter/Mr. November: Me (I’m quite versatile.)

Superpower: The Dive

Albert Pujols/Prince Albert: Tracy Morgan (He used to do this character on SNL called “Dominican Lou.”)

Superpower: Power Hitting

Chase Utley/Chutley: Zac Efron (I’m not really sure who that is but my daughter loves him).

Superpower: Fielding

Chipper Jones/Chip: Matt Damon (Ran into him at Starbucks the other day. Nice kid).

Superpower: Switch hitting.

Jason Giambi’s Mustache/Big Stache: Tom Selleck’s mustache

Superpower: Designated Hitting

Ichiro Suzuki/Itchy: Ichiro Suzuki (He played himself on a Japanese crime drama. Very convincing performance).

Superpower: Breaking Mariners club records

Ryan Braun /The Hebrew Hammer: Shia LaBoeuf (He comes highly recommended from Harry Ford who worked with him in Transformers or Indiana Jones 4. I’m not sure which one. If they’re not about baseball, I don’t watch ‘em).

Superpower: Pull Hitting

Josh Hamilton/Crackhead Jesus: Josh Hamilton (There’s an actor named Josh Hamilton! What a great marketing tool!)

Superpower: Slugging

Russell Martin/Speed Limit: Seth Rogen (If you squint they look alike. And we need someone to provide comic relief).

Superpower: Catching and Stealing

Jonathan Papelbon /The Delivery Man: Leonardo DiCaprio (Huge talent. Reminds me of me).

Superpower: Closing

Madonna: Susan Sarandon (Wouldn’t it be nice to get the ol’ gang back together?)

Evil power: Pretending to be British.

Alex Rodriguez/A-Rod: Robert Downey Jr. (He’s a treat to watch, a real character driven actor).

Superpower: A-Bombs

Get back to me ASAP so we can start production.

Kevin

God to Penguins: See What I Did There?

Elisabeth Galina — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:23:15 -0400

With the Pittsburgh Penguins hanging on to the dream of a possible Stanley Cup win, The Almighty is giving a press conference outside the Mellon Arena. Let’s tune in live and see what’s on God’s mind:

“Hockey fans, I’m here to address you because I well, I, what’s the expression? Right. I made it rain. It was a decision that may have alienated some of my followers, but it had to be done. Sometimes I do that, okay? Don’t test me. You saw what I did to the Patriots.

My lawyer has suggested I hold this press conference in order to clear up a few things. Mainly: why did I interfere with the Detroit Red Wings and their potential victory?

First, I’d like to go on record and say that I am not a Penguins fan or a Red Wings fan. I am a Whalers fan through and through, although after the team moved to Carolina, I lost interest.

I gave up on hockey. I focused my attention on Major League Baseball. Gave the Red Sox a bunch of wins. There was that whole Barry Bonds homerun whatnot…look, I was busy. But yeah, I am done with MLB; as you can probably tell by the Yankees being in last place and I am ready to work some of my magic. Super Bowl 42 doesn’t count."

(A rogue cell phone starts ringing. A man in the crowd looks at the ground sheepishly as he turns off his cell phone.)

“Excuse me? Do you want to get that? I’m kinda talking here, buddy. Is that a Lakers hat you’re wearing? Really? I’ll give Kobe a broken ankle! I will turn Derek Fisher into a frog! Do not mess with God!"

(God takes a minute to collect his thoughts. He breathes in and out slowly for a few moments.)

“So sorry about that. I have located my power animal and am now calm. What was I saying? Yes, I am completely and utterly bored. NFL season starts in September. Go Saints! But until then I’ve got nothing. I found myself watching the NHL playoffs.

What insanity! There was the whole Sean Avery being a brat thing. Don’t worry, I took care of it. He’s getting Anna Wintour lattes and picking up her dry cleaning.

There was Marty Biron figuring out how to be an excellent goaltender. Took care of that too, he’s playing golf.

There was Shane Hnidy, the spelling of his last name I found distracting on the back of his jersey. Took care of that, made him legally change his name to Brett Favre. I kid! I kid!

There was the Dallas/San Jose overtime fiasco, a game that would not end. Took care of that, promised Brendan Morrow I’d buy his soul back from Satan if he scored a damn goal. Note to self, get on that.

There was Detroit beating Colorado in only four games. That one wasn’t me, that was my son Jesus trying to prove to the old man that he’s still an important miracle worker.

Anyhizzle, hockey, with a little help from me, had become exciting again! Thrilling stuff happening on the ice. So I kept watching.

