What about Bob? Glauber's NFL Blog

As most of you know by now, my sports passion when I'm not buried in football matters is ice hockey.

So it was a pleasant surprise that ABC aired "Miracle," the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team, last night. Took the wife and kids to see it in the theatre when it first came out, but it was every bit as good last night. Maybe even better.

It might be the best sports movie ever made. It's certainly the best sports story I can remember, especially given the fact the U.S. won with an amateur team and beat a Soviet team that had pummeled every team in its path.

Kurt Russell did a fantastic job playing Herb Brooks (yes, Hookslide, Russell does look like LSU coach Les Miles, and we will do a future look-a-like). And the acting by the players was top shelf. Still get chills thinking about that moment on Feb. 22, 1980. Watched the game while visiting my younger brother Mickey at Cortland State University. Twenty eight years later, the memories and emotions are still fresh.

For those of you who are too young to remember, the game held even greater importance because of the fact that this country was in the dumper after a series of unfortunate events, including the taking of American hostages in Iran, rampant inflation and a national malaise that had depressed Americans' spirit.

Remember where you were when Mike Eruzione scored the winning goal in the miracle on ice? Start 'er off, B N G.

It is either a freakish coincidence, or the Giants truly respond to the presence of Glauber Nation at their games.

The Giants won their 10th game yesterday, downing NKR's beloved Bills with another comeback win, and qualified for the playoffs for the third consecutive year. Their record when we're in the house: 9-2. The Giants record when we're not: 1-3.

It is, of course, a freakish coincidence. How else do you explain the numbers? Then again, there are some Giants officials who cringe at the presence of Neil Best, who occasionally shows up to write a column, research a WatchDog topic, or simply get out of his jammies and leave the basement.

Best's record when writing columns at Giants games over the last three seasons is 0-3. The Giants are 0-2 at the games he has attended this season.

So I'll tell you right here, right now: The Giants will lose on Saturday night to the Patriots. Not because the game means nothing to the Giants because they're in the playoffs and will want to rest players. Not because the Patriots are going for an unbeaten season and Tom Brady is shooting to break Peyton Manning's single-season touchdown pass.

Why will they lose? WatchDog will be in the house.

We enjoyed a record-setting month with November page views, thanks in part to the "Grossest Thing I've Ever Seen at a Football Game" posting in early November. (Warning: Do not read or re-read that post on a full stomach.)

We had some trepidation about writing that one, but thanks to my younger brother Mickey, he pushed me over the edge. And it meant the difference in leading to a personal best as far as page views. Still a ways to go before approaching Newsday cartoonist Walt Handlesman's 4.2 million page views, but an impressive month nonetheless.

Neil Best enjoyed another strong month, although his page views did decline slightly, thanks mostly to the fact that Imus news dwindled. So do your part and lift Best's spirits and visit his blog, because we don't to see him depressed for too long. If nothing else, you can enjoy Neil's pictures of the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders.

Meanwhile, we got a shoutout in a company-wide memo from Newsday blogmeister Mark LaMonica, so the bigwigs know all about our success. All of which, of course, is driven by you.

Thanks for reading.

... he once offered a hilarious one-liner when he coached the Giants back in the day.

Parcells had always battled weight problems, but one year - I'm thinking it was 1986 or 1987 - he showed up a few pounds lighter. When a reporter asked him about it during a press conference, Parcells quipped: "Yeah, I lost about 10 pounds or so ... but that's like throwing a deck chair off the Queen Mary."

These days, Parcells really is much fitter than he was back then. In fact, he looks so healthy and well-rested that it's probably only a matter of time before he throws his hat back in the ring looking for another heading coaching job. Or perhaps a general manager.

I realize I'm taking a risk here, because this story will certainly turn the stomachs of some readers. But my younger brother Mickey, a huge Jets fan who witnessed what I'm about to tell you, suggested I was a wimp for not putting it in as a post. So I will buck up and write it.

I also realize that there might be quite a few new readers just getting to our site, since my man Neil Best said he was going to link to our blog to let folks know about our Imus news. If you're new to this site and are just looking for info on I-man, then scroll down and DO NOT READ ANY MORE OF THIS!

Anyway, Mickey - who is named after Mickey Mantle, my sports hero growing up - had Jets' season tickets for years, and I would try and meet him in the parking lot at his tailgate whenever possible. One day a few years ago, I showed up at parking section 4H to hang out with Mickey and his buddies before going to the press box. (No, I did not drink beers.)

A few feet away from our group were a couple of guys who were unusually rowdy. Mickey said these guys were always a bit over the top in their pre-game celebrations, which included large quantities of libations and food.

