The Giants are the reason for two words my city cannot put down. Super Bowl XXV, January 1991, Tampa, New York holding the ball for almost forty-one minutes and beating my Bills 20-19 when a forty-seven-yard kick sailed wide right. The only Super Bowl ever decided by a single point. I have lived my whole adult life on the wrong end of it. So let me be fair to the team on the right end.

Five trips, four trophies, and a habit of the impossible

The Giants have won four of their five Super Bowls. They beat Denver in XXI behind a near-perfect Phil Simms. They beat my Bills in XXV. Then they twice ambushed the Patriots, in XLII and XLVI, the first of which ended New England’s perfect season on David Tyree pinning a ball to his helmet on a play that should not have worked. Their one loss was XXXV, a 34-7 beating by the Ravens.

Living with it

New York made a career of being the team nobody picked and winning anyway. That is admirable, even when one of those wins is the open wound of my fandom. Giants fans, you earned XXV by holding the ball all night and making us kick from forty-seven. I will not pretend it does not still hurt. I will say you deserved the trophy. Both things are true.