A (NY) Giant Season of Promise No More

It's no secret that I'm a fan of the New York Football Giants, living in the I-95 corridor between the Baltimore Ravens and Washington Redskins, with a sprinkling of Pittsburgh Steelers fans in every cul-de-sac. It's tough. So when my Giants lost today in a most disappointing fashion, I was doubly saddened to realize that two of the three "local" teams are still alive to win it all.

Another round of local team hope means enduring a week of Ravens' car flags and Steelers' hats. And though it means that at least one of them won't make the Super Bowl, it also means that one of them will. Despite this, today's loss to the Philadelphia Eagles pains me more than hearing Baltimoreans say, "Howya think them Ravens are gonna do hon?" for another week. It's the Giants who should still be playing.

Now they're everywhere!

Coming off of last year's improbable Super Bowl title, we (meaning all Giants' fans) had high hopes and wanted the team to make a good run to prove last year wasn't the fluke it seemed. I suppose the team accomplished that by having the best regular season in the NFC, clinching a 1st-round bye and home-field throughout. Unfortunately, home-field advantage didn't help the Giants today. It's not any easier to accept because 3 of the 4 home teams in the Divisional round lost, as did 2 of 4 in the Wild Card round. Regular season titles aren't celebrated, playoff wins are.

The Giants just weren't as crisp as I knew them to be this year. A few 20-yard outs that were just missed always seemed to connect before. Uncharacteristic penalties like blocking in the back and hands to the face meant this team would never recapture the magic. Rushing three in a prevent defense to end the 1st half, when blitzing Donovan McNabb had worked, was not the Giants' way.

The defense could have called for Michael Strahan today.

Call me an armchair quarterback, but if Manning was having trouble throwing accurately beyond 15 yards, maybe, just maybe, the Giants should run the ball with the league's top rushing offense and keep passes to under 10 yards. It certainly worked for McNabb converting 7 of 13 3rd downs to the Giants' 3 of 13. John Carney's 2 missed field goals are not to blame here, this was a total team failure and it sucks.

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

Through the first 11 games of the season, the Giants looked, played, and carried themselves like the worldbeaters they were. Outside of a fluke blowout loss to the Browns in Week 5, the Giants rolled through the league beating the likes of the Steelers on the road and running over the Ravens at the Meadowlands. Despite losing Michael Strahan to retirement and Osi Umenyiora to a knee injury in the preseason, the Giants were rolling along with a perfect balance of power running, pressure defense, and a respectable deep passing game with Plaxico Burress.

At least we had a better run than the Redskins season of starting 6-2, but missing the playoffs. There, now I feel better after that reminder.

Now the team just had to avoid injuries, we thought. They needed to avoid any drama or team distractions, we thought. Coach Tom Caughlin wouldn't let that happen, we thought. We also thought the first 12 games came a little too easy for them. Standing at 11-1, my father and I were ecstatic, yet weary for the other shoe to drop.

The shoe dropped, or rather Plaxico Burress' gun dropped from the pocket of his sweatpants, at which point it, or rather he, shot himself in the thigh. Like your atypical gunshot victim, he got the hospital ER docs to not report the wound to police (who found out about it on TV) and was treated under an alias. Oh yeah, he also had no license to carry a gun in New York. So much for avoiding drama.

We'll never know how far they could have gone because someone didn't leave his gun's safety on.

Following Burress' suspension, the Giants lost 3 of their last 4, though the final game wasn't played with the starting team the entire time, but still the team wasn't the same. In a sheer moment of stupidity, the never-neverland of football superiority vanished, but nobody wanted to admit it. Losses to the Eagles and Cowboys were written off as ways to rest the team for the playoffs, especially with a playoff spot already clinched. Plus, the team did beat Carolina to solidify the Conference's top seed. With smoke and mirrors the team was swimming along by treading water.

The 1st-round bye afforded the team the rest it needed, but didn't undo what Burress did to himself, the team, and the fans. His marksmanship cost the Giants a sound run at a repeat title. He was as important to the offense as Eli Manning, the triumvirate of running backs, and the spectacular offensive line. He commanded defenses to double team him leaving one less defender to rush Manning or tackle a ballcarrier. Attention to Burress opened up the field for the likes of Amani Toomer and Domenik Hixon to run crossing routes or sideline routes in single coverage.

When Burress was suspended by the team (coming after missing two games for injury) the franchise chose a drama-less locker room over a singularly selfish player, and a fair chance at a Super Bowl. The Giants ran the playoff table last year and dominated the regular season this year because they played as a team (plus one distracting superstar) in a sport that demands teamwork over the individual (see the Dallas Cowboys when a team has many distracting superstars).

