There was rioting in the streets of New York last night, flocks of drunkards reportedly taking stripping in the streets, yelling and dancing. This is all a bit surprising to me though because there were no Giants fans at the Super Bowl party I attended last night, and there was only one guy rooting for the Patriots. Nobody in attendance really cared who won or lost. On one hand you had the Giants, a team of punks from New Jersey who pretend that they’re from New York. They have their own set of die hard fans commonly they are cheap beer swilling degenerates with no sense of decency. You can find them all over Long Island blasting Journey from their IROC. On the opposite end of the spectrum, you had a group of Ivy League hacks from New England, who had built an empire based on cheating, which had provided them with an undefeated streak this season. Fans of this team are even less bearable than Giants fans, because Giants fans are far less obnoxious. New England fans wobble around in a drunken stupor talking about how “Bahston is the greatest fricken athletic city in the United States”. To the folks in attendance at the Super Bowl party I was at they were just carrying out their yearly tradition of beer, chips, and vapid gambling. However the game that is now known as Super Bowl XLII was quite a memorable game indeed. It rekindled my faith in the underdog spirit.
So far, this year has not been a good one for underdogs. Dennis Kucinich after being dicked around by Campaign Finance Politics finally dropped out. John Edwards who was completely ignored by the media until the last minute when the media realized that they should probably focus on all the candidates finally fell to the grip of a lack of campaign finances. Ron Paul, a person that I actually respected when he first entered the race has now descended into shameful levels of shilling for votes with “Ron Paul Racing” (you know, because the NASCAR crowd votes Republican) and his abominable Ron Paul Revolution blimp, an idea which I’m sure is taking off like a lead balloon. (I’m sure that joke has been made on other websites, but I’m gonna ride the cliché anyway, just incase.) And it appears that Mike Gravel, a man who proudly waved the freak flag in the face of the rest of his Democratic opponents, and my personal favorite candidate, does not appear to be on the ballot in my home state, let alone planet Earth. But back to football.
I don’t even watch football regularly myself, I had only showed up (as I do every year) for the beer and football team themed foods (Philedelphia Eagles Cheese Steaks, New England Patriots Clam Chowder, Dallas Cowboys Sloppy Joes, even in the food selection the Giants were completely neglected.) I had woken up fairly early to Wolf Blitzer interviewing Senator Arlen Specter about what is known as “Spygate” on CNN. The fact that football cheating controversy got its own “-gate” name (on CNN no less) is kind of embarrassing but I suppose the media can’t really get much lower. I had asked everyone who showed up who they were rooting for, and the general response was “I’m not really leaning one way or the other” or “To tell you the truth; I actually hate both of these teams.” Nobody had taken the Giants seriously; more folks were concerned with which bag of chips to open first than what time the game actually started, this was going to change.
Nobody even cared to notice how much the Giants were playing like lions in this game. Nobody cheered when the Giants made a three point field goal giving them the lead in the first quarter. “That’s gonna be completely different by halftime” blurted out the one Patriots fan, painfully pointing out the obvious fact that scores had the tendency to change in sports. Who fucking knew right? Anyway, I knew who the Patriots were, and that they had a habit of winning Super Bowls, so cynically I had pretty much assumed the same thing, and I was proven right by halftime when the score was 7-3 Patriots. I was already pretty drunk off the beer I had been drinking and I snuck away to smoke a few cigarettes and finish off a flask of scotch I had been carrying around all weekend. I came back to watch Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, (a pretty underrated band in their own right) take the stage and belt out their hits, my only fear was that they would play “Freefalling”, a song I loathe. Of course the song was played, but then went into Running Down a Dream, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t sing “Wooo-oooo” along with Mr. Petty.
I disappeared once again because all the food and beer I had been digesting decided to make an early exit on account of all the scotch I had drank so quickly. I blacked out and woke on the floor of the bathroom, which was immaculately clean as if I had never even projectile vomited in there. Having completely missed the third quarter, which apparently was completely pointless anyway, I returned to find everybody at the party fixated on the TV screaming at it the way cavemen grunt at cave paintings. The Giants had scored a touchdown and took a 10-7 lead. People were beginning to take the Giants seriously now. People were given a legitimate reason not to root for New England. “JUST KEEP SACKING BRADY LIKE YOU’VE BEEN DOING THE ENTIRE GAME YOU BASTARDS”, “DON’T LET THOSE FUCKERS MAKE THE DRIVE” were echoed in the small cramped basement where everyone was watching the game. The Patriots fan, not even a native New Englander, was not biting his nails and shaking his knees until he heard “AW FUCK” he poked his head out and danced around as the Patriots scored another touchdown.
Two minutes and forty five seconds is not a long time. You can cook a Hot Pocket in that time. One could probably even figure out the meaning of life if they put their mind to it. I felt sorry for the Giants. There they were, a band of losers from the country’s worst smelling state, they played their heart out, the fought like warriors, but in the end the got crushed by the machine. Or so I thought. Eli Manning passed the ball with a biblical level of fierceness and vengeance, and Plaxico Buress (officially one of the coolest names I’ve ever heard) completed the pass gaining the lead once again 17-14 Giants. I checked to see the look on the Patriots fan’s face, but he had disappeared for the rest of the night, I don’t know where he is right now, presumably crying somewhere. With twenty-three seconds to try and turn things around the Patriots had a look of terror on their face. They knew that they had been beaten. A few incomplete passes later they gave up, everyone crowding the field even though there was one second left in the game. A fact that known cheater and Patriots coach Bill Belichick pointed out like a sad sore loser. But no one cared. The game was over. The underdogs had won.
With my newfound faith in the underdogs present, I am going to vote in tomorrow’s primary elections. According to the latest polls (whatever they’re good for) Obama and Clinton are neck-in-neck. I personally don’t care for either of them, so I will most likely write in Mike Gravel, and he probably won’t win, but if there’s anything I learned for the Giants, is that there's always a chance.