Game One was bo-ring. Seriously, it was like the Penguins smoked a fatty before the game and stepped onto the ice like ‘Dude, just pass it to Crosby he’ll score.’ And Crosby was like ‘I’m Sidney Crosby, I’m the face of the NHL, blah, blah, blah. I want my mommy!'

Game Two? Forget it. I watched half of it and then went to shoot pool with Bhudda.

Game Three however, was...was...oh man, I hope I am saying this correctly...too hype! Pittsburgh woke up. The Wizard of Cros was on fire! That’s when I thought to myself, okay, this is what hockey is all about. This is the kind of stuff I used to see from my Whalers back in the day.

Then there was Game Four—a disaster. I was convinced Malkin wouldn’t be a useless tool. I thought Hossa would do more than just score one goal a few minutes into the first period. But no, that’s what I got.

I should like the Red Wings. I’m old and they’re the closest thing to the Whalers that I’m gonna get. I should like the Penguins too because they represent the new generation, a rebirth of the NHL.

Come on people, the resurrection?!? Hello? Do you not pay attention in Sunday school? Jesus. Oops, sorry son.

I should also hate the Penguins because their two previous Cup titles were won with Ron Francis. Google him. I don’t want to talk about it.

Last time someone mentioned Francis to me I condemned them to date Hillary Duff and play for the Islanders. That’s right Comrie, laugh it up now at Nassau Coliseum, but you’ll be sorry when you have to sit through another teen rom-com with no ending and your team doesn’t make it to the playoffs for the next 36 years.

But I digress...

I didn’t want the series to end. I haven’t felt this good since Gordie Howe decided to play his last season in Hartford.

Marc-Andre Fleury’s body was contorting in ways a man’s body should never contort in! Adam Hall went from being ‘Who the hell is Adam Hall?’ to ‘Adam Hall, hell yes!’ Ryan Malone was eating pucks! Sergei Gonchar was skating head first into the boards.

With the Red Wings one minute away from a Stanley Cup victory I decided we need a sixth game. But who, dear friends, could I make a hero? It hit me with 35 seconds left. The funny guy from Quebec whose playoff beard is so obscenely divine he looks identical to my son Christ: Mad Max Talbot.

The rest is, as they say, history. The Talbot goal I assisted gave the Pens the momentum to keep it, I am so bad at this...to keep it…real? They won the game in the third overtime and now there’s a sixth game to be played the way a Stanley Cup final should be played: with desire, want, drive...you get me

My mind isn’t made up about a seventh game. I’m still on the fence about who I’d like to see hoisting the Cup high above his shoulders. But I do know that Game Six means a lot more now. It’s crunch time.

Oh and I told Whisenhunt to name Leinart the starter next season for the Cards. Deal with it.

Does anyone have any questions?

Yes, you in the front with the Cubs cap on. Good choice by the way. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”

NFL Quarterbacks: Where's the Fun?

Elisabeth Galina — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 07:11:45 -0500

Perfect cheekbones do not a perfect season make. Tom Brady is talented, attractive and one of the best QBs out there, but the guy looks like he’s passing a stone out on the field.

Get your kidneys checked or lighten up. If there’s one thing that’s missing from the NFL and its quarterbacks, it’s a sense of humor.

Brett Favre is old. There’s no denying that. I won’t show the guy any kind of niceties until he changes the pronunciation of his last name to Favray.

That’s how it should be pronounced, aight?!?

That’s beside the point. The point is he’s had a good run. As much as I despise that grey-haired drama queen and feel like Wisconsin would get kicked out of the United States and beg to be adopted by Canada when B-Fav retires, the guy can play him some fun football.

He looks like he’s having a blast on the field which is rare these days. Favray enjoys football so much that I don’t mind watching Packers games. Granted, those games were mostly in the playoffs.

Football should be about three things: Winning, sportsmanship, and having a good freakin’ time on the field.

We’ve seen teams win. We’ve seen sportsmanship at its best (not talking about you Homeless Bill Smellichick) but the only guy who looks like he loves his job is Papa Favre. Sure David Garrard smiles when he connects with a Reggie Williams for a TD. Yes, Drew Brees looks somewhat content when the Saints don’t lose. And Carson Palmer seems downright giddy when he pronounces Houshmandzadeh, but these guys should be happy all the damn time!

You’re the quarterback for Christ’s sake; you have the best job in the world (besides George W. Bush because that dude does nothing all damn day except royally mess up America and gets hella paid for it).

