INFOGRAPHIC: Philosophy

FICTION: Angus Dei

I’ve never been here before so I'm been spending the last hour or so walking around the complex.  I see the basketball court where I and a couple friends played after lunch.  I can see the back of the building where my room is and off to the west a glint of light reflects off the river beyond the road and catches my eye.  

I meander over and I notice something I hadn’t previously – train tracks; rusted and broken, they look like they haven’t been used in fifty years.  They must be left over from when the steel trade made this place one of the largest industrial epicenters in the world.  Those days are over, though, and I’m sure that’s how they were able to afford the land where the retreat center is.  Even in the aggregate, the combined worth of the churches isn’t very high, so they must have gotten the land and the buildings very cheap.

I make my way back to the gymnasium where I’ve been spending most of my time this weekend.  It’s where we’ve been worshipping and listening to sermons on faithfulness and “being desperate for Christ.”  I enter the brick edifice and it all looks new again.  I guess no matter how many times I enter this place of the course of this weekend it will look new to me.  Maybe it’s the light; I hadn’t been here during sunset, yet.  On the back wall is a cross and on either side of me are murals of Jesus in his post-resurrection, angelic form.  I guess to placate the Catholics if they ever want to rent the place out.  My fellow attendees of the retreat have all arrived already, dressed nicely in skirts and slacks and sweaters and button-down shirts.  We’re encouraged to dress nicely on Saturday night – the culmination of the weekend. 

To my right, I see the Southbridge group all gathered silently around Pastor Jay as he prays over them loudly.  Pastor Jay always prays loudly.  He is young and handsome, and just graduated from divinity school with perfectly coiffed spiked hair and  wearing a dark sweater.  Every time he prays he works himself into frenzy and many times he cries.  His style of prayer is a little intense for me but he seems to have real effect on his group. In quieter moments he’s very funny.

To the left, I catch the eye of my church’s youth minister: Pastor Bob.  He’s a shorter Latino man, with a serious demeanor but a very kind disposition.  He motions me over to the group who’ve all arrived.  They ask me where I’ve been after they all hug me.  They tell me how much they’ve missed me even though I’ve seen them all less than a few hours ago.  Pastor Bob has come to rely on me to get the group going as I’m not ashamed to get up and dance and worship in front of the entire retreat.  After I get up the rest of the group usually follows.  For now, though, the worship team moves slowly on stage as they play some soft mood music while the congregation prays.  I sit down on my bright yellow plastic chair, bring my hands up to my closed eyes and begin to pray:

“Lord let me be pleasing in your sight from this day forward.  Tonight I will give my life over to you.”  The music begins to pick up and I immediately recognize the song.  I look at Pastor Bob and he motions me to the front of the room the worship team is playing on stage.  “Go enjoy yourself.”  He says, “It’s your big night.”  I get up and walk forward.  No one follows me just yet.  Many of them are either still praying or too shy to get up when everyone else is seated. 

I clap along to the tune and sing as loudly as I can:

“Yes, Lord.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, yes, Lord.  I am pressed but not crushed.  Persecuted – not abandoned.  Struck down, but not destroyed.  I am blessed beyond the curse, that His promise will endure.  That his joy is going to ease the pain.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, Lord.  Yes, yes, Lord, amen.”           

Elizabeth, a pretty girl my age, who, herself is studying for her divinity degree stands up begins to dance with me.  We dance together in front of everyone.  We sing together:

“The zeal of God has consumed me.  My soul is so overwhelmed.  The zeal of God has consumed me.”

More and more, people get up and dance with us.  At first a few, then 20, then 100 and after a while 300 people are all bowing their hands with their palms pointed to the sky;  jumping up and down, dancing in the aisles.  300 people sing:

“I want to be a History Maker in this land.  I want to be a speaker of truth to all mankind.  I want to dance.  I want to run into Your arms again.”

The music slows down and little by little the attention turns to Anthony, the lead singer of the worship group.  300 people rock gently back and forth.  He says: “I want to be a history maker in the Lamb's book of Life… worship the God of all creation!” They sing:

“And I---  I’m desperate for You.  And I--- I’m lost without you.”

“Do you hear that?”  Anthony speaks gently during a break in the music.  “‘I’m desperate for you.’  How many people here tonight are desperate for Christ?”  he pauses.  “God wants us to lay our problems at his feet.  To willinglylay our lives before Him.  To be desperate for the love of his son, Jesus.”

