“I knew it had to happen
Felt the tables turnin
Got me through my darkest hour”

Big Blue fans had some dark hours for sure during the first 2 ½ games of the season.  We felt the table turning somewhere around halftime of the Skins game though, and the Giants made the break that they were on the brink of.  The G-men rolled San Fran last week, and hopefully they’ll keep on rolling against the fish this week.

The Pybus Report Sunday staff meetings kept on rolling too, as the GN rolled his grill out into his driveway for a pre-game tailgate party.  The Nazi put out quite a spread including his specialty, ribs, and some homemade hot wings.  Now, if you frequent the local wing joints you’re no doubt familiar with terms like hot, 911, Blazin or 3 mile island.  Well let me tell you, these joints have nothing on the Nazi.  These wings could only be categorized as Napalm.   I was able to eat about one of them before the incendiary agent kicked in and my intestines melted.  The warden and Mrs. Nostra weren’t so hearty though.  After one bite each their lips fell off, and they went running into the house in search of a sewing needle, some thread and an extinguisher.  

Well, we managed to survive the wings and put out the fire, and ventured next door to Nostra’s for the game.  In what seems to be a disturbing trend, the Giants stumbled out of the gate before regaining their footing.  They managed to pick up speed though and take the lead before the halfway mark and eventually cruised to the finish line.  I’m just afraid that one of these days they’re going to stumble and break down, and we’ll have to shoot them on the spot. 

There were some bright spots though.  The defense continued to play well.  Osi’s been on a tear, Pierce picked off a pass and Strahan is almost back in pre-season shape.  Offensively Big Blue did enough to win, or the 49ers defense did enough to lose, but either way it was enough.  Jacobs had a big day and Shockey brought back memories of Bavaro, albeit briefly.  The highlight of the day though was Toomer breaking the Giants all time TD reception mark.  He’s a class guy who deserves the success.  I just hope he doesn’t retire, write a book, and wipe out all the good memories we had of him.   

Anyway, it turned out to be a pretty good Sunday.  We had some good food with good friends (good times all the time), and the weather was just lovely.  In fact, it was so nice that the GN and I decided to head out to the front porch for halftime, where we encountered a most horrifying event.  Nostra was already out on the porch talking to Nostra Jr on the cell, commenting about the lovely blue sky and how pretty it was.  As the GN and I looked at each other mortified, we half expected Nostra to start belting out show tunes (not that there’s anything wrong with that).  It was a Brokeback Nostra moment for sure.  I only hope we never have to witness it up close again.

Oh, and speaking of witnessing things close up, I had my second obnoxious Sox fan encounter in as many weeks.  On Saturday night the entire Pessimist family joined some friends for Mama Krebs birthday party, before heading out to a Haunted Hayride later in the evening.  Well, at the party we put the Sox/Indians game on for a few innings before we had to head to the hayride.  Now, I should preface this story by saying that Pauly being Pauly, I had my ‘Got Melky?’ shirt on.  I’m a Yankees fan, and I wear my colors proudly through good times or bad.  Anyway, in the bottom of the first J.D. Drew hits a grand slam, and this Sox fan I’ve never met before stands up and screams, “The Yankees will never win another World Series ever!”  He didn’t yell “Yeah!” or “Go Sox”, he yelled “The Yankees will never win another World Series ever!”  How pitiful it must be for Boston fans that at what should be a time of celebration for their team’s success, they can only think about the Yankees. 

“The Yankees will never win another World Series ever!”  Don’t bet on it. 

Oh well, Until Next Week, PESSIMISTICALLY YOURS,

This past weekend was one nightmare after another.  Oh sure, there were a few good moments, but they were fleeting.  Most of the time though I was sleeping with one eye open, gripping my pillow tight, and I was off to never never land. 

It all started on Thursday, when I got a distress signal from the Nazi.  It seems there was a rumor swirling around the GN’s place of employment (which is really nothing new lately).  Only this rumor wasn’t the normal speculation over subterranean strippers or scorched swiffers.  No, this rumor was much more frightening.  Apparently, CBS had decided they were not going to air the Giants/Jets game locally.  Unfortunately it only took a couple of clicks of the mouse to determine that this was no rumor at all. 

Sadly, this was a cold hard fact, and CBS benched Big Blue in favor of the Cleveland Browns.  Oh sure, they were playing the Patriots but still, who wants to watch the Browns?  Evidently, CBS surmised that folks round these parts would rather partake of the Patriots regardless of their opponent than watch the Mayhem at the Meadowlands.  I mean, this was the Giants vs. Jets for cryin’ out loud.  Now, we wouldn’t have cared quite so much under normal circumstances, we would’ve just headed to Hooters.  Only this wasn’t a good dream state, this was a nightmare. 

We had prayed all week to the Greek God of Technology, TIVO, just so we could have a chance to watch the game.  You see, the 3 bishops of the Church of the Bleeding Blue (Nostra, Pauly and the Nazi) had all previously committed to healing the lost souls of the less fortunate.  The GN and the Warden set out on a pilgrimage up north to Oktoberfest, where the Nazi could witness first hand the evils of drinking with buxom, blue-eyed blonds.  Pauly was caring for the poor under-privileged children in town at the McCoy Field Orphanage, and Nostra, well, Nostra was communing with TIVO and the rest of the Gods on another one of his magical missions.

