Bright Lights, Big City

or: The Day I Became a New York Giants Fan.

Coming in shortly before halftime, my father exclaims "7-3. It's baseball", which filled my heart with dread, because turning the Super Bowl into a baseball game is probably Al Qaeda's master plan. In all honesty, for a long time it was not a very sexy or exciting game, plus the commercials were underwhelming, but like any good '80s action film, the character development was leading to a slam bang finish. Tom Brady, remember when we promised we'd kill you last? We were telling the truth.

You probably never want to watch a football game with me. I am actually the type of person that throws my fists in the air and yells YES! when my team scores a touchdown. I also did this during the Oscars in 2003 when Roman Polanski won Best Director.

Eli Manning is now Luke Skywalker. Many Bothans died to bring the Giants the plans needed to destroy the Death Star, including the Jaguars, but only through believing in the force could he achieve. Watching him break free from 4 tacklers and gunsling it to Tyree was sexier than naked ladies. It was the essential scrappiness that invalid agoraphobic historians believe is essential to the American character.

For a few days, our hearts are open to ridiculous scenarios. Obama may actually be President, Paul Abdul has actually released another single. Perhaps learning how to play guitar may actually get us laid. All things are possible in the Meadowlands.