There was one thing, however, left in that wallet, the ticket to the Giants and Eagles game.Īs most Giant fans can recall even under anesthesia, the Giants had the ball and all QB Joe Pisarcik had to was drop to one knee to run out the clock. Three weeks prior to the game, my wallet was stolen and to give one an idea how bad the Giants were in those days, the week leading up to the game, my wallet was returned in the mail, minus all my money and driver’s license. Known simply as “The Fumble.” it was November 19, 1978, and I was one of those unfortunate souls who was at that game. To this day, I still get a vaguely sick feeling when I hear the clicking of that stopwatch.įast forward to November 1978, and to the Waterloo of Giants fandom as any Giants fan will tell you. There were the inevitable Monday mornings at school and later at work, where you heard it from all your work colleagues.īut mostly, there was that sick feeling every Sunday night enduring another loss, with the weekend culminating with the ticking of the 60 Minutes stopwatch which sounded to my ears like a countdown to an execution. There was the merciless ripping by all the kids in the neighborhood who were Packers, Cowboys, and Steelers fans. The years 1964 to 1977 coincided with my teenage and young adult years the absolute worst years to have your favorite team go south. The first was the Giants lost 24-17 and the second was during the game someone with a transistor radio yelling to those within earshot that Lee Harvey Oswald had been shot and killed. Pete Rozelle acquiesced, and in the misbegotten wisdom of the NFL, the game was to be played. Louis Cardinals and what I remember is waiting all day Saturday to see if the game would be cancelled. That Sunday, the Giants were playing the St. Back in those days, we had tickets to Giant games, then playing in the original Yankee Stadium. Walking home, I tried to wrap my young mind around this tectonic event. Out on the playground, we all learned that President John F. I was in fifth grade when a teacher walked into our elementary school, whispered in the ear of another teacher and without explanation, school was dismissed for the day. Little did I know that following the 1963 season, it would be eighteen years before the Giants would return to the playoffs.īeing a lifetime fan, certain Giant games have been tethered to the some of the seminal events in American history. In 1963, the Giants made it to the NFL championship game and up to that point I knew nothing other than championship games. It was during the early 1960s that I took those first tentative steps towards a lifetime commitment as a New York Giants fan. He succeeded, well at least partially, as we could make out the images well enough on the snowy screen to see what was going on. I watched from the window of our New Jersey home as he hauled the ladder from the garage and navigated his way across the icy roof to point the antenna towards Philadelphia so we could see the game. It was a frigid day, and the game was “blacked out” within a 50-mile radius of Yankee Stadium. My earliest memory was the 1962 Giant and Packer championship game. Before I could walk, my father had me sitting on the couch with him rooting for his beloved New York Giants. It was ordained that I would be a New York Giants fan.
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