Amid P.E.D. Scandals, Time for Selig to Go

Between Congressional hearings yesterday on Capitol Hill and the disclosure today that federal prosecutors have obtained a failed drug test from Barry Bonds following the 2000 season, it has become unmistakably clear that baseball’s steroid problem is not going away any time soon.

[That disclosure, while already revealed in the original indictment in U.S. v. Bonds, was actually preceded by a report that Bonds failed a drug test in 2001, immediately following his record-setting, 73-home-run season. That erroneous report was a result of a typographical error. Still, it proves the point that this story dominates baseball coverage in this time. In short, your humble diarist references the copy of Game of Shadows on his desk more often than his dictionary.]

Congress and the Justice Department are—rightly or wrongly—filling a leadership vacuum left by the commissioner of baseball, Bud Selig, against whom the following charge must be made: in perpetuity, the time in baseball from 1995-2005 will not only be known as “The Steroid Era.” Rather, it will be known as “The Steroid Era led by Bud Selig.”

Selig points to the collective-bargaining process as an excuse for his failure to prohibit and test for steroids. The fact is, however, that when push came to shove over the past few years, every aspect of his proposed testing regime has been adopted. He and his fellow owners could have used their capital to force stricter testing.

Instead, they covered their mouths and held their other hands over their noses. It makes one wonder how, with both hands occupied, they managed to collect all of the money they made as a result.

Like in 1997, when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa enthralled the nation with each chemically-enhanced swing of the bat. Or in 2001, when Bonds shattered McGwire’s record by swatting 73 home runs in a season.

Bonds now holds the game’s single-season and career home-run records, but, rather than reporting for spring training this month, he is defending himself in federal court against a perjury indictment. Roger Clemens was doing roughly the same thing in a different venue yesterday, appearing before the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee.

The greatest hitter and the greatest pitcher of this generation: disgraced. The game of baseball: disgraced. Under whose watch?

Fair or not, Bud Selig won’t be judged by his introduction of the wild card (good), or interleague play (not terrible), or the World Baseball Classic (too early to judge). He won’t be graded based on the expansion of baseball’s fan base, either, because it was done under false pretenses—mammoth home runs and super-sized sluggers that cooked up in a laboratory.

Selig claims he knew very little about the drug culture that was pervasive in Major-League clubhouses over the past decade. Whether that’s true is ultimately irrelevant. If Selig knew and did nothing, he made a deal with devil for which the sport is still repaying in its credibility. If he didn’t know, his willful blindness was almost more egregious.

Selig recently signed a three-year contract extension that won’t expire until after the 2012 season. Until he is gone, it is impossible for baseball to move past this distasteful period, and the government will continue to do what Selig couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

“Someone Isn’t Telling the Truth”

Brian McNamee has lied many times during his sordid life, most of which came to the fore today in hearings on Capitol Hill regarding steroids in baseball. In accusing his former client, Roger Clemens, of using performance-enhancing drugs, McNamee had less reason to lie than did the accused.

Of the two principals seated at the rectangular table in the hearing room at the Rayburn House Office Building, McNamee and Clemens, one lied today. They lied in press conferences, in depositions to attorneys for the House Oversight and Government Reform Committee, and before the committee assembled today. That committee sought to determine which individual was untruthful.

“If Mr. McNamee is lying,” chairman Henry Waxman (D-Calif.) said today during his opening statement, “then he has acted inexcusably, and has made Mr. Clemens an innocent victim. If Mr. Clemens isn’t telling the truth, then he has acted shamefully, and has smeared Mr. McNamee. I don’t think there’s anything in between.”

Just because there isn’t anything in between doesn’t mean that today’s hearing brought the public any closer to the truth, though both McNamee and Clemens had their respective credibility challenged effectively and aggressively during a surreal hearing that featured a handful of jaw-dropping, did-that-just-really-happen moments.

