Jersey Magic

I couldn't figure it out.

I'd been watching Monday Night Football and going N-V-T-S nuts.

In a nutshell, the Giants had been sucking like so many $10 whores. Were it not for Jacksonville's bad opening drive and a quirky fumble in the red zone, the score would likely have been 20-0 at the half. There had been no Giants running game – Brandon Jacobs couldn't even pull off third and short. The team's very first first down was immediately followed by an interception. Eli Manning had been throwing the ball all over the field. And over all the receivers.

Psst! Eli! You’re supposed to throw it to the receivers!

Psst! Receivers! When Eli throws it to you, catch it!

Psst! Plaxico! If you are ever near a defender who has just intercepted the ball, you are supposed to tackle that guy, not push him gingerly towards the end zone!

Nuts, I tell you.

So halftime came and went and los Gigantes were soon down 13-3 in the 3rd quarter. Eli had just thrown the ball away to avoid a nearly dreadful sack when it hit me.

I wasn't wearing my lucky jersey!

I have three Giants jerseys – one Shockey and two #73s (one home blue, the other away white) with my own last name on the back.

Why my own name, you ask. Well, I'm never going to be cut, traded, or lost to free agency, of course. Besides, if they ever need me on the field I'll be ready to go.

I have found through extensive trial and error that the away jersey must be worn on game day if the Giants are to have a chance of winning. I can't explain it; it's some magical connection that I have with the team even though they are sometimes thousands of miles away.

Well, here we were in the third quarter and I was just in a T-shirt. (And shorts. I don't watch football naked – at least not when the kids are home.)

A T-shirt! Oh, how I was letting my team down.

I quickly got the jersey, threw it on, then sat down in front of the TV and tried to send cosmic signals to Florida to let the guys know I was in uniform.

Lo and behold, on the very next play, Eli dropped back to pass, spun to elude the Jaguar pursuit, brought his arm up to throw ...

[insert pregnant pause here]

... and then he dropped the ball on the ground, whereupon it was promptly picked up by a defender and run into the end zone for a Jacksonville touchdown.

At that moment I gave birth.

(Quite a surprise, what with my XY chromosomes and lack of uterus and all. It's a boy.)

Half the Jaguars were doing line dances, circus acts, and the Macarena in the end zone. While I was prepping the jersey for use as a swaddling cloth, I noticed that the rest of the defense was not celebrating at all.

There was a flag on the play. Face-mask, defense.

The touchdown was nullified, the Cirque du Soleil artists were lowered back down from the goalposts, and the Giants got the ball back plus a few yards and a first down.

Manning and Co. finally got things working and pieced together an amazing drive of their own, culminating in a touchdown. An apparent 20-3 suddenly turned into 13-10! The jersey worked! We were back in the game!

Note to self: leave the celebratory spike to the guys on the field who know for certain that what is in their hands is indeed a football. Oh well, I didn't want a third kid anyways.

It’s upon this type of success that I think the team needs to better capitalize. I'm more than happy to bring this jersey to the sidelines where the mojo will undoubtedly be so much more potent; I'm just waiting for the team to send down the limo. I'd even settle for the luxury box. We're talking about a playoff run, guys.

OK, so the excitement was short lived. The Giants quickly restored their severe barometric pressure deficit vis-à-vis the Jaguars. They gave up 13 more points and a couple turnovers while failing to score again before the game mercifully ended. The Giants slipped to 6-4, three games behind the Bears and tied with the suddenly resurgent and always detestable Dallas Cowboys.

How disappointing.

I can only imagine what would have been different if I had put the jersey on earlier.