For several moments Anthony hums softly into the microphone.  Elizabeth nudges me: “Are you nervous?”  she asks with a giddy smile. 

“A little.”  I say.

“You have no idea the way your life is going to change after tonight.”  She says and closes her eyes again.  I’ve heard what she’s said before. Tonight I am supposed to undergo a transformation.  Tonight I am to offer God my life. 

Tonight I am to be born again in the name of Jesus Christ. 

The crowd begins to circle around me and Pastor Bob walks in front of me.  “Are you ready?”  he asks with a smile. I nod that I am.  “Close your eyes and bow your head” he tells me.

“Do accept Jesus Christ as your one and only savior?” 

“Yes.” I say

“Do you reject Satan and all his empty lies?”

“Yes, I do.”

                “Will you live a life of faithfulness and proclaim your love of Jesus to all who live in this world?”

“I will.”

Pastor Bob comes closer and places his hands on my head with his thumbs on my eyelids.  He prays quietly.

“Dear, Lord.  Save this young person from the evils of the world.  Save him from the demons of alcohol, from pornography, from drugs, from deceit.  Save him from the temptations of lust and sex outside of Your holy wedlock.” 

Pastor Jay begins to speak up in the background:  “Yes Lord!  Save him!  Keep him in your ever lasting grace!”

The music continues in the background:  “I’m desperate for you.”

“Dear Lord, Keep this boy in your warm embrace for the rest of his life.  I know the devil lives, Lord.  I know!  Protect this young man.”

“Amen, Lord!  Let this boy be a dagger in the heart of Satan!”

And the music continues: “I’m lost without you.”

Pastor Bob begins to push his thumbs softly into my closed eyelids.  As he does I see a pale white light that becomes deeper and more saturated.  I can’t see but I can hear Pastor Jay and what must be at least 30 other people crying.  “Save him”  I hear a female voice say.  “Yes, Lord, amen.”  I hear a male voice weep. 

“In the name of Jesus Christ,”  Pastor Bob states loudly, “you are born again!”  A chorus of amens fill the room and Pastor Bob softly nudges my head back.  I’m tearing softly and I don’t really notice at first.  After a moment it occurs to me that I was maybe supposed to fall backwards.  When Pastor Bob again puts his hands on my head and this time more forcefully pushes my head back, I let go and just fall.  What feels like thirty pairs of arms catch me before I hit the ground and lay me down gently.  They lay hands on me and begin to pray over me in tongues  -- a language I have never heard before.  What must be the language of God.

“Shum maraco hecum.  Saecut merattaba morriseeco, Iosue.”

There I lay with my eyes closed.  The hands of my friends channeling the Holy Spirit through my body.  This is salvation.  Though Jesus Christ and the transforming power of Pentecost, I have found salvation.   Even if I don’t feel it, yet, God is now inside me.  After sometime I stand up and I open my eyes.  Everyone with their red faces and moist tear ducts lining up to give me a hug and congratulate me.  Finally waiting for me at the end, is Elizabeth – crying with a smile on her face. 

“Now all you have to do,” she says, “is speak in tongues yourself and you’re set.”

“I didn’t feel compelled to do that, yet.” I say, ashamed.

“Don’t worry,” she says cheerfully “it’ll come.” 

I nod and laugh.  “Yeah,” I say “I’m on my way.”    

ESSAY: Worst. Generation. Ever.

Dear Baby Boomers,

Aaron Sorkin calls us, the Millennials, the Worst (pause) Generation (pause) ever.

And he must be right.  Just look at those tattooed necks and gauged ears.  We are characterized by an unwillingness to work, unwillingness to leave home, a need for redirection, praise and general over-entitlement.  So, we Jersey Shore-watching, mewling, Lindsay Lohan-worshipping, selfie-snapping, YOLO morons must be the worst, right?

Certainly that's a fair label to place on us.  The oldest among us right now would is already 32  after all (though most of us are in our 20s). You guys all had things totally figured out during your 20s, right?

More to the point, Boomers, what exactly have you done that was so great?  Landed us on the moon?  Your parents did that.  Created life changing inventions and innovations?  The most important invention to come along during your time (the internet) - again - had its genesis with your parents.  Have you made life aggregately better for people in society?  Not really.  Not by most metrics.

In fact, since these statistics have been tracked, my generation is the first one in history not likely to substantially eclipse our parents in terms of quality of life or inflation-adjusted income.