Waxman also added in his opening statement (pg. 5):

Mr. Clemens has visited with many Committee members personally in the last few days. One point he and his attorneys have made is that it would make no sense for him to testify under oath if he actually used steroids. In judging his credibility, the risk that he takes by testifying today needs to be taken into account.

It is also relevant that Mr. Clemens is credible and convincing in person. I’m also aware of the tremendous amount of good that Mr. Clemens has done through the Roger Clemens Foundation, and I thank you for helping so many children.

But it is also true that as we’ve moved forward in our investigation, we have found conflicts and inconsistencies in Mr. Clemens’ account. During his deposition, he made statements that we know are untrue. And he made them with the same earnestness that many of the Committee members observed in person when he visited your offices.

In other areas, his statements are contradicted by other credible witnesses or are simply implausible.

Waxman cited the deposition of Andy Pettitte, Clemens’ teammate for the past nine seasons with both the New York Yankees and Houston Astros. Pettitte claimed that Clemens told him in 1999 that he had used HGH (pp. 20-21):

Q. What did you ever talk to Clemens about with respect to HGH?

A. I remember a conversation in 1999 where Roger had told me that he had taken HGH.

Q. Where were you when that conversation happened?

A. I believe we were at his house.

Q. And what did he tell you?

A. That’s really all I can really remember, you know, about it. I can't remember specifics about the conversation. That’s just, you know—that’s really all I can remember about the whole conversation.

Q. Were you surprised to hear that?

A. No. Not really because I had never—you know, I’ve—you know, I don’t think I’d ever heard of it before at that time. So I think it was just like—it kind of just maybe made me curious, you know.

Clemens denied that conversation took place in his deposition (p. 69).

Q. Have you ever had a discussion with Andy Pettitte about anabolic steroids?

A. I have not. Again, I don’t—I have not talked to Andy about growth hormones or steroids.

Q. Not about human-growth hormone either?

A. Again, just in general, if there would have been the topic of the day or, you know, a conversation about it. But nothing in detail.

After Waxman and the ranking Republican, Tom Davis (Va.), gave their opening statements, Clemens gave his:

I appreciate the opportunity to tell this Committee and the public—under oath—what I have been saying all along: I have never used steroids, human-growth hormone, or any other type of illegal performance-enhancing drugs. I think these types of drugs should play no role in athletics at any level, and I fully support Sen. Mitchell’s conclusions that steroids have no place in baseball. However, I take great issue with the report’s allegation that I used these substances. Let me be clear again: I did not.

McNamee asserted, in his opening statement (pg. 1), that his prior statements to federal prosecutors, Sen. Mitchell, and congressional investigators with regard to Clemens were true:

I have no reason to lie, and every reason not to. If I do lie, I will be prosecuted. I was never promised any special treatment or consideration for fingering star players. I was never coerced to provide information against anyone. All that I was ever told was to tell the truth to the best of my ability, and that is what I have done. I told the investigators that I injected three people, two of whom, I believe, confirm my account. The third is sitting at this table.

The floor was then opened up for representatives to ask questions of the witnesses, and the first interlocutor, Rep. Elijah Cummings (D-Md.) set the tone for the hearing:

Q. I’m going to ask you a few questions, Mr. Clemens, and I first want to make sure that you’re very clear: You understand that you’re under oath, is that correct?

A. That’s correct, Mr. Cummings.

Q. And you know what that means. Is that correct?

A. That’s correct.

Cummings quickly got the most glaring issue with Clemens’ denials:

Q. Now Mr. Clemens, I want to ask you just one thing. In his deposition, Mr. Pettitte told the committee that he had a conversation with you in 1999 or 2000 in which you admitted that you used human-growth hormones. Is this true?

A. It is not.

Q. So you did not tell Mr. Pettitte that you used human-growth hormone?

A. I did not.

Q. And—but at the same time, you just said that he’s a very honest fellow. Is that right?

A. I believe Andy to be a very honest fellow, yes.

Q. Very well. Let’s continue. In his deposition, Mr. Pettitte was honest and forthcoming with the committee. He told us things that were embarrassing, that we had no way of knowing, except through his own testimony.

