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.
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.
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.
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 12th 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 4th 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.
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 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.
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