GLENDALE, Ariz. – One final time, the football was in the air, one last desperate heave into the unforgiving teeth of destiny. This is what he Giants had reduced the big, bad Patriots to. This was all that remained of 18-0, one final Hail Mary throw that never had a prayer, never had a chance, and fell harmlessly to the grass.
There should be a word to describe what happened next at University of Phoenix Stadium, to describe what it sounded like exactly one second later, at precisely 8:05 p.m. local time, 10:05 back in New York. There
should be a feeling to describe the joy that exploded on the Giants sideline when Eli Manning took his celebratory knee, freezing forever the impossible numbers on the scoreboard:
Giants 17. Patriots 14.
It was over. It was done. The miracle was real, the upset etched in stone. There should be a word to convey exactly what it meant to be in this building, with the walls rocking, filled with the unleashed glee of the Giants fans among the 71,101 in attendance. All day long, what they were watching had seemed like just another desert mirage.
All day long, as the rest of America waited for the Patriots to turn back into the Patriots, as they waited for this team of royalty to rise up and seize their crown, the Giants themselves kept fighting a fierce, stubborn fight. All day long, they harassed Tom Brady, they punished him in a way he hasn’t been punished in a long, long time, they took the
ball and bled the clock dry.
After a while, you wondered if it would mean anything. The Patriots couldn’t break away, and they couldn’t break the Giants, but they sure seemed capable of reverting to an old Carolina Tar Heels Four Corners offense. They could taunt the Giants, tease them, invite them to their side of the 50. And then slam the door shut on their noses, time after time.
Right up to this: Right after Manning hit Kevin Boss, rookie tight end, replacement for Jeremy Shockey, with one of the most gorgeous passes you’re ever going to see, a 20-yard throw that turned into a 45-yard gain early in the fourth quarter and changed the way the game looked, the way everything sounded, the way everything seemed.
Suddenly, the Giants weren’t only in play, they were driving, they were boring holes in the Patriots’ defense, and into their hearts, spilling blood all over that pre-ordered 19-0 merchandise. There was a 17-yard pass to Steve Smith – another kid, another rookie – on third down. There was a gritty 7-yard run by Ahmad Bradshaw – ANOTHER kid, ANOTHER rookie – to within spitting range of the New England end zone.
Then Manning to David Tyree, a touchdown combination that hadn’t existed even once during all 19-3/4 games of this Giants season to this point. Tyree gathered it in. Pointed to the roof of the stadium. Listened to the Giants fans spring to life. Then looked at the scoreboard.
Giants 10. Patriots 7. Eleven minutes to a miracle. Eleven minutes to forever. Eleven minutes that would feel like 11 years.
Eleven minutes that tortured the Giants, tortured their fans, because the ball was now in Tom Brady’s hands and that is an awfully dangerous place for the ball to be. Drips and drabs. Bits and pieces. Rockets and
lobs. Twelve plays. Eighty yards. At the end, there was a third-and-goal from the 8, no-man’s land for just about any other offense you’ve ever seen.
Randy Moss left Corey Webster on the ground. Touchdown. Now it was 14-10. And it should have ended there.
But it didn’t end there. Because Manning – really a kid himself, only a fourth-year player – engineered the drive of his life, 11 plays covering 83 yards, highlighted by one play you’re going to see for as long as they play Super Bowls, capped by a 13-yard scoring toss to Plaxico Burress.
There should be a word for what THAT sounded like, also. Because for the very first time, everything the Giants swore would be their this day really was. They were ahead of the unbeatable Patriots. They were going
to do it. They were going to shock the world.
And then, four empty Patriots plays later, that’s precisely what they did.
Giants 17, Patriots 14.
They DO have a word for that. The Mets used to own the patent on it. No longer:
Amazing.