The next time you’re about to call an audible, remember that everyone is watching. I’m not saying you should giggle like a schoolgirl backstage at a Justin Timberlake concert, but at least acknowledge the fact that you like what you do for a living.

However, there is one quarterback who has the potential to be the next Brett Favre: Denver Broncos QB Jay Cutler.

I’m not talking about numbers and ratings, although he does posses a Favre-esque quality with his throwing, I’m talking about his demeanor.

Cutler is a rare breed. Not because he’s from a town in Indiana happily called Santa Claus or looks like he’s just smoked a huge bat (not implying that Jay Cutler is a pot head but his eyes never look like they’re open enough and he appears to be asleep in all his photos), but because he seems like he’s having a swell time playing in the NFL.

He also looks borderline autistic and is probably in his bedroom right now stacking his jerseys in numerical order. “First I’ll put on my No. 6 Commodores jersey and then I’ll place my number 6 Broncos jersey on top. (Long pause as Cutler stands back to admire his work), guess I’ll call Javon, see if he wants to hangout.”

While Mike Shenanigans tries to groom Cutler into the next Jake Plummer, oops I mean John Elway, he should take into consideration not only Cutler’s abilities to study the playbook under pressure, but his abilities to make the crowd cheer.

You know why everyone in Green Bay looks so content at the games even though it’s minus 9876 degrees outside? The reason is simple; Chief Elder Brett looks so thrilled to be playing football that the crowd just eats it up. Golden oldie Favre doesn’t need to score a touchdown to get the crowd on its feet. He just needs to flash those pearly whites in enjoyment and the crowd goes ape.

Cutler can do all that and more. He’s already started last season. While most QBs show up to their post-game press conferences in pinstripe suits, ties and dapper newsboy caps, while Cutler stands at the podium in a XXL Broncos tee with a tuque (French Canadian speak for knitted wool hat) on, wiping off beads of sweat as they glide down his cherubic cheeks. I just want to pinch them, they’re so cute!

He answers the reporters’ questions with more than simple “yes’s” and “no’s” and he cracks a sweet smile when he’s played above par and knows Coach is gonna give him a treat. Something he can stack, perhaps?

But seriously, Jay Cutler can be the next Brett Favre. He can slip the fun back into football and make being an NFL quarterback look like the great job it is.

If not we can try it with Rex Grossman, but he's got to stop sucking first.

Dancing with Miami's Jason Taylor

Elisabeth Galina — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 04:01:00 -0500

Jason Taylor is on Dancing with the Stars?!? It's not bad enough you're a DE for the Miami Dolphins?!?

I guess it can't be any worse than watching Master P waltz. That was awkward.

In honor of Taylor and his dashing attempt to dance like he's never danced before, I've come up with a list of NFL players who'd make perfect contestants on DWTS:

1) Saints Linebacker Scott Fujita

This guy's a diamond in the rough—I can feel it. He'll start off all stiff and then wow the judges in week three with a soft, sensual ballet number.

2) Cardinals QB Matt Leinart

Sigh. He doesn't even have to dance. He can stand in the middle of the dance floor looking really hot in a suit. His partner can be old pal from USC, Saints running back Reggie Bush. Again, sigh.

3) Bengals Wide Receiver TJ Houshmandzadeh

TJ Whosyourmama looks like he can cut a mean rug. Hearing the foreign judge trying to pronounce Houshmandzadeh'll provide a barrel of frikken' laughs too!

4) Seahawks QB Matt Hasslebeck

He's gonna get the ball and he's gonna score. Or he's gonna hit the dance floor and he's gonna fall. Either way, the press'll get a great soundbite out of him.

5) Bears Linebacker Brian Urlacher

This guy's a beast. He always looks like he's just eaten a baby...and enjoyed it. BUT babies give you much needed energy so Urly will be able to tango up a storm.

6) Chargers Running Back LaDainian Tomlinson

Yeah he can run faster than a speeding bullet or whatever, but can he get his jitterbug on? I'm thinking no. However, his mom could bribe the judges with some Campbell's Chunky to ensure her son stays in the competition.

7) Cowboys Defensive Tackle Tank Johnson

Tank'll eff you up. No contest. Who cares if he can dance? He'll provide much needed dramatic tension week four when he gets voted off and pulls a gat on ex-teammate Bri-Bri Urlacher.