Look how far we've fallen since the winning TD.

That's all well and good, but couldn't the Giants have allowed Burress to play in the playoffs? Penalize him for a few games with the division wrapped up, but let him play when the team needed him most. Cut ties with him after this year, but at least see where they'd go with him. Plenty has been stated anonymously that he's an awful teammate in addition to his training camp holdouts and spouts with the coaching staff so maybe this was the last straw.

Sometimes you look past a player's diversion for temporary achievement. Every sport faces the dilemma of winning with a diva athlete who backs up their talk and brash ways, or letting him go for the sake and sanity of everyone else. I give the organization credit for taking a stand, but I'd be fine if they stood up for their morals after this year.

Sometimes a player is worth his all-cameras-on-me attitude.

All of which leads us to today's loss at home against the Eagles. McNabb made the short throws needed and the Giants never got on track after losing Burress. I don't care who represents the NFC in the Super Bowl anymore. I guess I'll resign myself to watching what should be a classic battle between the Steelers and Ravens, picking the Ravens to win 20 (crabcakes) to 13 (Primanti Brothers sandwiches). Not that it matters after a season with legitimate title dreams didn't come true. Hon.

Excuses are easy to create, but harder to legitimize. You could say it was cold and windy, but it was the same for the Eagles. Perhaps the Giants were rusty having not played a meaningful game in a few weeks, yet the Steelers played just fine today.

Or maybe, just maybe, the team needed Plaxico more than they wanted to admit.

Now I Know The Pain Of Childbirth

I was admitted to the ER at 1700 hours. There was no waiting in triage this time, no ID bracelet, not even a request for my health insurance card. I was no longer going to belabor my labor. I had carried this creation to term and it was time to cut its cord(s).

I was immediately rushed to the set of "ER" for care by Dr. Mark Greene, then we shot some hoops.

Two weeks ago, I embarked on a life changing journey - I grew a beard by going two weeks without shaving. What remained were plenty of gray hairs, a mustache and beard that never connected, and comparisons to an Amish lumberjack in Rabbinical school.

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay (except for the wearing women's clothing part).

The first week was the toughest because of unkempt stubble. Hairs were regularly getting caught in my fleece's collar when they weren't catching food crumbs (always convenient to eat later). When I removed my cell phone from my cheek, a few hairs would go with it, making me wonder if this beard was worth the agony.

A few people confused me for George.

Eventually the hairs started to relax and incidents of discomfort ended. Suddenly I looked 10 years older, was called "Sir" at the store, and received tenure as an English professor. Things were looking up!

Hockey players don't shave during the playoffs...why should I?

My electric razor's sideburn trimmer would be the surgical instrument of choice. It's not the ideal method for this operation, but it'll have to do. I began with a trimming of the sideburns and moved around to the neck. Very little discomfort was felt. Now it would get tougher with the area for a goatee that I wasn't able to grow.

Toughing it out like me without painkillers?

The trimmer immediately got stuck and wouldn't release the hairs easily; meaning a few hairs were pulled taught, and maybe even out, in order to remove the trimmer from my face. Because I wanted this to be a natural event, I refused offers for an epidural and continued on in agony; wincing with every cut, keeping a leather belt between my teeth, and wondering how giving birth could be any tougher.

I don't need any of your medicine...this will be a natural event.

After 30 minutes of crocodile tears and many pulled hairs, my face was back to a 5 o'clock shadow. A quick shave in the morning wiped out the rest.

Catching the National Tree and Yule Log Before They're Gone

Submitted for your viewing pleasure, another photographic journey making you feel like you were there too!

Tourist silhouettes before reaching the grounds.

Why a picture of this pole? Because I bruised my right knee on it trying to step over the fence. Just one of the many sacrifices I made for your reading pleasure.

Maryland representin'!

Santa and his slave labor elves are on leave for 11 months.

The source of B and T Crowd's inferiority complex.

Fortunately the state tree didn't smell like the final 15 minutes of the NJ Turnpike.

The Yule Log is a great way to warm your hands and...

...a great way to lose your hands.




The view downwind of the Yule Log kept me smelling like a fireplace all night.

Miniature buildings and trains abound.

Chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga, choo-choo heaven.

Get ready...here it comes...

I landed a penny in the train on my first throw, but my second bounced out.


So pretty.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas...At One Metro Station

Every DC metro station that I've visited has been bland and utilitarian. So it was quite a surprise when I arrived at the Friendship Heights station today. Lots of holiday decorations to be seen from the moment the elevator doors open until the platform escalators. I'll surmise this was all paid for by station employees or Metro has a budget surplus its not telling us about. Nevertheless, well done Friendship Heights! Pictures courtesy of my 1.3 MP cell phone camera.