First, he confirmed that Mr. McNamee injected him with HGH in 2002, which is in the Mitchell report. You understand that, right?

A. I do.

Q. Then he told us that he injected himself again in 2004. We did not know about the 2004 injection, but he volunteered that information because he wanted the committee to know the entire truth.

It was hard for Mr. Pettitte to tell the committee about the 2004 injections. The circumstances, which he described in length, were exceptionally personal and embarrassing.

But it was even harder for him to talk about you, Mr. Clemens. He’s friends with both you and Mr. McNamee, and he felt caught in the middle.

During his deposition, he was asked how he would resolve the conflict between two friends. Here is what he said, and I quote: “I have to tell you all the truth. And one day, I have to give an account to God, and not to nobody else, of what I’ve done in my life. And that’s why I’ve said and shared the stuff with you all that I would not like to share with you all,” end of quote.

Now, Mr. Clemens, I'm reminding you that you are under oath. Mr. Clemens, do you think Mr. Pettitte was lying when he told the committee that you admitted using human-growth hormones?

A. Mr. Congressman, Andy Pettitte is my friend. He will be my—he was my friend before this. He will be my friend after this. And, again, I think Andy has misheard.

Q. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.

A. I believe Andy has misheard, Mr. Congressman, on his comments about myself using HGH, which never happened. The conversation that I can recall that I had with Andy Pettitte was at my house in Houston, while we were working out, and I expressed to him about a T.V. show, something that I’ve heard about three older men that were using HGH and getting back their quality of life from that. Those are the conversations that I can remember.

Andy and I’s friendship and closeness was such that, first of all, when I learned, when he was—when he said that he used HGH, I was shocked. I had no idea.

When I just heard your statement and Andy's statement about that he also injected himself, I was shocked. I had no idea that Andy Pettitte had used HGH.

My problem with what Andy says, and why I think he misremembers is that if Andy Pettitte knew that I had used HGH or I had told Andy Pettitte that I had used HGH before he would use the HGH, what have you, he would have come to me and asked me about it. That’s how close our relationship was.

And then, when he did use it, I’m sure he would have told me that he used it. And I say that for the fact that we also used a product called Hydroxycut and ThermaCore. It had ephedra in it, from what I understand to be a natural tree root. I believe ephedra was banned at some -- 2004, something of that nature. A player in Baltimore passed away because of it.

Andy and I talked openly about this product, and so there’s no question in my mind that we would have talked—if he knew that I had tried or done HGH, which I did not, he would have come to me to ask me those questions.

Q. Well, let’s continue. In the deposition, we wanted to make absolutely sure, because we knew the significance of this, that Mr. Pettitte had a clear recollection.

And let me read another excerpt from the deposition. And this was a question to Mr. Pettitte.

“‘You recollect a conversation with Mr. Clemens. Your recollection is that he said he was taking human growth hormone.’ Answer, ‘Yes.’

‘And you have no doubt about that recollection?’ ‘I mean, no, he told me that.’”

Now, Mr. Clemens, you know Mr. Pettitte well. You just, again, described your relationship. You described him as a close friend in your deposition.

Would he tell the Congress that one of his close friends was taking an illegal performance-enhancing drug if there were any doubt in his mind about the truth of what he was saying?

A. Mr. Congressman, once again, I believe in my—I’m sorry?

Q. I just want you to just go ahead and answer that. Do you think he would do that?

A. I think he misremembers of our conversation.

Clemens seemed to be brooding, angry, and less than entirely coherent. Cummings asked direct and pointed questions that clearly rattled the seven-time Cy Young Award-winner.

McNamee also faced strong scrutiny, mainly from the minority (Republican) members of the committee. Rep. Dan Burton (Ind.) pointed out lies from McNamee’s past, vaguely alluding to a 2001 rape investigation in Florida in which the police believed that McNamee was not truthful, but they declined to file any charges. He also read from McNamee’s initial denial to the press that he was involved in the distribution or use of performance-enhancing drugs.