8) Colts QB Peyton Manning

Not like he's doing much these days—all his endorsements have gone to his lil bro. He'll make it to the final round but get booted off when his dad Archie pops in for a visit and mistakenly calls him Eli. Peyton will lose it and hold host Tom Bergeron in a headlock yelling, "I am the original Manning! I won the Super Bowl first! For everything else there's Master Card!"

9) Giants Tight End Jeremy Shockey

This guy used to look like a viking rapist—not a rapist who's into vikings, a viking who's into raping. Then he cut his hair. Now he looks like a Scientologist bodyguard assigned to John Travolta's detail. No one should look like a Scientologist bodyguard. Scientology is straight up evil. A stint on Dancing with the Stars should clear that right up. Shockey'll look like an idiot which is way better than looking like a Scientologist.

10) Titans QB Vince Young

Me Vince Young. Me throw ball. Me fire agent because agent get me job on dance show. Me surprise everyone by doing good dance moves and winning competition. Me retake Wonderlic Test and score seven, beating old score of six. Me re-hire agent and get job on VH1 reality show Surreal Life.

Patriots Still Pretty Perfect, Tom Brady Still Hot...and Human

Elisabeth Galina — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 03:44:52 -0500

Damn, it must feel good to be a Manning.

Two years in a row they stomped out Mr. California Cool. Peyton did it last year in the AFC Championship game. Eli did it this year in front of millions of people at the Super Bowl.

No wonder Gisele was hitting that red wine hard. Another Manning proved to the world that her boyfriend is a human being. But here’s the thing New England, you need to stop crying. It’s not that the Patriots were that good; it’s that you are that good. You think it’s easy to go 18-0? 16-0, no problem. Even Jamie Lynn Spears went 16-0. 17-0, cakewalk. A bunch of Floridian mammals did it back in ’72.

Going 18-0? Pat yourselves on the back!

Do you really think that as soon as the game was over every woman in the world said “Ew, Tom’s so ugly. I’m soooo into Eli now.” Then we proceeded to call Randy Moss and told him to go back to Minnesota where he can go continue making illegal left turns. Can you hear that? It’s the sound Bill Belichick sewing the sleeves back onto his hoodie. Listen closely; you’ll be able to hear Donte Stallworth on the phone with Sean Payton trying to weasel his way back into a black and gold uniform.

Did the loss to New York turn your perfect season to crap? No.

Records were broken this season. Goals were set and achieved. Franchise tags were placed. Even my mother knows who Asante Samuel is! So stop your bitching and accept the fact that you lost the Bowl of all Bowls by three points. You still made history.

Didn’t Brady and Moss break NFL records in a game six weeks earlier against the very same Giants? Yes, I believe they did.

Brady got sacked five times during the Super Bowl. Why? Because for the first time all season, he was vulnerable. Although an ankle injury didn’t stop Plaxico Burress all season, it took its toll on Tom Terrific.

And oh, New England you just assumed you were going to win, didn’t you? Shit, even the Giants assumed you’d cream them. Rightfully so, up until that point the entire nation figured you were created in some government experiment. But the truth came out on February 3rd.

I never thought I’d say this, but take a cue from Brett Favre. Here’s a guy who plays football and actually enjoys it. Here’s a guy who get sacked and then shakes the hand of the defensive player who knocked him down because he loves football.

Dear Patriots, it’s time you sat back and reflected on how awesome you are, I guarantee you’ll experience a foreign feeling. It’s called happiness and that weird thing your mouths are doing, that’s called a smile.

You spend the entire season eating humble pie only to shove it on our faces when Uncle Bill walked off field a few seconds early. What happened in that locker room? Did Teddy and Junior lay the smack down on Tom? Did Randy rip out his cornrows in frustration?

We all know what happened in Big Blue’s locker room. Strahan shot celebratory fireworks out of his gap, Tyree made out with his helmet, Eli and Plaxico held each other and shed tears of joy and Shockey suited up discreetly and was all like “What are you talking about? I played the entire game.”

Engineering great scoring drives in the final moments of the fourth quarter to win games are Brady’s bread and butter. On Sunday, bloody Sunday, the Giants took away his knife and gave it to Eli.

Was it the biggest upset in NFL history? Hell no. The Patriots weren’t invincible, just tired and human. It happens, get over yourselves. You’re phenomenal athletes, skilled football players and the 2007 season was one heck of a show.

A Fan's Perspective: Football Will Always Be There for You

Elisabeth Galina — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 13:55:57 -0500

Matt Flynn drops back in the pocket and surveys the field. He isn’t Brady. He isn’t Brees. Hell, he isn’t even Leinart, but he gets the job done.

