Have our two NFL teams ever been worse? Has there ever been a more deflating weekend of football than the Giants gagging to the one-win Jaguars and then the Jets choking to the Dolphins?
Since we are upon our great day of gratitude, a pretext for gorging on poultry and then taking our swollen torsos to the nearest television for some football, let’s look to sports for reasons to give thanks.
There’s only one true trophy, one 12-point buck Woody can bag this winter — Jim Harbaugh. And if the ornery 49ers coach is on sale after the holidays, he needs to be the singular focus of Woody Johnson’s affection.
The Jets had almost every advantage imaginable Monday night and still lost by a galling spread to a pedestrian Bills team that had a biblically bad week.
Sadly, we have to deal in symbolism, because not one rumor regarding Mayweather and Pacquiao has materialized into something that boxing’s dwindling devotes can hang on to.
Somewhere way on the right side of your globe, in the aorta of China, Manny Pacquiao will fight on Saturday, November 22.
Hiring Harbaugh would meet Woody’s lust for a luminary to lead the team. Lord knows the born billionaire can afford him. And Harbaugh can coach as well, if not better, than anyone.
No doubt Phil Jackson needs a few years to put his stamp on the club. But keep in mind that the next champion he builds will be his first.
Even if you’re not a Big Blue devotee, Sunday had to summon some sense of sadness.
There’s a contemporary push to place starting pitchers in the same realm as everyday players, which is confusing as it is annoying.
It’s fitting that Philadelphia, where our beloved nation was born, may represent the rebirth of a once-burgeoning career.
And at 3-6 the Giants are woefully lost in the lower half of the NFL, which assures those in the five boroughs and beyond a most flawed and frigid winter. Sadly, this is not an anomaly.
My disdain for Fan Guy is renowned. But now it seems Fan Guy and Jets Fan are more closely related than I ever even pondered, two twigs on one branch from the same family tree.
LeBron didn’t just join the Cleveland Cavaliers. He came to save the world, so to speak, to bring financial and spiritual lubricant to the Rust Belt, an area of America that has been lost to the the meat-hook realities of economics.
While I abhor Fan Guy, we have something in common. We are both wildly neurotic about our teams. The defining difference is that I see my squad through wholly cynical hues.