As luck would have it though, we’d all be returning from our sojourns late in the afternoon on the Sabbath.  And, to further ensure the success of Nostra’s mission, we went so far as to sacrifice what was left of his banner mushroom crop to appease the Gods, although he’d eaten most of it before we got there.  Well, after the sacrificial offering (and much begging to Mrs Nostra), we were in!  Nostra would DVR the game for a 5:00 PM viewing, and the party was on.  That was of course, before CBS turned our sweet dreams into nightmares. 

Since we were unable to watch the Giants due to the various forces working against us, Pauly suggested a few alternatives.  In honor of Uncle Dave we could watch the Packers-Bears game on Sunday Night at Hooters, or we could all get together to watch the Yankees game at Pauly’s.  However, as in most nightmares my electronic equipment must have been malfunctioning because not one of our brethren returned any of my phone calls or emails (thanks guys).   So, Mrs P and Pauly Jr were stuck with me at home, flipping between both games (a nightmare for Mrs P for sure). 

Well, the bad dreams continued as the Packers fumbled away the game to the Bears.  At least the Yankees finally managed to win one game.  (Oh, and speaking of nightmares, did you watch Joba in game 2 getting attacked by giant bugs?  I haven’t seen anything that scary since the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz!)  Anyway, with the Yanks win in game 3, maybe our luck was actually changing.  Or not. 

I took Monday off to spend the day with Mrs P, the Princess and Pauly Jr.  I had a dream that maybe we could do something fun and relaxing, but the Mrs had other ideas and I ended up cleaning most of the day.  Man, I was thrilled I burned up a personal day for that.  Anyway, I was hoping things would get better as I settled in to watch the Yankees and Monday Night Football.  I didn’t take long to wake up from that delusion though, as after just three pitches the Yanks were trailing.  I kept dreaming of a comeback that never came, and took solace in the fact that at least the Cowboys were losing. 

Now, if your team can’t win, watching the Cowboys lose is the next best thing.  Tony Romo looked just awful, which was great to see.  Pauly is sick of watching Romo be compared to the great quarterbacks of all time.  No joke, I watched one of the pre-game shows last week that featured the three all-time great Dallas Quarterbacks, Roger Staubach, Troy Aikman and Tony Romo (??).  Another pre-game genius went so far as to call Brett Favre, and I quote, “an old Tony Romo”.  Are you kidding me?  I mean, c’mon, the guys got what, 15 career starts?  Let him win something before replacing the Johnny U jersey in Canton with a Romo version. 

Oh my God, what’s this?  The nightmare continues as the “great” Tony Romo leads the Cowboys to nine points in the last 40 seconds or so, and the Cowboys beat the Bills.  Man, this night couldn’t have gone any worse.  Except here comes T.O. running out on the field after the game, waiving his arms and thumping his chest.  What’s up with that T.O.?  I’m sure your 2 catches for 20 yards and 4 or 5 drops made all the difference in the world.  Watching the guy you’d have thought he won the game single handedly.  God I hate the Cowboys. 

I guess the only thing worse than watching the Yankees get eliminated and the Cowboys win, is the fact the Red Sox swept their series against the hapless Angels, with Schilling of all people pitching the clincher.  Man, I hate Schilling even more than T.O. and Romo.  And, now we have to put up with all the obnoxious Boston fans.  I mean I’m telling you, to listen to them talk you’d think the Red Sox have won the World Series nine out of the last ten years.  What’s it been, once in the last 89?  Let’s just hope they don’t make it twice, there will be no living with them after that.  If you can’t watch the Yankees win, watching the Red Sox lose is the next best thing.  Pauly Jr’s new t-shirt says it best: Buck Foston.  Anyway…

Until next week, PESSIMISTICALLY YOURS,

Pauly

Prediction Time:

OK, now Pauly usually doesn’t get into the prediction business, but after taking the yellow pills he found under the couch cushions after Nostra’s last visit, Pauly had a vision.  Pauly saw a rattlesnake, lost from the desert, struggling to ascend a rugged, snow capped mountain.  At the base of the mountain was a young Injun.  He was slicing up raw fish for dinner.  On the ground next to him was a bloody red sock.  Not far away was a giant dog, a pit bull perhaps, tearing through seven large birds.  Hmm, what could it all mean?  Pauly must consult with Dr. Jamie to help make things clear.  Ah… now Pauly sees, now Pauly understands. 

The Diamondbacks travel to Colorado where the Rockies prove too tough.  Colorado clinches at home, winning in five.  The young Indians feast on Diced Matsusushi in game 7, while Schilling looks on helplessly.   The hungry Giants defense rips through the Falcons as a pit bull would rip through Vick.  Only now Pauly sees there are not seven birds, but six.  The Big Blue defense puts the game away with another pick six.  Giants win 24-10.