7/27/2007
By FatMan in Charlotte
for BigBlueInteractive.com
We’ve all heard the saying before, and in certain cases it holds true – you root for the jersey, not the man in it. While I’d like to think I also root for good people, the fact is, not everyone in Giant blue is a model citizen. So, we root for the jersey. With that established, what separates us from other fans?? This is where I take pride. I’m not going to drop trou and show the fans of other teams the length of my piss stream. I’ll leave that to Raider fans. Me, I’ll dazzle them with my football knowledge, astound them with my respect for history, stun them with my dedication, and floor them with my passion. I want to see a fan of the Jaguars be reminded of Frank Gifford when they are watching Fred Taylor. Unfortunately, they can’t. The team didn’t even exist the last time the Giants won the Super Bowl, let alone when Frank was young, had his real facial skin, and wasn’t dragged down by Kathie Lee.
I like going to a Giants game and actually having a discussion with the guy next to me on why a draw failed, or why the safety and CB had a miscommunication. Go to a Falcons game, and the guy next to you will be complaining that the Falcons are running the ball up by 10 points with 2 minutes left. I like going to a tailgate where people are talking about each other’s lives, and what they will be doing later in the week. Go to an Eagles game and the people there are eyeing the next mark to heckle, throw beer at, or possibly club with a lead pipe. I like staying until the end of a game and saluting the players as they leave the field, just like I did as a kid, or staying with the telecast until the end, because each minute of football that passes is one less minute of football to see that year. I hold onto it like gold. Go to a Panthers game and you can greet people getting to the stadium at halftime and then turning around and leaving with a minute to play…in the 3rd quarter.
These things are not unique to Giants fans. Packer fans are incredibly versed in the protocols of fandom. Steeler fans are united strongly. But the Giant fan is a strong breed. They are usually older professionals – successful in life. They appreciate more than just watching large men crash into each other, like the fine arts. They have the New York gene that promotes rudeness, but they suppress it on Sundays. While the Packer fan is noble – he is a simple man. He knows beer, cheese, sausage and football. His idea of a big city is Kenosha. His idea of the fine arts is Trivia Tuesdays at Schlotsky’s Bar, especially the questions about TV. The Steeler fan is a hard-working guy. He may have black lung disease or a few welding scars gained through the hardscrabble years. He’s probably beaten the crap out of a co-worker in the past 30 days, and his idea of fusion dining is piling his onion rings on top of his triple cheeseburger. Both Packer and Steelers probably have yellow in their uniform because it is bright and helps their fans keep track of whom to follow. Being simple isn’t a sin. It just isn’t being a Giant fan.
With that being said, a Giant fan also has to admit to shortcomings. Because of historical failures, he is a pessimistic chap. He expects the worst and is pleasantly surprised when something good happens. If something bad happens, it was supposed to. He’s also a loyal guy. Loyalty isn’t bad, but I can see some guy dragging their Dad to a game because that’s how they’ve done it for years, except Dad has now become like Bernie and his lifeless body is beginning to smell. But we’ve been trained by ownership. Get a job with the Giants and it’s like tenure. To get removed from office, you either have to have pictures of a Mara with wildlife in a suggestive pose, or you have to do something to make the fans stay away. Government workers muse to themselves, “If only I worked for the Giants, I’d get all the perks of stability”. But if that’s the worst thing we can say, we are pretty well off. We don’t dress up like we’re going to a Star Wars/Goth convention like the Oakland fans. We don’t put pig snouts on and think we are still back in the 80’s like people in Washington. We don’t buy Milk Bones and throw them around, like they do in Cleveland. Oh, wait a minute – they don’t do that anymore. I’m not sure what Brown fans do these days except drink and cry. Just like each region of the country has a stereotype, so does each fan, and I’m glad that I’m looked at as a stuffy intellect than a toothless redneck. It’s not like I had a choice. I was born into this.
From the first time I watched a game with my rabid uncles, the jersey and me would become one with each other. And I know there are thousands of people just like me. People who appreciate a draw on 3rd and 5 to beat a blitz. People who lean over to the ones next to them and ask, “How does your son like Colgate?”. People who see Brandon Jacobs take a carry and flashback to a youthful Giff. People who quiet down on offense and make noise on defense. People who appreciate a 3-0, turnover-free game. And most off, people who are jumping out of their seats for some football, and know that from here until the end of January is the only part of the year that is worth living.
Raise your glasses to the fine folks in Green Bay and Pittsburgh, but pat yourselves on the back as the finest fans in the NFL. And don’t share the wine, the others will just think it tastes like piss.
And that is The FatMan weighing in…
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