During your parents generation, life expectancy increased by 30% or 18 years.  During your generation? 10% or 7 years.

You spent your entire younger years protesting the unjust wars to which your parents sent you and then what did you do when you took the reins?  Sent us on several more, killing my generation by the thousands in an act of mind-boggling hypocrisy.  And just for laughs - if it's possible - the Iraq War was even more misguided and unnecessary than Vietnam.

After we finally routed out McCarthy and Red Scare hysteria?  You all come swooping in with anti-Islamic hate-mongering.

You complained about how your parents didn't understand you and judged your music while doing exactly the same thing to hip hop.  This, even after GenX and the Millennials embraced their parents music like no generations before.  The Beatles and Stones still do astounding levels of business.  Find me a 25 year old who thinks Beyonce is queen bee and I'll find you another who thinks music peaked in 1972.  The culture wars are over.  You won through sheer attrition.

Your parents presided over the greatest period of American prosperity in the history of the country (and, in many ways, the most equitable).  You?  You created a sputtering prosperity based on an endless series of economic bubbles that vastly rewards the wealthy over everyone else.

Your parents created a safety net FOR YOU and you've spent your entire time trying to cut it for both them and us while your generational prosperity comparatively grows.  Those of prime working age have never had better while the glut of foreclosures and evictions as well as systematic labor demographics disproportionately and negatively affect the young and the elderly.

Your parents and grandparents and everyone before them saved money and then you stopped.  The mantra of this country was to leave the world better for their children then when they found and yours was the first concerned primarily with itself.

Your parents gave us The New Deal, The Great Society, Brown v Board of Education, The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts.  What did you give us?  The War on Drugs? Welfare reform? The Defense of Marriage Act?  The repeal of Glass-Stegall? Tax cuts (for yourselves)? Tax cuts (for the rich)? AN ENDLESS MOTHERFUCKING DRUMBEAT ABOUT THE DANGERS OF OBAMACARE?  Socialized medicine will be the end of us. Enjoy your Medicare.

During your parents generation, we got Truman, Eisenhower, Johnson and Kennedy - each with failings, certainly, but each with a series of equanimity-based policy accomplishments staggering by today's standards.  And once you all "tuned in and turned on," we got Nixon, Reagan, Clinton and 2 Bushes - the worst string of Presidents since the end of the 19th century.  Almost worse than that, by your sheer numbers, insistence and half-cocked dumbass reasoning that Reagan single-handedly ended the coldwar on June 12, 1987 now we have to deal with him in the Pantheon of great presidents.  Bad news, friends.  He's not.

You've created a society in which housing costs a higher percentage of income than at any point since the Depression.  You've made it so that we're tens of thousands of dollars in debt - not as a perk - but as a requirement before we even enter the workforce.  You gave us the highest divorce rate ever.  You failed to update GI Bill to equitable levels while you have us fighting in the longest wars in our country's history.  You put up every barrier you possibly could to our collective generational success and before we've even gotten the reins, you call us the worst generation ever.

What the fuck did you ever do?  Seriously, what do you imagine your legacy to be?  What exactly is it that you're all so proud of?

We embraced your music and culture.  We more or less listened to your advice and became more cautious. We are the most post-material, team-playing, empathetic generation in history by any demographic study.  We became exactly what you wanted and now you turn on us before we even have our first time up at bat. 

If you feel anything I wrote was unfair or didn't apply to you, imagine how we feel.  You've had 40 years of dominance.  We haven't even had our time yet.  And it's not like your time was any great shakes.

SPORTS: What is greatness? Meditations on the 2011 New York Giants

In recent years, my beloved Giants have developed a bit of a narrative pattern each season: a strong start followed by a near-complete meltdown halfway before an occasional on-the-fly re-invention as unflappable fourth quarter warriors. It's an odd feeling to watch a team you love but never once believed was the league's best back into two Super Bowls in four years. Odd but wonderful. With hindsight, it's hard not to ask: what is this team? I don’t mean these past few weeks or even this season. Going back a few years – what is this team? What should we make of them?