Burton, notorious during the 1990s for his seemingly-personal vendetta against President Clinton (one that featured an amusing story of a pumpkin-head effigy of Vincent Foster and a pistol), said, “This is really disgusting. You’re here as a sworn witness. You’re here to tell the truth. You’re here under oath, and yet we have lie after lie after lie after lie… I don’t know what to believe. I know one thing I don’t believe, and that’s you.”

Still, the day was most notable for the bizarre and far-fetched moments that occurred, one remarkable twist after another. From discussions of Clemens bleeding through the seat of his pants, to masses on his buttocks, to charges of tampering with a witness (a former nanny) who contradicted Clemens’ testimony, to the positively wacky story of Clemens’ wife being injected by McNamee with HGH (Roger Clemens asserts this occurred without his foreknowledge), it was just completely wacky.

What was also strange was how the committee members seemed to break along party lines on a seemingly non-partisan issue. On the whole, the Democratic members were much more likely to believe McNamee, whereas the G.O.P. was more skeptical of the allegations.

While the Republicans were vicious in their attacks on McNamee, he withstood them for the most part. While Rep. Chris Shays (R-Conn.) repeatedly asserted, somewhat correctly but certainly argumentatively, that McNamee was “a drug dealer,” and Davis revealed that McNamee’s Ph.D. was from a “diploma mill,” McNamee was candid about his previous inconsistencies. It is unlikely that he will face legal jeopardy as a result of his testimony today.

Clemens, on the other hand, may. ABC News reported that as many as six F.B.I. agents attended the hearing, in addition to Jeff Novitzky, an I.R.S. agent responsible for indictments against Barry Bonds and sprinter Marion Jones. Bonds’ trial is scheduled for this spring; Jones has pleaded guilty to making false testimony to investigators. Should the committee choose to refer the case to the Justice Department, or should Justice choose to open an investigation, anyway, Clemens could face perjury charges.

Until today, it was a case of Clemens’ word against McNamee’s. That is what makes Pettitte’s statement so important, and so damning, to his former teammate. While the statements of McNamee and Pettitte may not be enough for a criminal charge to stick to Clemens, in the court of public opinion, the Rocket appears to be the one lying to Congress. More than three-fourths of respondents to an ESPN.com poll think Clemens used performance-enhancing drugs.

Rep. Cummings had a second opportunity to question, and hurt, Clemens towards the end of the hearing.

"I listen to you very carefully, and I take you at your word, and your word is that Andy Pettitte is an honest man, and his integrity is impeccable,” he told Clemens. “It’s hard to believe you, sir. I hate to say that. You’re one of my heroes. But it’s hard to believe you.”

New York Fetes Its Unlikely Champions

NEW YORK – The 177th tickertape parade ever held here along the stretch of lower Broadway known as the Canyon of Heroes was the first ever to honor the New York Football Giants, and at least a million Giants fans, clad in blue, white, and red, erupted accordingly.

At 11 a.m., on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street, in the heart of this city’s world-famous Financial District, the bells of Trinity Church rang out. A priest emerged from the gothic building, adorned in a white robe and a yellow cape, and climbed atop a ladder to observe the festivities from above. In one hand, he clutched a censer; in the other, he held a Giants poster.

About halfway through the parade came the float for which all these Big Blue revelers had been waiting: the float containing Tom Coughlin, Michael Strahan, Eli Manning, and the Vince Lombardi Trophy. As the float passed Trinity Place, Strahan held the trophy, pumping his arms into the air, undoubtedly satisfied with his decision to forgo retirement and play this season.

The most popular chant today was that of “18-1! 18-1!,” mocking their vanquished opponents in Super Bowl XLII, the heretofore undefeated New England Patriots. Chants of “Boston sucks!” were also prevalent.

