Becoming a New York Giants fan was practically destiny for me. Before I could even walk, my father had me sitting beside him on the couch, cheering for his beloved Giants. My earliest football memory dates back to the 1962 NFL Championship game between the Giants and the Packers. It was a freezing day, and the game was blacked out within a 50-mile radius of Yankee Stadium. But that didn’t stop my dad. I watched from the window as he dragged a ladder from the garage, carefully maneuvered across the icy rooftop, and adjusted the antenna toward Philadelphia—just so we could get a barely visible, snowy signal to watch the game.

It was during those early 1960s that I took my first steps toward what would become a lifelong allegiance to the Giants. By 1963, they had made another championship appearance, and at the time, I didn’t know anything other than winning seasons. Little did I realize that after that year, it would be another 18 seasons before the Giants would return to championship contention.

As a lifelong fan, certain Giants games have been intertwined with pivotal moments in American history. I was in fifth grade when an announcement abruptly ended our school day. On the playground, we learned that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated. That Sunday, the Giants were set to face the St. Louis Cardinals, and I remember anxiously waiting to see if the game would be canceled. It wasn’t. The Giants lost 24-17, but what remains vivid in my memory is hearing someone with a transistor radio announce that Lee Harvey Oswald had been shot during the game.

From 1964 to 1977—my teenage and young adult years—the Giants struggled immensely. Those were the worst years to be a fan, especially when surrounded by friends who supported dominant teams like the Packers, Cowboys, and Steelers. Mondays were the worst, facing relentless taunts at school and later at work. Sundays were even tougher—watching the Giants lose, knowing the weekend would end with the dreaded ticking of the 60 Minutes stopwatch, which to me sounded like the countdown to another miserable week. To this day, that ticking sound still gives me an uneasy feeling.https://www.stlouisfanshop.com/165-Cardinals_Keynan_Middleton_Jersey

Then came November 19, 1978—the infamous day that all Giants fans know simply as The Fumble. I was there at the game, one of the unfortunate witnesses. A few weeks prior, my wallet had been stolen, and to give an idea of how bad the Giants were at the time, when it was mailed back to me, the only thing left inside was my ticket to that game. As we were leaving the stadium, confident that the Giants had secured a rare win, a collective groan erupted from the crowd. Turning back, I saw Joe Pisarcik botch a handoff, the ball bouncing off Larry Csonka’s hip and into the hands of Herm Edwards, who ran it 26 yards for a game-winning Eagles touchdown. The moment forever changed Giants history.

That disaster sparked a much-needed intervention by NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle, leading to George Young’s appointment as general manager. Young hired Ray Perkins and drafted a little-known quarterback from Morehead State, Phil Simms. Things started looking up. But it was another Jersey guy, Bill Parcells, who would take the Giants to the promised land.

Parcells embodied New Jersey toughness. He was one of us, and we hung onto every word of his press conferences and interviews. His morning coffee runs at a local deli in Upper Saddle River were covered on the evening news. When he led the Giants to their first Super Bowl victory in 1987, it was a dream come true. That championship was followed by another in 1990, a game remembered as the first major sporting event where heightened security foreshadowed a new era of vigilance.

The Giants’ third Super Bowl appearance came in 2000, marking the first time I experienced the agony of watching them lose the big game. Then came 9/11. I was supposed to attend a meeting on the 60th floor of the North Tower that morning. Fortunately, it was canceled the Friday before. That night, I stayed up late watching the Giants play the Broncos on Monday Night Football, blissfully unaware of how different the world would be when I walked into work the next morning.

Through all of life’s ups and downs, the Giants have been a constant. The championship victories in 2007 and 2011 were bittersweet, as my father wasn’t around to see them. More recently, another rough patch has tested Giants fans’ patience, but with age comes wisdom—I no longer let a Giants loss ruin my entire weekend… as much.

Giants fans are a mix of hope and skepticism, and like many, I was convinced that Ben McAdoo, Pat Shurmur, and Joe Judge were the answers to our prayers. Now, I have that same almost spiritual belief that Joe Schoen and Brian Daboll are building something special.

Something about Daboll feels different, yet strangely familiar. During his first press conference, a reporter with a thick Brooklyn accent asked him a question. Daboll paused, looked at him, and joked, “You must be from South Carolina.” The reporter didn’t catch it at first, but I laughed—it was classic Parcells wit.

The 2022 season showed that the Giants are back on the right path. There may be bumps along the way, but I have a feeling this team is heading toward another era of success. And just like in the old Parcells days, it’s going to be a whole lot of fun being a Giants fan again.

The season can’t come soon enough.