It is always entertaining to think back to the moment when you met friends for the first time. My introduction to my fellow residents of the third floor in Chenango included a baseball bat, a bowl of spilt chili and several people fearing for their lives. A nice Sunday night turned into havoc as a result of a televised sporting event.

It was the first time in history that the opposing quarterbacks had been brought into this world via the same womb. It was Eli vs. Peyton, or the “Manning Bowl” as commentators liked to refer to it. The gridlock game was winding down to its last minutes, and the Giants were driving. Trailing 23-21 in his own territory and running out of time, Eli Manning began his own two-minute drill. Eight yards had been gained through two plays, which left the Giants on third down with two yards shy of the first.

At this point, I was shouting. I knew the Giants were gaining momentum at a pivotal point in the game. Eli releases the ball, a high yet accurate tight pass toward the sideline. Wide receiver Tim Carter reaches up in his number 84 jersey and grabs the ball for a gain of about 15 yards. “First down,” I yell, as I’m simultaneously parading around my room in my Jeremy Shockey jersey. I glance back at my TV and notice a yellow penalty flag on the ground where the play had just occurred. At that moment my jaw dropped. The referee walked over to the flag, picked it up and announced the penalty.

Pass interference, number 84, offense.

There are specific stimulants that naturally catch a person’s attention. For an alcoholic, it’s a beer; for the residents of Dickinson, it’s “Word of Warcraft.” For a football fanatic like myself, it’s a yellow flag. After hearing the ref’s words, I picked up my baseball bat and swung it at anything that crossed my path. A hearty bowl of chili sat peacefully on my roommate’s desk until it was violently struck by my Louisville Slugger. I looked at the wall and began to punish it with my best imitation of Nancy Kerrigan’s attacker during the ’94 Figure Skating Championships. By that point, my roommate, who had been next door along with several of my neighbors, stormed into the room and tackled me to the ground. “Hi, my name’s Kevin,” I uttered through clenched teeth. That’s how I introduced myself to my hallmates.

I thought my actions were justified; I thought the season was doomed. But here we are now — nine weeks of football have passed, and I can be seen walking through the union with my head held high. The Giants stand on top of the NFC East with a 5-2 record, 4-0 in their last four games. No one could have predicted them to be so successful for the first half of the season; Big Blue had been given the toughest schedule in the league, and play in arguably the most competitive division in football; yet somehow they continue to prosper.

The stage is set for the G-Men. Yes, all-pro tight end and all-pro motormouth Jeremy Shockey has verbally annihilated the coaching staff after a loss, and MVP candidate Tiki Barber has promised to retire. But when you look at championship teams throughout the sports world, whether it be the Lakers during the Kobe and Shaq feud or the Pistons acting like the bad boys, they seem to possess a unique story, just like the Giants are writing as we speak. Come Feb. 5, I’m confident the newspaper headlines will read “Giants win Super Bowl XLI after remarkable season.”