Toilet paper and tennis balls were tossed from one side of Broadway to the other as crowds gathered in the hours leading up to the parade. Fans on the west side of Broadway at Trinity Place banked balls off the structure at 100 Broadway and onto the east sidewalk. When the parade began, paper—some shredded, some whole letter-sized sheets—rained down from the windows of office buildings.

The parade traveled north to City Hall Park, where the Giants each received a key to the city.

“On behalf of the team, I just want to tell you all how proud we are to be able to bring a championship back to New York City,” Eli Manning told the crowd there. “I believe that we play football for the greatest city in the world, and all of you all deserve to have the greatest football team in the world. It’s been an honor to play with this group of guys, who have such character, such closeness amongst us, coaches who prepare us for every game. We’ve had our ups, we’ve had our downs, but everything we’ve gone through this season has made it so special.”

“Ups” are always higher, and “downs” always lower, in New York, but the Giants’ season was truly improbable. They began 0-2, rattled off six straight wins, and staggered inconsistently into the playoffs. Once there, however, they visited Tampa Bay, Dallas, and Green Bay, and won each game—a fact Michael Strahan, doing a Howard Dean imitation, emphasized at a ceremony at Giants Stadium in New Jersey this afternoon.

They then faced the 18-0 Patriots, with the Golden Boy quarterback and the genius coach, and emerged with a thrilling win rivaling the greatest Super Bowls of all-time. I’ve already delved into the unlikelihoods involved in this run, so I won’t repeat myself here, other than to make this point:

After the game Sunday night, Giants co-owner John Mara, whose late father, Wellington, epitomized class during his 45-year ownership of the team, addressed the crowd at the Super Bowl in Glendale, Ariz., and Giants fans watching around the world.

“It’s the greatest victory in the history of the franchise, without question,” he told Fox’s Terry Bradshaw, with his mother, and Wellington’s widow, Ann Mara standing proudly beside him. “And I just want to say to all you Giants fans who have supported us for more than 30 years at Giants Stadium, for all those years at Yankee Stadium, and some of you even back to the Polo Grounds: this is for you!”

Standing here in the Canyon of Heroes, I can say that this is for all these fans here. This is for the fan that remembers Mel Hein and Tuffy Leemans (G.W. alum); Frank Gifford, Charlie Conerly, and Joe Morrison; and Phil Simms and Lawrence Taylor. This is also for the kids in the crowd—those playing hooky from school to see their heroes up close.

This is for me, too. It’s for my family, friends, and co-workers, people with whom I’ve watched games on Sundays and rehashed them on Mondays.

This is for a special friend who told me in August that the Giants were bound for the Super Bowl, when I, and most “experts,” thought they would have a losing record. It’s for her because, win or lose, she believes, and she dons that blue jersey each Sunday and screams and yells with all of her Giant heart.

Most of all, though, this is for my dad. It’s for the guy who went to those games at Yankee Stadium, and when he couldn’t, he drove to Connecticut or Eastern Long Island to watch the game broadcasts that were blacked-out in New York City. It’s for the man who dressed his son in a No. 56 Lawrence Taylor jersey at age three. It’s for a guy who sat silently from the point the Patriots scored until Eli and the Giants drove down the field for the win, and for the man who hugged his son when the clock finally read “0:00.”

This is for you, Dad, because this game, this parade, this championship—this is for all of us.

Perfection Denied, the Giants Are Most Improbable Champions

Super Bowl XLII was going according to script when Tom Brady and the hitherto undefeated New England Patriots scored to take a 14-10 lead with 2:42 remaining in the fourth quarter. That was until Eli Manning and the Giants’ offense wrote a new ending.

Manning led New York 83 yards down the field in 2:07 for the Super Bowl-clinching touchdown, etching the final score, 17-14, in the Vince Lombardi Trophy with a 13-yard pass to Plaxico Burress, who had boldly guaranteed victory earlier in the week. In doing so, Manning captured the game’s Most Valuable Player award, following his brother Peyton, who won the award in last year’s Super Bowl. But, more importantly, Manning, his head coach, Tom Coughlin, and the Giants completed the most astounding run in playoff history, going from beleaguered, bickering underachievers to world champions in a matter of six weeks.