On this particular day, one of the guys, who wore a hat in the shape of an artichoke, had already consumed too much of the libations, and would alternately chug a bottle of beer and then barf. Chug-barf. Chug-barf. It was foul.

But for the man nicknamed "Artichoke Head," it was about to get much worse.

Not one to waste an opportunity to tailgate, he refused to give in to his pre-game "illness" and decided to "play hurt," just like his football heroes. Between heaves, "Artie" would cook up a bunch of sausages for the gang.

At one point, he grabbed one of the sausages off the grill, tossed it up in the air, and tried to catch it in his mouth. He missed, and it fell to the ground.

He then bent down, picked up the sausage, held it aloft, and yelled "J-E-T-S Jets! Jets! Jets!"

He then dipped the sausage into his own ... um ... uh ... his own puke ... as if it were some sort of salsa.

And then, he ate it.

...

Oh, my goodness ...

(Mickey - whom we often referred to in our childhood as "Muke-us Puke-us" - believes that "Artichoke Head" was probably some sort of high-powered investment banker who went to work the next morning and told his office staff all about how great it is to have Jets season tickets.)

Not three seconds onto the jetway from the British Airways flight into Heathrow, and our good friend with the No. 56 jersey welcomes himself to the UK with the following words bellowed as loud as he possibly can:

"Let's go Giants!" clap-clap, clap-clap-clap"

"Let's go Giants!" clap-clap, clap-clap-clap"

You think the locals caught on to the fact that he might have been from the United States?

...

Giants players and coaches due to take off at 6 p.m. eastern. Will arrive at approximately 6 a.m. local time, will catch a few winks, and off to practice at Chelsea Soccer Club's training facility shortly after noon.

Cheers.

We wrote last month about our first brush with the raw emotion of why football means so much, and harked back to our first job out of college at the Tarrytown (NY) Daily News.

We introduced you to a nose tackle at Sleepy Hollow High School named Marty Fine who took issue with our prediction that the Headless Horsemen would lose to John Jay in their first game. Afterward, when the Horsemen had beaten John Jay, Fine ran over and started screaming and cursing at us, telling us to take our pick and do something with it that is unprintable. And that was the tame stuff.

Well, we finally tracked Marty down, and he's a head coach at Bryant College in Providence, Rhode Island. That's where the Patriots used to train for years before the operation moved to Gillette Stadium in Foxboro. Marty is going a doing a bang-up job turning the Bryant program around, and he sends his regards.

He tells us that he'd love to coach one day and have me write about him, which would be completely cool. Get this guy in the NFL!

I learned that lesson in my first full-time job as a sportswriter at the Tarrytown (NY) Daily News.

I covered, among other teams, the Sleepy Hollow High football team in North Tarrytown, and would try and predict the outcome of the games. If any of you have followed my NFL picks in recent years in Newsday, you know that's not an easy proposition, even at the high school level.

Anyway, in my first week on the job, I had to handicap the Sleepy Hollow-John Jay game at John Jay in Cross River, NY. If I'm not mistaken, John Jay had won the Class C championship the year before, and had a fairly decent program for a number of years. So, I picked John Jay.

Of course, Sleepy Hollow won the game.

But it wasn't until after the game that I realized how much my prediction had upset/motivated the Headless Horsemen of Sleepy Hollow. After it was over, a squatty nose tackle named Marty Fine came over to me and started screaming.

"Glauber, you son of a *@!@#$%, you no good !@#$%$@, we showed your @!#."

Fine must have railed at me for a good 60 seconds more, and I'm thinking, "What in the world is with this guy?"

Football is with this guy.

There is little doubt in my mind that Sleepy Hollow coach Bruce Thomas referred to the prediction in the newspaper to psyche up his guys. After all, on page 1 of most coaching manuals, there's usually a reference to using any means necessary to make your players believe the world is against you. Why else would Fine have reacted so angrily afterward? But it was a quick lesson in learning how passionate people are about football, and I've carried it with me ever since.

So ...

... Go Giants!

... Go Jets!

PS: I saw Marty Fine about 10 years ago at Giants training camp - he was an assistant high school football coach at the time - and he came up to me and asked if I remembered him from his days at Sleepy Hollow. I told him I could never forget.

If you're out there, Marty, I still haven't forgotten.

PPS: Thomas was one of the most gentlemanly coaches I've ever come across, and he was a true leader of young men. He retired years ago, but not before helping hundreds of kids enjoy a tremendous athletic experience.

He was also a pretty funny dude. At the end-of-year sports banquet, he was invited to the dais by athletic director Jack McCleery to say a few words. McCleery, also a terrific human being and a fine administrator, was wearing a dark green plaid suit that was ... well ... not very stylish, let's say.

"That's a nice suit you've got there, Mr. McCleery," Thomas says. "What awning did you fall through to get it?"