In 1986 I was four.  I remember nothing from that season or Super Bowl.  Four years later, I distinctly remember sitting on the floor, leaning against my father's knees, and him saying, "There is NO WAY this guy kicks it 48 yards."  The room then erupted.  That's all I remember.

I've lived and died with the Giants ever since.  Through Kent Graham, Danny Kanell, and Jesse Palmer,  Through Cedric Jones and Kenny Holmes.  I convinced myself that Chris Calloway was a number one WR, and that Joe Montgomery would be a pro bowler.

I came back from college just in time to watch Kerry Collins turn into Daryle Lamonica, on the heels of the game with the greatest interception I've ever witnessed.  I tried to believe that that team could win, but I always doubted Collins, however much I liked him.

This year, I'm swept up.  I'm amped up.  I'm so amazingly jacked up for this game I feel like I could rip a hole in my wall with my bare hands (maybe I accidentally fell into some of Rodney Harrison's HGH stash??).  I shouldn't believe in this team.  I keep telling myself that they can't win.  I keep trying to temper my expectations and dampen my hopes.

It's not working.  I believe in this team.  No matter how much crap I've heard from pundits, Pats fans (I went to college in Boston, I'm friends with LOTS of them), and so many other people I keep believing.