This is a team without a specific personality or organizing principle. Of late, the Giants are usually elite as a pass rushing unit combined with what is almost always one of the worst secondaries in the league, 6 or so years running. They are a team that occasionally gets superb years out of cast-offs like Ahmad Bradshaw but still can’t convince Brandon Jacobs to run like he weighs 260 lbs. This is a team that literally can’t find enough space for all their phenomenal defensive line talent (notably lining up Jason Pierre-Paul at tackle to make room) but hasn’t drafted an all-pro line-backer since Jessie Armstead in 1993.  This is a team that, in 2003, drafted what turned out to be the best quarterback available that year but packaged him with other picks (one of which became Shawne Merriman) in order to get a lesser quarterback with more name recognition.

And, yet, it’s all almost genius in its own way, isn’t it?

We’ve now won 2 Super Bowls in 4 years which is a very, very impressive feat given that this team really isn’t very good. Or are they? Seriously, what is this team?

This is the New York Giants in the era of Tom Coughlin and Eli Manning.

Tom Coughlin

Three years after taking his team to the Super Bowl, Coach Jim Fassel was unceremoniously fired following the Giants 39-38 meltdown against the 49ers in the 2002 playoffs and the injury-racked 2003 season. The line on Fassel was always that he was too friendly with his players. He led a sloppy show, cow-towed to his veterans and countenanced a team that, above all, lacked discipline. 

I like that word discipline a lot in sports narratives – it covers all manner of sins in without really meaning anything. As if these players – these unbelievably fast, strong machines with bodies carved out of stone – would devolve into a fourth grade gym class without a stern, John Wayne, hardass keeping them in line.

Enter Tom Coughlin, a man who’s primary claims to the moment of his hire had been his leading the Jacksonville Jaguars to an entirely improbable run at the AFC Championship and for the perception around the league that he didn’t take any guff from his players.

Instantly, Coughlin alienated veterans Michael Strahan and Tiki Barber with his dogmatism and capricious disiplinary regime, instituting a schedule of mandatory fines for being late to meetings and two-a-day practices in the summer heat designed to, I don’t know, kill the players, probably.

The old grumpy old white guy sports media could not praise him often  or vociferously enough. Discipline was the watchword of the new Coughlin administration.

The funny thing about discipline in football is that unlike most other sports "intangibles" hot-taking call-in radio prefer, there are constructs that allow for measurement. Simply put, a disciplined team should not get hit with penalties. While it’s not fair to look at one year and say whichever team got the least number of penalty yards was the most disciplined, over a period of years it gives a fair assessment of a team's disciplinary culture.  Over the last seven years the Giants have ranked 13th, 16th, 19th, 27th, 11th, 26th and 27th out of 32 teams leaguewide in penalty yards where higher is better.  Read those numbers again and I imagine you were being paid millions of dollars based on the specific and affirmative notion that you engendered a disciplined environment. Coughlin's Giants have never once been among the most disciplined teams in the league and several times, they've been among the least.   

Besides demonstrably failing at the one thing for which he was hired, Coughlin is among the least creative play-callers and formation designers in football. He calls a solid, unspectacular game that rarely embraces the particular strengths of the team as it evolves. Coughlin's offensive gameplan has not substantively changed at all during his eight-year tenure. For example, his go-to short yardage goal line play has been an over-the-top corner fade. In 2005, when the Giants has Plaxico Burress, a 6'5" superathlete, as their primary weapon, it was a fine and effective strategy. Today, it makes a lot less sense. Now, I’m not saying I want Coughlin to jump on every idiotic bandwagon that rolls through the NFL (I’m looking at you Wildcat formation) but Coughlin has demonstrated that he is an old-school guy locked fast in an outmoded way of thinking, especially offensively.

Coughlin's inability to learn and adjust is beautifully illustrated by Brandon Jacobs. I was shocked – fucking shocked – to learn that Brandon Jacobs holds the team record for rushing touchdowns with 52.  This might imply that Jacobs is a great running back, especially in short yardage situations. What it really means is that Jacobs has been given chance after chance after chance after chance while Coughlin learns nothing about his true abilities and makes no adjustments. Of these 52 touchdowns, 27 of them, or a little over 50% have come from rushes within 2 yards.  This is despite the fact that Jacobs fails in short yardage situations 20% more often than the average running back.  Any average NFL running back would have more luck scoring in short yardage situations and yet, Coughlin has been beating his head against that same brick wall – not for 1 year, not 2… 7 years.  Why? Why does a below average short yardage running back now hold the Giants franchise record for short yardage touchdowns? Because Jacobs looks like a great short yardage back, and therefore Coughlin simply can not accept the reality that he isn't actually great in that situation. In 7 years Coughlin has stubbornly refused to implement anything new for this team. For what its worth, of Ahmad Bradshaw’s 18 touchdowns, only 17% have come from within 2 yards. Coughlin has probably cost himself at least a couple of wins by this personnel misuse alone. It's really inexcusably stubborn.