Manning had help on that final drive from David Tyree. Tyree spent most of the year strictly on the special-teams unit; he only caught four passes this season. His third—and final—catch of Super Bowl XLII, however, will be remembered by football fans for generations.

The Giants faced a third-and-five, on their own 44-yard-line, with only 1:15 remaining. Manning dropped back and was rushed. Implausibly, he escaped the clutches of at least three Patriots, ran right, stepped up, and hurled a pass towards the middle of the field. A sack, in that situation, would have lead to a low-percentage fourth-down conversion attempt.

“You try to get small and see if you can squeak through [the defenders],” Manning told the New York Times.

Tyree, covered by all-pro safety Rodney Harrison leapt at the 25-yard-line in front of the defender, caught the ball at the apex of his jump, and pinned it against his helmet with one hand as Harrison tried to knock it away. Eventually, he laid on the ground, clutching the ball between his hands just inches above the ground, stretching to the 24-yard-line.

“I tried to get the ball to him and it just floated,” said Manning. “[Tyree] just made an unbelievable catch. Jumping up, holding onto that ball, guys hanging all over him.”

“Some things just don’t make sense,” Tyree told the New York Daily News. “I guess you could put that catch up there with them.”

The whole game didn’t make sense, really. That these Giants, with this coach, and this quarterback, had felled the supposed greatest team ever assembled, the perfect football team with the genius coach and the ideal, heartthrob quarterback, Tom Brady.

But the Giants prevailed, and they, not New England, are champions of football. Just like Plaxico Burress predicted.

That statement—that the Giants would win, 23-17—had been ridiculed by the media, and by the Patriots themselves.

“We’re only going to score 17 points?” a surprised Brady said this past Wednesday. “Okay. Is Plax playing defense?”

If Brady was surprised by Burress’ prediction, he must have been even more surprised when the Giants’ defense held his record-setting offense under 17.

Big Blue sacked Brady five times—Justin Tuck had two sacks and a forced fumble near the end of the first half—and dropped him to the ground nine times. All five sacks came when New England spread the field with at least three receivers. Using intense pressure, the New York disrupted Brady’s timing, even when they weren’t hitting him.

“We knew, to win the game, we had to get on him early,” said Tuck. “We never let him get in an offensive rhythm. He made some errant throws and held the ball a little longer than he normally does. That’s a combination of pressure in his face and the secondary doing a great job of locking down all of the receivers.”

It was enough to hold the most prolific offense of all-time to only two scores. But the last of the two came near the end of the game, when the Giants defensive front seven appeared to be completely exhausted. Still, it gave the Patriots a four-point lead, and New England entrusted their defense to hold Manning and the New York offense.

Eli Manning and his offense—his team—believed, however, that the next 2:39 were their time.

“[Manning] was walking up and down the sideline, telling everyone, ‘This is what we play for. This drive. This moment,’” center Shaun O'Hara said. “He never wavered in his confidence, never wavered in his belief that we were going to go down and score.”

Eli had long been derided for his lack of fire and emotion, by the media and past teammates—or, in the case of Tiki Barber, a past teammate-turned media personality. But there was no question that the end of Super Bowl XLII was Eli Manning’s Moment.

“That’s the position you want to be in,” said Manning. “You want to have the ball in your hands, three minutes left, go down, you’ve got to score a touchdown. That’s where you want to be.”

Besides the catch by Tyree and the touchdown to Burress, Brandon Jacobs converted a fourth-and-one at the start of the drive, and Manning found wide receiver Steve Smith on a key third-and-11 the play preceding the touchdown to give the Giants a first down on the 13-yard-line.

“Those were the great plays and the plays you need to make to become world champions, and they did it,” said New England linebacker Tedy Bruschi.