Louisiana State University vs. Ohio State University—National Championship. LSU has the lead.

It’s the end of the second quarter. I want LSU to win. I need LSU to win. Funny thing is, I didn’t even go there. I went to Concordia University and not once did I attend a Stingers game.

When I was a kid, I lived in New Orleans. My father was finishing his post-doctoral program at Tulane, yet, we never rode the Green Wave. We were Tigers all the way. There’s a feeling you get that sits deep in your chest. It starts in your gut and works its way up to your throat. You get choked up. Sometimes, actual tears stream down your cheeks.

This is what it feels like to be a football fan. This is what it feels like to live and breathe for a group of guys you don’t even know. You paint your face black and gold and tailgate in rain, sleet or shine. You wear your Tomlinson jersey and eat Campbell’s Chunky soup. You have a Mastercard because Peyton said you should. You wear Degree to smell like Chad Johnson. You dine at Subway because Reggie Bush does.

You’ve made your choice and you’re sticking to it. It doesn’t take much before a connection is made. Maybe you grew up in Denver and are a Bronco for life. Maybe you went to school near Michigan and now you lead the pride of Lions’ fans.

It could be that in everything you do, you are a San Diego Charger. Your ancestors were Vikings, and you love to watch Peterson. Because you can, because you feel something, every time they kick the ball to Hester, you yell at the TV and tell them not too.

Maybe you fight Irish or maybe you’re a Titan. You used to be a Cowboy, but now you’re a Raven because you got a job in Baltimore. You stood by the Hurricanes in sickness and in health. Why? Because that is what we do. Because this is what it means. Because this is how it is to be a football fan.

Football makes you love and football makes you hate. Football will always be there when you get fired, when you have a fight with your significant other, when your cat dies. Football would hold your hair back when you drink too much and are puking over the toilet. Football would pick up your dry cleaning when you’re too busy.

I don’t watch hockey even though the lore surrounding the Montreal Canadiens is reason enough to tune in. I don’t watch basketball, and I’m pretty sure that even if Montreal had a team, I wouldn’t even begin to understand the sport.

I’ve watched my fair share of baseball, but I’ve never grown attached to an organization. Why? Football’s not just a game; it’s a commitment to a team, a commitment to a player and a commitment to a coach. Football’s a pat on the back and an ice cold beer after a long day at work. I’ve hung out with curling, lacrosse and tennis and they all skimped out on the bill.

Football will never leave you.

Last Manning Standing: Eli Comes Into His Own

Elisabeth Galina — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 08:49:22 -0500

Countless hours of therapy to rebuild your self-esteem from living under your brother Peyton's shadow:

Approx $2400

Removal of "Eli Manning sucks!" graffiti from the side of your house:

Approx $1490

Winning two playoff games in a row, outsmarting the Cowboys, silencing your critics, gaining the respect of your peers, and finally living up to your lineage:

PRICELESS

For everything else there's Mastercard.

Now a proud supporter of the other Manning Brother.

A long time ago, on a playground far away in the small parish of Jefferson, a little boy sat in the sandbox. A little girl came up to him and said, “My dad says your dad's a quarterback. Are you gonna be one too?”

The little boy looked at the little girl and said, “My brother wants to be a quarterback, but I’d rather be a vet.” Then the little girl took the little boy’s hand and they went to play on the monkey bars.

That didn’t happen. Well okay, it might’ve happened. I don’t remember—I was four and more concerned with my Barbie dolls. It’s possible that the little boy and I hung out outside of our Monday to Friday preschool time. I have a vague memory of going to a birthday party in a huge house in the Garden District and all the fathers coming to pick up their children in awe, trying to sneak away with some authentic Saints memorabilia. But other than that, I didn’t give the little boy much thought.

The little boy’s older brother played for Tennessee and he played well. So well that his name was being dropped left right and center. The little boy’s older brother went on to the Colts. My father mentioned this to me when the little boy's older brother was drafted but I’m pretty sure I just shrugged.

I grew up and went to University. I graduated and became a writer. The little boy grew up and went to University. He graduated and became the number-one draft pick in the 2004 NFL draft. That’s when I was realized that the little boy from the playground a long time ago was gonna be something. The little boy from the playground was now going to sport a huge number 10 on his shirt and become a San Diego Charger.

We all know how that turned out. The little boy’s father put in his two cents and the little boy was going to join that dude from “The Bachelor” and go on to throw countless interceptions for the New York football Giants.

