We should be disgusted by anyone who condones Incognito, excuses Incognito or ignores Incognito. We should be disgusted by anyone who blames Martin, teases Martin or trivializes Martin.
Considering that appalling video we saw on YouTube, with that punk going Sonny Liston on a lady, it shouldn’t surprise anyone to hear that some football fans don’t think before they act. Now the Jets have you drunk on defense, guts, and guile.
Despite what the mythmakers and propagandists, and you, the Jeter Zombie assert, Derek does not, never has, and never will…
Despite your monolithic love for the Cardinals, no one was rooting for the Redbirds more than I was. Not only as a Yankees fan, but as a native New Yorker imbued with an epic allergy to all things New England, I am biologically skewed against the Red Sox.
If A-Rod, Bonds, Sosa, etc., are banned from baseball’s Hall of Fame, then Papi, no matter how Big, should share their cell — says Jason Keidel.
Sometimes a run ends, no matter who leads it. Yet the message remains the same with the Giants, and that message resonates just as loudly in loss as it does in victory.
The vocal, aggregate angst from Cowboys fans is quite understandable. While you would be right to direct your anger at some well-heeled Cowboys, Tony Romo isn’t one of them. In fact, he is the reason you really matter.
As a native New Yorker, I am allergic to all things New England — from the way they talk to Ben Affleck to our carpet-bagging mayor whose life’s work is banning soft drinks and arresting smokers in Central Park.
Something is wrong with Big Blue. Even if the Giants finish over .500 the rest of the way – and nothing they did in Monday night’s win assures you they will – someone vital must go.
For all of us who declared before the season that Gang Green was gangrenous this year, it’s time to munch on our words, and even flash a little gratitude for perhaps the most beleaguered franchise in football.
When I first heard the cacophonous call for Daniel Snyder to change the name of his football team, I cringed. It felt like the sport we worshiped since childhood was under siege, crushed by the tide of groupthink.
For decades New Yorkers have formed a Gregorian chant in praise of Madison Square Garden, the “Mecca of Basketball.” Its history is ample, evident, and endless. What history are we talking about?
Now the Giants, who keep belching these bromides about a playoff run, need to shut up. Win one game and then speak mildly, meekly and modestly.
I don’t know whether Jets fans are psychic, psychotic, or schizophrenic.
The New York Yankees are America’s team. Or are they? The Evil Empire just doesn’t feel so daunting anymore, winning just one title since the last year of the ’90s dynasty.