Mom didn't mind. Being the lone woman in the immediate family, she quickly learned to appreciate the gladiatorial combat that was Sunday with the Giants. And the action was not limited to the field. In my childhood home, tough losses saw shoes tossed at the television and language that would scare a sailor. Bob treats the game the way it is supposed to be treated, which clearly demonstrates he was not raised by my parents, who, at other times, are simple, God-fearing folk who'd sooner adopt a wayward Labrador than swat a kitchen fly.
Children learn what they live.
And in this matter, I learned from the masters. So now I carry the mantle of dysfunctional Giants fan with pride. In October, I snuck away from my nephew's christening party to watch the Giants beat up on Dallas. Years from now, I'm sure little Ryan will understand. Produced by Newsday Electronic Publishing.