The Pats got the ball back once more, but the Giants defense was stout. Brady mis-fired for Jabar Gaffney on first down, and, on second down, rookie defensive tackle Jay Alford charged up the middle and sacked Brady for a ten-yard loss. After incompletions on long passes down the sideline for Randy Moss on third- and fourth-downs, the Giants had won, and the Patriots had been beaten for the first time all season.

And now, in the football world dawning tomorrow, Eli Manning has outplayed Tom Brady, complete with a winning touchdown drive that channeled Joe Montana. And Tom Coughlin has out-coached the great Bill Belichick.

Belichick made some curious decisions, including a bizarre call to go for a conversion on fourth-and-13 at the Giants’ 31-yard-line with a 7-3 lead in the third quarter. The Giants’ defensive schemes (featuring pressure, pressure, pressure—particularly up the middle) flummoxed the Pats’ vaunted offense, and New England did not adjust. Don’t be surprised if Giants’ first-year defensive coordinator Steve Spagnuolo becomes the new head coach in Washington.

The Giants, meanwhile, seemed motivated to win, not just for their own glory, but to deny the Patriots their historic, perfect season. Some of the Giants felt that it was being treated as a fait accompli. After the game, Michael Strahan angrily referenced a particular statement made during Fox’s pre-game show by Howie Long in which Long suggested that the margin by which the Giants lost their last game with New England—a 38-35 Patriots win in Week 17—may have given Big Blue “a false sense of security.”

“We didn’t treat them like some Greek myth,” said Tyree.

The Giants seemed genuinely annoyed, not intimidated, by New England, and they took it out on the Pats. Even on the final drive, the Giants used the Patriots confidence (or arrogance) as motivation.

“And on our last drive,” Giants receiver Amani Toomer told the Boston Globe, “Richard Seymour was out there telling us, ‘Hey, guys, get ready to go home.’ What’s the sense in tempting fate like that?”

After all the talk of undefeated seasons, “19-0” t-shirts, commemorative books already on Amazon.com, and the arrogance of Belichick and his team, the parade Tuesday won’t be in Boston; it will be up Broadway, from the Battery to City Hall, in Lower Manhattan’s “Canyon of Heroes.” The Giants spoiled the perfect story and wrote one of their own.

In the moments after the game, Antonio Pierce told the media, “Maybe the book should be called ‘18-1: The World Champion New York Giants.’ Someone should write that book.”

Dr. Strangecoach or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Giants

Dear reader, your humble diarist—if you were not aware of this already—is an idiot. Just a month ago, he wrote in this space that the Giants should play their starters in the season’s final game against New England because they had no chance in the playoffs, anyway.

He didn’t believe—despite people (okay, one person) who told him otherwise. For example, he wrote, on Dec. 26, 2007, in previewing the Pats-Giants showdown in Week 17:

Here’s the reality that Coughlin ought to embrace: the Giants’ best chance for glory this season isn’t in the playoffs, or on a February evening in the Arizona desert; it’s the chance to knock off perhaps the greatest team of all time and spoil their perfect season Saturday night in the New Jersey swamps.

It seems that, with the Giants and Patriots poised to meet tomorrow night in Super Bowl XLII in Glendale, Ariz., analysis of the Giants’ postseason chances in this space may not have been very accurate.

Of course, many have argued that the Giants’ playoff run was spurred by the full effort they gave in that game, a three-point loss to New England on Dec. 29; even the Giants, to a man, have acknowledged this. But that doesn’t make your humble diarist any less wrong, and he certainly doesn’t deserve the second-person narrative, so I might as well ditch it mid-sentence and call myself a dope right now.

In their past four games, starting with the loss to the Pats before the largest regular-season television audience in a decade, the Giants have shown levels of heart of which I did not think they were capable. Big Blue is no longer an underachieving collection of spoiled egos led by a maniacal despot; the Giants are now the lovable, overachieving underdog, a selfless group led a former tyrant who has seen the light and is now so warm and cuddly that he could just as easily be in the Puppy Bowl on Sunday as the Super Bowl.

