Three Bronx cheers for the NFL schedule maker who's guaranteed a lousy Christmas for half of New York City. The guy must be related to Joe Buck.
I'm going in the game today. Need to get the bad taste of 1988 out of my mouth and lead our Jints into playoff position.
I'm wearing my pajamas under my uniform so I'm ready for anything. Frank Gifford told me to take out my old Our Lady of Good Council #16 jersey (we practiced in Central Park's 97th Street Dust Bowl in 1969) and told Coach Coughlin to put me as flanker in the second quarter after Jacobs and Bradshaw soften up the Jets defense with pounding runs.
My personal trainer, my grandfather, will be on the sidelines making weird faces and smoking his cigar and coughing a lot. At flanker, I'll be a triple threat on the reverse thanks to my wicked left arm and my strong right leg from kicking and throwing pillows around the living room when the Giants do poorly (Dad taught me).
I feel bad (not that bad) for my friends, the Calverts, Jet fans, but it's time to play four quarters of Giant football. Gangrene is going down. I plan to pick up extra yards by screaming"Geronimo!" after I catch the ball and straight arm would be tacklers. Gifford is proud I'm wearing his number.
Dear Jet Offense, Please be kind to the Giant secondary they wear special orthopedic boots that slow back pedaling, and they love their defensive brothers so much they are reluctant to go deep with receivers and suffer separation.