Coughlin will, from now on, receive favorable comparisons to a lot of great coaches… Parcells, Belichick, etc.  But I found a piece in particular that had a comparison I really like: Coughlin is Tim Tebow.  While that author meant it as a compliment (“When the critics put his back against the wall and put his job in jeopardy all he does in win”), I don't. I mean it in the least complimentary way possible.  In the same way that Tebow is showered with credit that righly belongs to others (namely, his defense) and in the same way that Tebow manages to fall ass-backwards into dramatic, memorable wins, then yes, Coughlin is the Tebow of coaches.

The problem with this Super Bowl (and winning the Super Bowl is a very good problem) is what it means for the Giants long-term. Somehow, Tom Coughlin is now a multi-Super Bowl winning coach, which means it’s going to be some time before we’re able to get rid of him. I know it sounds crazy to be counting the hours until your multi-Super Bowl winning coach is out the door but we're playing with house money right now, and my preference would be to move to the cashier - not another craps table. More Coughlin means the Giants yearly ritual of starting strong before a second half that runs the gamut from mediocrity to complete collapse will continue indefinitely.  Indeed, the Giants have never - not once - done as well or better in the second half of the season as they did during the first under Tom Coughlin.  They are 47-17 through the first 8 games under Coughlin and 28-36 in the second 8.

Offensive Coordinator Kevin Gilbride and Tom Coughlin are by no means the worst offensive minds in football, but they might be the worst to have ever received their particular brand of extended tenure.

Eli Manning

Eli Manning, for his part, constantly makes me question the nature of what it is to be great.  Eli is not a great quarterback.  In 2010, I had him ranked 12^th best in the league, this year I would say he cracked the top 10, but not the top 5. In the land of NFL quarterbacks he hovers somewhere around mediocre. Often, though, I would call Eli simply “good.” He will occasionally ratchet that up to “very good” and that above all else is what’s so maddening about him as a player. That above all, is why I don't know how I feel about him as my team’s quarterback, both historically and moving forward. 

I never understood what it was that people liked so much about a player being “clutch.” First of all, as a person who tries not to blindly ignore observable patterns, I’m a scion of the idea that while clutch performances exist, clutch players do not. Regardless assume a clutch skill exists for a moment. I've spent a shameful amount of my life listening to sports talk radio guys applaud players for having that “extra gear” they can shift into “when it counts.” I’m left wondering why anyone would want that.  If a guy has an “extra gear” shouldn’t we be pissed he isn’t using it all the time?  Doesn’t that imply “clutch” players aren’t always trying their hardest? 

Eli isn’t exactly considered “clutch” but much has been made of how much better he plays in the 4^th quarter, especially this season.  While others congratulate him for that, it drives me nuts.  Eli clearly has all of the tools, physically, and in his surrounding personnel to be an elite quarterback but he’s consistently held back by bad decision-making. He throws way too many stupid passes and a lot of them are picked off.  Watching him these last few weeks, though, really drives home – he fucking could be the best quarterback in the league, but he just isn't. Why? I honestly have no clue.  Maybe he’s just not driven by that phantom desire for greatness. Maybe he realizes it's a crapshoot. Maybe he figures God has ordained that he luck into a shot at the Super Bowl every 4 years and his penance is that in the years when the team really is great – like in 2008 – they don’t make it past the first round. 

And now we're going to have to endure the interminable questions of whether Eli is better than his brother Peyton. Peyton Manning, for my money was, up until probably 3 years ago the unquestioned greatest quarterback of all time. With the good statistical years Brady had in the championship days giving way to some absolutely stupid amazing performances since 2007, I think the gap has closed such that either one has a fair argument for the crown.

The Eli vs. Peyton debate is different, though, and more insidious.  It says something about us and what we believe “greatness” is. Peyton Manning is not only a great athlete, but a brilliant football tactician who basically served as his teams de facto offensive coordinator for nearly his entire career. Without him, a 10-6 Indianapolis team only 2 years removed from a Super Bowl win with roughly the same roster collapsed, becoming the unquestioned worst team in the NFL in 2010.  Peyton’s credentials should be absolutely beyond reproach. Yet the question will be asked over and over again: "is Eli better than his brother because he has more championships?"