Tom Coughlin’s tenure with the Giants was turbulent from the very start. As early as Dec. 2004, Coughlin’s first season in New York, one anonymous Giants veteran told the New York Post’s Kenny Palmer, “We will not win here when he’s the coach… there’s no team atmosphere or camaraderie.”

The Giants kept Coughlin, and they went to the playoffs the next season, and then again last season, losing each time in the first round. Still, there was great dissension with regard to the way Coughlin ran the team; Tiki Barber admitted that he may not have retired last year if Coughlin weren’t the Giants’ coach.

But, then, something extraordinary happened. Even if it was piecemeal, Coughlin changed.

“When he first came here, I said to myself, ‘I can't play for this man. He’s crazy,’” defensive end Michael Strahan told Richard Justice of the Houston Chronicle this week. “He has come around. His demeanor in the locker room is a lot more at ease. He is smiling; he uses the word ‘fun’ and ‘enjoyment,’ and it blows my mind every time he uses it. I never expected that out of him.”

No longer would Coughlin throw tantrums on the sidelines, fine players needlessly, or belittle injured players. He softened up some of his bad habits, the ones that drove players away from him. Not that he’s an easygoing “player’s coach,” though.

“I made up my mind [after last season] I was going to do a better job of communicating,” Coughlin said this week. “When it’s time to work, we’re still going to work. I haven’t changed who I am or what I believe in.”

Plainly said, Coughlin doesn’t seem like such an asshole anymore.

Coughlin’s first year was also the year the Giants traded for Eli Manning, selected first in that year’s draft. Manning took over the starting job in mid-November, and Big Blue dropped his first six starts. And while he led them to the playoffs the next two seasons, he was—to put it kindly—inconsistent.

Even this season, Manning’s play was shaky until the New England game, when he posted the first of three consecutive 100-plus quarterback ratings. He has thrown for four touchdowns in the playoffs without an interception.

Perhaps more importantly, Eli hasn’t seemed as impotent or feckless. His receivers no longer show him up (perhaps attributable to Jeremy Shockey’s absence), and he looks the part of field-general, leading the Giants down the field on key scoring drives this postseason.

He looks the part, even if he doesn’t quite look as confident—or as dreamy—as the Golden Boy, Tom Brady. Brady and the New England Patriots (in case you haven’t heard) enter Super Bowl XLII with an undefeated, 18-0 record. They are the Evil Empire of the N.F.L. Their coach, the unapologetically smarmy Bill Belichick, was personally fined $500,000 this season by the league for his involvement in an elaborate scheme to spy on his opponents’ signals.

The Giants still suffer from an anti-New York bias when it comes to popular support: a poll on ESPN.com revealed that 52 percent of respondents will root for New England on Sunday evening. But, in this battle of Good vs. Evil, the Giants are on the side of the angels.

For this longtime Giants fan, their play over the past month shows that the attitude of the entire team has changed, from Coughlin and Manning on down. The Giants are scrappy. When things go against them, they toughen up and overcome their obstacles. They seem to relish in the underdog role.

So I’m predicting a 27-24 victory for the Giants. Sure, the G-Men are huge underdogs, and they are facing perhaps the greatest team ever assembled, under—outside of Bill Walsh—the smartest head coach ever.

The Giants, however, have vanquished three consecutive opponents while the public underestimated them. And considering some of the gaudy scores predicted by the talking heads, I think it’s fair to say that respect is once again eluding them.

Here’s the new reality: I didn’t think this team had a chance at a playoff berth when the season began; I had them at 5-11. When they made it, I never thought they would beat Dallas or Green Bay on the road after losing to each, handily, in the regular season. And I certainly never thought I would be heaping such effusive praise on Tom Coughlin or Eli Manning.

I have been proven wrong by the Giants time and again over the past month, and I am coming around. Unless, of course, that is going to be a jinx.

If that is the case, I take back everything I just wrote. The Giants don't stand a chance.