Off the elevator, I was faced with a gluttony of blown-up holiday characters and items.

Nutcracker soldiers defend the wreaths and lights adorning the Metro booth.

Not pictured are ribbons and garland wrapped around every rail.

My Cat Has A Plastic Bag Fetish

I had a cat that was always fond of plastic bags. Actually, "fond" isn't the right word. The Cat made out with plastic bags, licking them until I distracted him with food or simply took the bag away. I don't understand this phenomena.

Don't try and look innocent, I know what you two were doing behind my back.

Back when I was living in B and T Crowd territory, my family had a cat who lived for 16 years, passing away in my sophomore year of college, yet I don't recall catching him hooking up with some plastic lover. The more recent cat left Old Navy bags dripping with saliva. I asked the vet about this and she said she hasn't heard anything negative about the practice. I'd imagine he's ingesting some amount of plastic toxins, but if the vet says it's fine, then it's fine.

Looks like our Cat isn't the only plastic lover.

My Postcard Secret Admission, 20 Years Late

Twenty years ago I boldly, stupidly, and rather immaturely told my parents a lie. I have come here and not Post(card) Secrets to let them know I can no longer live with this lie. They took me at my word when my word's commodity was overvalued. Granted it's the only lie I ever told my parents, but enough is enough. I was never a troublemaking kid, quite the opposite in fact, so my singular lie is a grand lie when it's the only lie that I've ever told them. And this I am not lying about.

When I was a young lad of about eight years old, I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, didn't get the jokes on "Who's the Boss," and knew my sister's prized possession was her Tiffany and Debbie Gibson cassettes. I watched tons of cartoons and was impressionable and easily brainwashed on any toy that I had to have even if I didn't know I needed to have it. I loved the cartoons, I needed the cartoons, and I wanted to talk to the cartoons. And that's when my trouble started.

It wasn't enough for me to play with my mutated turtles or G.I. Joe figures. It wasn't enough for me to listen to them on the TV. And it wasn't enough to hear them talk when I pulled the string or pushed a button on one of my toys to hear their battle cry again and again. Nope, I had to speak with them, one-on-one and without adult supervision.

It was a pleasure speaking with you except for the mountain of guilt.

During my endless supply of cartoon viewing, I enjoyed a few shows that didn't lend themselves to a line of toys. Like any "normal" kid, I enjoyed Looney Tunes with Bugs Bunny, DuckTales during WPIX's Disney Afternoon, and the Woody Woodpecker Show. I felt no connection to Looney Tunes characters or Disney players, but I could relate to Woody; we look alike.

I wanted to talk to him and surely he wanted to hear what I had to say. At that age I knew this wasn't really the case, but it'd be sooooooo cool to hear his voice when I chose and not when the show aired. Ever the curious child, my prayers were finally answered during one of the show's many commercial bombardments.

Turns out that Woody Woodpecker had his own telephone number that I could call to hear one of his stories!

Whenever I wanted!

I only had to pickup the phone!

Oh the memories...

I knew right from wrong so I was well aware that I needed parental permission and that the call would cost upward of $1/minute. Yet I called the 900 number anyway, in a most unimpressive and unnecessary rebellious act, avoiding the proper channels of approval. That's right, without parents' permission! I remember hearing Woody's laugh and grinning ear to ear because he was breaking the fourth wall of acting, all for me.

"Son, can you come in our bedroom?" asked my parents.

Gulp. It was about to hit the fan. A term of phrase I didn't know about for many years.

I remember standing at the foot of their bed when they grilled me under the interrogation spotlight of their soul searching eyes. They brought up the 900 number charges and asked if I knew anything about it. I said "no." Taking me at my ever angelic word, they chalked it up to a mistake by the phone company or just a friend of mine making the call when I wasn't looking. Sure.

Chilly Willy was never funny, entertaining, nor in Mr. Woodpecker's league of comedy.

Then I watched, with a burning coal of guilt in my stomach, as my father called AT&T to have the charges removed saying it was a mistake on their part. With the charges removed we went about our lives except me. With every utterance of Woody Woodpecker's laugh, I've been reminded of the time I called his phone number and the only time I've told my parents a lie.

So with my woodpecker tail squarely between my legs, mom and dad, allow me to publicly apologize for not telling you the truth, then subjecting you to ask AT&T to remove the charges under a false premise, and waiting 20 years to let you know about it. It wasn't bad enough that I made the call without telling you first, but I also provided false testimony on the stand. I don't know why I did it, but I did.

As a full-fledged, self-sufficient, and married adult, I will rest a little easier knowing you know this lie and that you can't penalize me by taking away my cartoon time in front of the TV.

