Jay and the Giants
My husband looks upon the New York Giants as the second coming of whomever he worships, and that’s no joke. Today is Sunday, and the Giants are playing. He is transfixed. While the rest of the people in his world go about our business, his eyes never leave the TV.
I make the assumption that he’s taken care of all bathroom necessities and has eaten something to tide him over until dinner, because there is no movement going on in his den.
While watching him watch the New York Giants, I think of wild animals who live in dens—close, dense and deep enclaves, where they cannot be seen or even heard. Perhaps we could even pass over their hideouts, while the animals are in there, not moving, and never know that they were there. Protective instincts; They guard their turf. I guess it’s just an animal thing to do. I guess Jay is just an animal, guarding his turf.
Today, I asked him toward the end of the game ,how he felt about the fact that it was a shut out for his team. He never moved his head. Even though they were winning, twenty-four, zip, the only words that came out of his mouth were, “Ask me when it’s over…”
I didn’t bother.
There is only one thing on earth; a living, breathing soul who will move Jay out of his den during a Giants game. Her name is Maggie and she is our dog. Maggie eats at four o’clock in the afternoon, on the dot. How she knows that it’s four is beyond me. If her alpha male does not immediately comply with her demands, she takes no prisoners. In fact, short of biting him,, she will pull at his clothes, push at his arms with her nose and finally bark in his ear until he moves accordingly. That never worked for me...
The whole task of feeding her and letting her out takes no more than five, ten minutes, tops. But to him, it’s an enormous gesture of kindness that he makes, when he feeds her on Giant’s time. Just consider the circumstances: Somebody could make a pass on the field, or a field goal, or even a touchdown; and maybe it would be the other team.
When I met Jay as a young woman, I knew about his NY Giants obsession. I even went to great lengths to learn about the game, in total, so that if I wanted to be with him on a Fall Sunday, I would at least understand what was going on. After the babies were born—and clearly, they were not conceived on a Sunday afternoon in autumn—they were not allowed in the den while he was watching his men in their blue. After all those years, I lost interest in the players who were not recognizable to me, without checking the back of their shirts for the names and numbers. I got to the point where I cared even less about who made what play and sadly, who was injured. Now that our babies are all grown and out of the house, and I could check back on the Giants to see what they are up to now, I only care to see if he’s happy when the game is over.
You see? It all depends on the score. If they win, he remembers he has a wife in the house. If they lose, I watch “Desperate Housewives,” alone.