How To Root For The Giants This Sunday

The job of an athlete is to forget. Scott Norwood went wide right in Super Bowl XXV, but he came back the next year and kicked five field goals in the play-offs, helping his team get to Super Bowl XXVI.

The job of a fan is to remember. Thus the film Buffalo 66.

An athlete-- like a soldier-- must forget what has come before, no matter how horrifying. As General Patton so eloquently explained: "When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do." You must overcome shell shock. Be a professional. Carry on. There will be time for post-traumatic stress disorder once you retire.

Even Bill Buckner did it. After Buckner committed his infamous error and was booed out of Boston, he signed with the California Angels . . . Anaheim, the perfect place for redemption. The land where people have no past, where the sun always shines. The city that took in Reggie Jackson and made George Steinbrenner eat his words. The Angels. The land of forgiveness. For the remainder of the 1987 season, Buckner batted .306 and drove in 32 runs in just 57 games. He was obviously able to forget.

But the fans will never forget what happened. Ask Rob.

So this Sunday the Giants play the Redskins. The Giants still have a chance to make the play-offs, but they need help. They need a win from the Bears in the early game. Plenty of Giants fans have given up hope. I nearly gave up two weeks ago when the Giants collapsed against the Eagles. In fact, I even announced my retirement from Giants fanaticism. But I figured out a way to forgive the team that I have essentially had a monogamous relationship with since I was five (I did have a brief affair with the Seahawks, when Zorn was passing to Largent, for obvious reasons, but that is long over).

Like Brett Favre, I couldn't give it up. I came out of retirement last week, rooting with drunken optimism, only to see the game fumbled away. And the final score, 45-17, makes me wonder if the Giants were ever in the game at all. Was I delusional? Not at all. I was rooting like an athlete, instead of rooting like a fan. A fan would remember last year's collapse against the Panthers (41-9) and give up hope. A fan would dwell on past losses and let them sour future gains. A fan would forget that life begins fresh in the play-offs. So this Sunday, once again, I'm going to root like an athlete. A specific athlete.

This Sunday, I'm going to root like John Starks. I'm not going to find out the result of the Green Bay/ Chicago game. I'm going to turn the volume off on my TV and not look at the scrolling ticker. I'm not going to let the past affect my fervor. John Starks never let the six terrible shots he threw up previously affect him. He got the ball and shot it again. And eventually they went in. Or not. But he was still fun to watch, because he appeared to be having a good time. He wasn't burdened by memory. This is how I play basketball. When I get the ball, I generally shoot it. I am a chucker. Why not? Life is too short to do otherwise (especially if I get up for the 6 AM Friday game at my school . . . my philosophy is, if I get up at 5:30 AM to play ball, any time I touch the rock, I'm shooting it). Why root differently? Life is more enjoyable as a chucker. Forget the past. Live in the moment. Enjoy the arc of the ball from your fingertips. Enjoy the game in front of you, the spectacle, especially when it is in 56 inch high-definition. Go Giants.