Gang Green

The Giants are more disfunctional than the Jets.

Savor that.

Not because you don't like the Giants.  Me?  I love 'em.  Go Blue!  But the scarcity of times in which you could actually say that sentence and be right?  Savor that, my friends, under the category of "May you live in interesting times."

God bless those boys in Green.  And the formerly-fat Rex Ryan who, after enough comuppences, however one might spell that, seems to have evolved into a borderline-bearable public figure.  I'm totally getting that lap-band surgery.

It should also be noted that the team the Jets beat last night, despite their shitty early season production, are not chumps.  In fact, there was some thought amongst the so-called intelligentsia that the Falcons might finish the seasons as the champs.  This, it should be noted, comes from the same group of knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing so-called experts that decided the Jets were the worst team in the league.  Fuck you.

Anyway, the point of the story is that I find I've been drinking heavily since breakfast.  And I'm not certain whether I'm drinking in celebration of the Jets or in mourning of the Giants.

These are the best of times and the worst.  Of times, obviously.  
Obviously.

If I might share one thought about the Giants?  One sad, pathetic thought?  

The Giants exist in the worst division in the NFL, and all you have to do to get in the playoffs is to win your division.  So, like the old 18th century British seamen who had "H-O-L-D F-A-S-T" tattooed on their knuckles, I too hold fast to the notion that the Giants, at oh-and-five, only two games out of first place, may still have a moment of loveliness.  Which I already said was sad and pathetic, but I'm sticking to it until proven otherwise.