But this season was different. It was a hell of a season. The little boy started every game but there were “issues.” He tended to fumble, make mistakes. People said he couldn’t handle the pressure, people said he wasn’t a leader, people said he’d never be as good as his brother.

It seemed that the only person who loved him was Plaxico Burress. Even his own parents were busy supporting their other son—the one who wins Super Bowls.

All of a sudden everything changed. Something clicked and the little boy became a man. It was like a switch was activated deep inside the little boy and the little boy became a Manning.

Tiki’s probably thinking he had something to do with it. “If it weren’t for me calling him out on his lack of leadership, there’s no way he could’ve lead the Giants in a 21-17 victory over the Cowboys,” he might’ve said to his brother Ronde.

Wait, the Giants upset Dallas? The same team that owned them twice this season? The little boy, Eli Manning, helped the Giants win over Dallas? Yes, that Dallas.

Was Jessica Simpson in attendance? For whatever reason, Tony Romo played like an amateur—or he spent the pre-game hours sniffing glue in the locker room.

While Romo was busy pleading with the refs over what he thought were bad calls, Eli was finding Amani Toomer for a pair of touchdowns. The little boy Manning was coming out of his shell. The little boy Manning stepped out of his brother’s shadow, looked around and said “Mom, Dad—it’s time you love me as much as you love Peyton.”

On that same day, Peyton’s Colts got killed by the Chargers, led by Philip Rivers—the same Philip Rivers who went to San Diego in the 2004 draft instead of Eli.

Getting chosen as the number-one draft pick because of your great quarterback ancestry then causing a stink because you’ll never be caught dead in a powder blue Chargers uniform, understandable. Even Drew Brees couldn’t handle being a Charger.

But the little boy did nothing to prove himself in New York for his first three seasons. He should’ve retired at 24 and went to grad school at Tulane.

And speaking of New Orleans, imagine growing up in the shadow of not only your big brother but your hard QBing pops? For Peyton, it was easy—he was that good. The Colts had a great season, and number 18 sat in silence while that dreamboat from New England inched his way to perfection.

Sure, Peyton and Reggie Wayne connected more than once on a slew of phenomenal plays—but nobody gave a flying fart because Tommy and Randy were busy slapping each other’s asses victoriously at Foxboro. But now it’s Eli’s turn, Peyton’s got his ring.

On December 29th, when the Giants met the Patriots at the Meadowlands for their last game of the season, Gran'pa Coughlin could’ve started J-Loads the Hefty Lefty instead of the little boy.

The Giants had secured a wild card spot in the playoffs, they didn’t need the win. New England did in order to break records.

The little boy’s team was doing okay, not great but definitely okay. Shockey was out, Burress was still limping, Strahan was doing his best to defend, Jacobs was trying gain yardage, and Eli still had a penchant for throwing interceptions. He’d sit on the sidelines in games past, between quarters with his red cap on sucking back Gatorade with that “aw gee shucks, I just done thrown another crappy one” look plastered across his face.

But on December 29th it was like Peyton had stepped onto the field wearing an Eli mask. The little boy played so well that it looked at one point like the Giants were going to be the team that bent the Pats over and gave them a spanking.

Can the Giants rip it up at Lambeau on Sunday? Maybe. Brett Favre’s like ninety-six years old, and he’s not as tough as he used to be. Yes, he’s a cold-weather quarterback from Mississippi and Eli’s a warm weather quarterback from Louisiana—but things change. The Giants are road winners and the little boy will try his best to secure Big Blue a spot in Arizona.

New England is 99.9% going to win the Super Bowl, let’s not kid ourselves here but imagine this: February 3rd we get to see history in the making. The Pats go 19-0 and Easy Eli finally wins the respect he so deserves.

Go ahead and name Brady Super Bowl MVP. Go ahead and give Belichick the award for coach of the year. Hell, give Moss, Welker, Bruschi, Seau, Stallworth, Gostkowski and company big fat endorsement deals. Add the New England Patriots to the Guiness Book of World Records—but add the little boy to the list of great Mannings.

After the Super Bowl, after the Giants have come this close to upsetting a perfect season ,the little boy can walk off the field. He’ll go into the locker room and pick up his cell phone. After a few moments of deliberating whether or not to make the call, he’ll dial.

“Hey Tiki, it’s Eli. Thank you for challenging me,” he’ll say in his thick backwater drawl. Then he’ll pause for effect. “Now eat sh*t.”

That’s right, little boy. You’ve earned it—because right now, you da Manning!