Well I just got back from a break in the fight, I was weighing in heavy but still feeling alright. All I hear in the distance – mines and shells. Here come the sirens wailing, another attack to be repelled. — Dropkick Murphys
Dear New York Giants,
Hate is a strong word, but guess what:
I hate you.
I really really do.
In fact, I hate New York City in general now.
I now hate Seinfeld and Friends. Thanks for that.
I hate that you have 5 buroughs. Also known as counties, you pretentious a-holes.
I hate that your NY Chupacabras (Yankees) pillage and feed upon my Oakland Athletics on an annual basis.
I hate that you ruined 19-0 a few years back.
I hate that the Daly family roots for you…because I like the Daly crew.
I hate that Super Bowl Sunday was my youngest brother’s birthday, and you killed it by beating his Niners. Thanks Eli.
I hate that Payton wasn’t in attendance. WTF big bro? I called my little bro on his birthday, where were you Captain America? Andrew Luck anyone?
I hate that beer has apparently become a credit card. Really, Bud Light Platinum?!?
I love the Dorito’s dog that iced the cat. Take that felines.
I hate that I don’t even know what Lucas Oil is. Lucas, the movie with Corey Haim and Charlie Sheen = Cool. Lucas Oil = Crap.
I hate Madonna.
I love the F-U by M.I.A. in the halftime show. Love it. But back to the hating.
I hate Danica Patrick. No I will not .co this website. We’re a dot com society woman. Go back to doing what you’re good at – Not racing.
I hate Mr. Met.
I hate the movie Escape From New York, only because it’s not reality.
I hate the sequel, Escape From L.A. It too, sadly not reality. But don’t think your getting off the hook L.A. You’re next.
I love I am Legend, because all of NYC is dead. Except Will Smith and his dog….both cool.
I hate Madonna. Oh, did I already say that? Sorry.
I hate Madonna.
I hate that they showed the Times Square postgame, and there were approximately 17 people celebrating. It was an ‘off night’ was the explanation. Nice work NYC.
I hate The Voice.
I hate that I watched the Voice.
I hate that I secretly like The Voice.
I hate Christina Aguilera.
I love Cee-Lo.
I hate that I love Tom Coughlin. The man epitomizes resiliency and steadfastness. Worst yet, the city of New York has no idea, nor will they ever of his Hall of Fame career. He’s Sean Connery in The Hunt for Red October. The entire world (NYC) is on the brink of nuclear war and he’s always three steps ahead and strategically game-planning. Don’t worry, when the NY Giants start next season 0-2, they’ll be calling for his firing.
I hate that Wes Welker is getting a raw deal. Should have made the catch, but awful pass. If Brady hits him in stride that’s an easy 6. Which brings me to….
I now hate Gisele Bundchen. Football Barbie decided to weigh in and offer some insight on the game regarding some dropped balls by NE receivers. Hi Gisele, in front of you is a big yellow school bus, would you be so kind as to throw your husband’s teammates underneath it? Wait, I don’t think Wes is quite….wait…yup he’s dead. Nice work.
I hate that I wasn’t in the New England huddle channeling Top Gun after the bad pass to Welker. “You coulda had him man, you coulda had him Tom.” Followed by Tom Brady-Cruise screaming – “I will fire when I am God damn good and ready!”
But back to NYC. Did I mention…
I hate you New York, all because of one simple algebraic equation:
NYC Fans + 1 Championship = Not enough Championships + Fire coach if he does not replicate + Inordinate amount of salary + Yes Network + Donald Trump’s combover + Donald Trump + Namath drunk…Strike that. Namath you get a pass. It’s not his fault you’re so kissable Suzie Kolber.
In the end though what I truly fall back on is hope. See hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and hope never dies.
I hope that winning has ended in NYC, I hope the Sox destroy the Yanks, I hope that I get to see my friend Red…..wait…..sorry, I hope that Ted Williams is really frozen and it’s only a matter of time, I hope that Walt Disney is frozen and it’s only a matter of time, I hope that the Niner’s make it back to the dance someday, and lastly I hope that I never again hate. I hope.