|
 A Giant Step for Eli
by Michael E Lawrence
4/2/2008
Super Bowl XLII, a stunner of immense proportions.
As the final seconds spilled away from a desperate Patriots offense, I texted a profane message of astonishment to a friend, who promptly texted back an even profaner one.
There wasn’t much else to say.
Was it the greatest upset of all time, as has been claimed? Maybe, maybe not, but more than that, it was the manner of the Giants’ winning that stunned, because somehow they flipped the script, and it was Eli, not Brady, marching implausibly down the field to an impossible, dying-moments score that would not be surmounted.
 You’re supposed to lose Super Bowls if you make mistakes as New York did. And frankly, they made plenty an interception from the hands of Steve Smith in the red zone; a fumble by Ahmad Bradshaw; another by Manning as his arm was struck; twelve men on the field on a New England punt and yet, when it counted, it was the Giants, not the battle-tested Patriots, who came through.
Because, when it counted, with a minute and fifteen seconds left on the clock and a third and five, there was goofy Manning junior, avoiding pass rushers, throwing on the run, finding David Tyree David Tyree, for heaven’s sake! for a once-in-a-lifetime catch, thirty-two yards, and a first down at the twenty-four.
And before you knew it, the Giants were near the end zone on Smith’s third and eleven catch to the fourteen for another first down and then actually in it as Plaxico Burress backed in cradling the game winner.
And you thought how did that just happen?
And there was nothing for Tom Brady to do but zing it down the field again and again, and watch it hit the turf as often.
In Cheers Bar, central London, where we were, two hundred people were left open-mouthed, not quite sure what they’d seen.
In fact, they’d seen one of the finest Super Bowls ever played.
For Bill Belichick, enough was enough, and even if two seconds remained, he was heading into the locker room, to hell with it. For Tom Coughlin, so often the recipient of criticism, the butt of jokes, the victim of caricature, there was nothing but vindication, and a cold, cold Gatorade shower.
For Plaxico Burress, who had predicted a 23-17 Giants win, there was vindication too, and then tears, as he broke down during a television interview.
For Eli Manning, like Coughlin a media target, an easy scapegoat, there was confirmation of his metamorphosis into folk hero, his christian name ringing round the rafters as Giants fans chanted it out loud.
And all this after the Patriots had assumed the lead, and we had assumed they’d done it again, pulled out another tight win when the chips were truly down. Randy Moss had scored, Giants defensive linemen Osi Umenyiora, Justin Tuck and Fred Robbins for so much of the day a thorn in Brady’s side were gassed and forced to exit the game for breathers. The Patriots were on top 14-10, and we’d have our 19 and zero just as we presumed we would.
But the Giants would have none of it, would yet deliver the death blow, and having knocked off the Cowboys, Packers and Patriots on the way to the crown, who will dispute their regency now?
All that was left was for John Mara and Steve Tisch to term it the greatest win in Giants’ history a history already replete with multiple Championships, lest we forget and for Eli to receive an MVP award he richly deserved, while Michael Strahan gave the Lombardi trophy a guided tour of the field.
For us, what was left was to file silently out into the freezing London night, pilfered Super Bowl XLII helium balloons bobbing behind us, dumbstruck with disbelief and awe.
|
