Hey Giants fans. I’m Greg, a 28-year old New Yorker and a lifelong G-Men fanatic. The first Giant game I ever went to was the Giants-Broncos game during the ’86 season, when the ever-opportunistic George Martin tipped up and picked off a John Elway flat pass before rumbling and stumbling 78 yards for an improbable touchdown. Raul Allegre later won that game with a field goal. The Meadowlands went crazy and I was hooked.

Four years later was another championship season. We weren’t so dominant that year, but those classic Giants values of solidness, toughness, and resilience came back to win the day over the exquisite Niners and the steamrolling Bills.  

And then of course 2007. There are still no words.

Through the years, I’ve never stopped bleeding Big Blue. I can still be found on the subway with my copy of LT: Living on the Edge, and I still put myself to sleep by watching Giants Among Men. I leave you with a passage from Fred Exley’s A Fan’s Notes, the most heartfelt book about fandom ever written. Every sports fan, and particularly every Giants fan, should read it.

Why did football bring my so to life? I can’t say precisely. Part of it was my feeling that football was an island of directness in a world of circumspection. In football a man was asked to do a difficult and brutal job, and he either did it or got out. There was nothing rhetorical or vague about it. I chose to believe that it was not unlike other jobs which all men, in some sunnier past, had been called upon to do. It smacked of something old, something traditional, something unclouded by legerdemain and subterfuge. It had that kind of power over me, drawing me back with the force of something known, scarcely remembered, elusive as integrity – perhaps it was no more than the force of a forgotten childhood. Whatever it was, I gave myself up to the Giants utterly. The recompense I gained was the feeling of being alive.