Ready For The 1st Annual DC Metro Marathon

The other day I sacrificed my lower body for the sake of this godforsaken blog. I took the Metro between Wheaton and Dupont Circle and back again. Wouldn't you know it, but both stations had at least one escalator out of service. With no signs barring fools from trying to make their way up, I saw an opportunity to get exercise while researching a quick blog post.

I managed Dupont Circle's escalator with relative ease, only slightly losing the feeling in my legs during the last 20 steps. Final stair count: 146 +/- 2, depending on the half steps it was stopped on. This puts Dupont Circle behind Rosslyn's 160 steps.

Feeling like a champ after Dupont Circle, I tackled Wheaton's stairmaster at the end of my day. I had heard stories about Wheaton's height, but didn't think it would be much worse than Dupont Circle. I may have a minor cold and haven't exercised in over a week, but I'm young and I'm (kinda, not really) strong.

Turns out, I'm also completely wrong.

I have nothing on my sister and her four marathons in the last 18 months, but she never climbed this!

Wheaton's middle escalator was out of service, allowing the escalator-goers, in both directions, ample time to mock, point, and gawk at the fool (that's me!) who turned down mechanical help. I started my hike pretty well, moving faster than the up escalator for the first 100 steps. Then I started to lose the battle during steps 101 through 130 when I slowed to the escalator's pace.

Everyone riding the escalator enjoyed my climb because they couldn't wait to pass me by.

I looked up from my counting and was faced with the daunting task of many more steps than I had planned. I had to press forward. This harangue of a blog entry depended on it; the escalator-goers were watching; and because the escalator wasn't working, my only choice was to finish the workout or else jump the rail. But my parents didn't raise a quitter! Well, maybe I've quit on a few things, but I digress.

As of June 3, 2005, the Washington Post said I had walked up the tallest escalator in the Western Hemisphere!

I lost ground to the escalator during this final leg. Around step 157 I lost the feeling in my calves and around step 166 I lost touch with my entire lower half. Out of breath and delirious, I also lost count temporarily. Yet, I could see the light darkness at the end of the tunnel. 186 +/- 2 steps later, drunk from the adrenaline rush, I had finally, valiantly, and pathetically walked to the top of the Wheaton escalator. Never mind that I still had another 36 steps to climb to reach the Veirs Mill Road walkover and parking garage.

When Metro runs its first escalator marathon, it'll surely include Dupont Circle, Rosslyn, and Wheaton. And after this day's 332-step training session, I'll be ready. Sort of.

Diving Game Winning Basketball Shot

Just because this is a great shot!

Just like the coach drew it up, I'm sure.

The Greatness That Are Solari and Split-Flap Departure Boards

Among the enjoyable moments during my visit to B and T Crowd territory for the Thanksgiving weekend, was visiting the Newark Train Station (NTS) because I got to see the NTS mechanical information board.

There may be shady people and poorly lit roads around the station...

...but if you make it this far, it's worth it...until, that is, you have to get back to the NJ Turnpike.

For years I'd visit the NTS with my dad when he would dropoff or pickup my mom for one of her Amtrak trips between New Jersey and Maryland to visit her mother. After surviving a not-so-safe 6-block drive through downtown Newark, we'd reach the station where I'd wait with my mom until her train arrived. The only way to determine its status, in a time before Internet status updates, was to look at the huge mechanical information board in the main terminal.

I had no idea this was called a Solari Departure Board or a split-flap display. You can thank me later for this great party icebreaker.

I was, and still am, in awe when the board updates. From what little engineering knowledge I have, the board has hundreds of openings for letter and location placards that flip. Each letter placeholder has about 40 placards for 26 letters, 10 numbers, and a few punctuation/miscellaneous symbols. The location placards flip through every city served by Amtrak. I just love the sights and flickering sounds of the board. When a board in Boston's South Station was replaced, an electronic "ticktickticktick" sound was added because I'm not the only one who loves to hear it.

Better visibility, lower power consumption, and distinct sounds alerting people to updates...why replace what isn't broken?

Having not been in the NTS (also known as Penn Station) for a good 10 years, I was excited to see if the board had been replaced with a next generation electronic board. We walked passed the information booth and there it was...the same mechanical board. Even in these modern times, it's the old school mechanical board that's getting things done.

With this schematic I'm one step closer to building my own!

After what felt like an eternal 7-minute wait, I heard the familiar flicks behind the board and before I knew it, the entire board went into action. Every placeholder in every column for every train began flipping through Amtrak stops, arrival times, track numbers, train numbers, and status.

The board worked perfectly, yet again.