The answer should be, of course, "No. No. No, he's not. Eli's not even close to better than Peyton. He's not in the ballpark of being better. He's not in the parking lot of that ballpark. He's not in driving distance of the parking lot of the ballpark where he might be better than Peyton" But, for many, the answer will likely be a simple, unequivocal "yes," and this kicks off the insidious referendum on greatness I referred to earlier. Somehow, all the work – all the fantastic, unprecedented work Peyton Manning has done gets erased by a lucky 4 months for the Giants - 2 in 20007-08 and one in 2011-12.  This is the same impulse that lets us look at a Donald Trump on the one hand and a hard-working, unemployed family man on the other and declare one a success and one a failure without in any context, whatever.

We don’t care about the journey, we don't have time for process. We want results. Doesn't matter if you did the right thing or not. Doesn't matter if you worked hard or not. Doesn't matter if you were lucky or not. Count up the Super Bowl rings, tabulate a guy’s bank account and we've learned all we need to know. "Luck" is the convenient excuse of a loser.

Why do we bother keeping track of these athletes statistics to the third decimal place if we intend to ignore them? Joe Montana is better than Dan Marino. Why? Well, Joe Montana has 4 Super Bowl rings. Well, Joe Montana also had Ronnie Lott and Jerry Rice. Joe Montana had a better tactician for a coach. You know, the guy who invented the offense they were using.  Forget a nuanced examination the facts, let’s get something quick and dirty and move on. We've got winners to declare here, people.

Eli Manning is the living embodiment, for and against, all of our worst and most reactionary impulses about what it means to be a success. I’ve never thought he was good enough to be a Championship quarterback, even after 2007 – a Super Bowl victory I thought belonged to the Giants line and Steve Spagnuolo  - and, in my head, only incidentally involved Eli.  But tonight, having watched my team hoist their second trophy in four years?  I don’t have the slightest clue what to think anymore.  By definition, Eli must be a championship caliber quarterback but, if he is, then that designation has been devalued.

Eli Manning could be one of the greats, but now that his legacy in that regard is pretty much locked in, the incentive to be pushing himself much harder to achieve that Aaron Rodgers, Tom Brady level is more or less gone. Eli's place in their company has been, right or wrong, guaranteed by the number of rings he’s won even if that ring belongs a lot more to Jason Pierre-Paul, Hakeem Nicks and Chris Snee than it does to him. 

The Super Bowl is meant to be the culmination of a long process of planning and execution.  You amass the pieces over a period of years and when the moment is right, with a little bit of luck, you charge at the prize.  The Giants, however, are more like this constant rebuilding projects with short, staccato burst of greatness that just happened to be timed perfectly. I don’t believe in the idea of momentum in sports. That having been said, watching the Giants these past few weeks I’m definitely not the steadfast an un-believer I once was.

In the same vein, I don’t ever believe a team “owns” another team -- but damned if it doesn't seem like the Giants own the Patriots in a big spot.

Last night’s Bowl victory is probably not the start of a long dynasty.  If anything, it's as likely to make the Giants complacent and lazy. But a Super Bowl win is a win and it feels wonderful for now just the same.

The magic of sports is that since it’s not pre-determined, the best team doesn’t always - or even usually - win.  Last night, the best team did not win.

I just wonder about the way we experience sports, rationalize it, drench it in hindsight bias and devalue the achievements of people just because of the one moment, the one time.  The fact that less-than-great people are capable of great moments should be a sign of hope to all of us who are not - strictly speaking - extraordinary.

But, if we are all defined by a few moments when we were at our best or worst than we risk losing the flavor of the smaller moments in life. And there's a hell of a lot more small moments than big ones. Sports is supposed to be this amplified reality that only tangentially reflects real life but it informs the way we view the world, and this particular win and these particular people embody a translation of ideas from sports that I find deeply troubling.

I know I'm going to have to have the same argument over and over again with other Giants fans explaining how I could possibly not see the obvious greatness of Eli Manning. How could I turn on our boy? Those endless picks and poorly conceived ropes into triple-coverage may be long forgotten memories to them but I remember the failures - the late season swoons and the routine collapses. One game doesn't erase all that.  Eli is not any one narrative -- many of them are right and many are wrong in equal measure. One game doesn't change who he is as a person or a professional.

I thank you, Eli Manning and the Giants, for the championships, the fun and the moments of joy but you still suck.