-After the clock ran out and the Giants officially pulled the game off, I called a couple friends (none named Hench or JackO) to analyze the game in great detail. Here is the gist of each of those conversations:

Me: HOLY SHIT.

Friend: Unbelievable.

Me: Fucking unbelievable. UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE

Friend: Holy fuck.

Me: Can you fucking believe that shit? I mean, HOLY SHITBALLS

Friend: Unbelievable. WOW. Shit.

It’s always nice to experience a sporting event that leaves you and everyone you know completely retarded in its wake. And you know what the scariest thing about the whole amazing night was? That Reggie Nelson was right!

-This edition of the Gamebook took place in Georgetown, with Ape, Maj, and a host of revelers. The spread consisted of wings, chili, crab dip, spinach dip, and the like. Then, our host pulled something I couldn’t recognize out of the oven. It was a bright orange substance in a Pyrex dish. I asked what it was. She said it was buffalo chicken dip. That’s right. Buffalo chicken DIP. Now, I am an unhealthy person. There’s no debate about that. But even I trembled at the sight of this concoction. I’m shocked a black hole didn’t appear in the room once it appeared. It appeared to be something that, left unattended, might grow multiple times over and take on new forms. I made the executive decision not to risk it. The solid stool in my toilet this morning let me know I made the right choice.

-What was with the fucking clock last night? Sometimes it stopped running after a running play. Sometimes it kept going after an incompletion. Then it ran off at the end of the game after the ball had turned over on downs, only to be reset by Mike Carey. Was there some sort of WWF-style celebrity timekeeper for the event? Was it someone born without thumbs?

-You might know Christmas Ape as one of the more erudite members of the KSK staff. And, with 15 beers in him last night, his mastery of the English language really came to the fore. Any time the Giants made a good play, here are some of the bon mots our normally reserved man came up with:

“FUCK YOU BRADY! I HOPE YOUR FUCKING KID DIES!”
“FUCK YOU, BRADY! TAKE IT IN THE FUCKING ASS!”
“YEAH YEAH! EAT A FUCKING DICK, BELICHICK! I HOPE YOU DIE!”

The man knows how to work a room, I tell you. In fact, I argued with Ape that he was more pleased the Pats lost than when his Steelers won the Super Bowl two years ago. And that’s all right. If you’re a fan of most any team, your chances to experience the thrill of winning a championship are few and far in between. That’s why it’s so gratifying when a team you hate does a total fucking gag job. It gives you something to root for during those years when things don’t quite work out for your boys. Take it in the ass, indeed.

-I don’t know if Osi Umeryiora ever found a hooker to poop on. But I’m willing to wager there’s a lady or two in Long Island now that would be willing to let him squeeze out a yellow submarine on them for next to nothing.

-There was much debate prior to the game as to whether or not the Giants were a better team without Jeremy Shockey. I think it’s pretty obvious now that the Giants not only need to cut Shockey, they also need to key his car and burn any of his property left in the locker room. SHOCKEY BLOWS. In fact, why not ship him to New England? They love overrated white players there.

-Do you take steroids? Do you beat your girlfriend? Then Under Armour has a sneaker for you!

-I was happy for Eli Manning last night, but it was hard not to want to slap the shit outta him and the rest of the team for wearing those t-shirts OVER their shoulder pads during the postgame celebration. Hey guys, you won. You can take your fucking pads off now. You looked like Fred Gwynne in that shit.

-Here’s your Simmons douchebaggery for the day:

“Our underdog opponent gained confidence, punched us in the mouth a few times, kept punching and punching, caught a few breaks, threw a few more punches, ran out of gas near the end, looked to be done … and out of nowhere, rallied for a miracle drive to steal the championship.”

Yes, yes. The championship was STOLEN! From a team that for two straight games had played flat, uninspired football. In a game where Tom Brady threw the ball with all the accuracy of Tarvaris Jackson. Yeah, they really deserved that win. Assbag. Commenter King of Pants said it best:

“Dear Bill Simmons:

Did you ever realize, when you spent the entire season comparing the Pats to the Cobra Kai and masturbating to pictures of WIlliam Zabka, that at the end of the movie, they lose to the skinny out-of-nowhere underdog from New York?”

HA!

-I went to godaddy.com to watch that Danica Patrick EXPOSED video. Turns out it was a gonzo movie of her getting an anal cream pie from a 400 lb. Latino man. Now THAT is racy advertising.

-The number of hot women on the field during the Petty set was more than the cumulative number of hot women to see Tom Petty live over the past 15 years.

-I had no particular rooting interest in this game. Yes, we have our fun with Pats fans here, and part of me wanted to see the Giants pull off the upset. But another part of me wanted to see the Patriots pull off what now has to be considered a damn near impossible feat. So I watched the game with a fairly level head. But, when the Giants won, I realized that we are ALL better off for it.

I don’t want to live in an NFL world where I have to wait for Tom Brady and Peyton Manning to retire before my team has a realistic shot of winning the title. If the Giants, who I saw completely destroyed by the Vikings early in the year, can get their act together in the last month of the season and plow through the playoffs like that, and outplay and outcoach a fucking 18-0 team, then that bodes well for all us NFL fans.

It was assumed that the Patriots had found a way to dominate even in the supposed age of parity. But they didn’t. Parity came back and clamped down on their asshole. And that was pretty cool to see. Hooray for clamped assholes.

-Dark M&M’s are good. Very good. It’s like an orgy in my mouth, and everyone’s invited.

-Finally, it’s time to start making fun of Giant fans. Yes you, Giant fans. You bridge-and-tunnel, bad French manicure-having pieces of Jersey trash (Maj’s lady and our friend Becky excepted). Like Patriot fans, you too can also suck our collective balls, because it is company policy here to hate EVERYONE. And, since you guys are the big winners now, I hope you fall out of a hot air balloon. Oh, you like Eli now? TOO LATE! Eli says you can choke on his load. Take your Shockey jerseys, head to Sbarro’s at the mall, and shut the fuck up.