They Might Be Giants...

...but they sure like their ursine talisman.

The New York Giants' offensive line are taking their good-luck teddy bear to Lambeau Field for the NFC wild card playoff game against the Green Bay Packers on Sunday. link

The bear projects an image of rugged masculinity for several players, including Elisha Manning. First given to the team in 2007, the bear is credited with the Giants' victories over Green Bay in 2007 and 2011 at Lambeau Field.

The Ghost and Mr. Tyson

Mike Tyson sat in his overstuffed easy chair and put up his feet. It was cool in his air conditioned mansion in the broiling Las Vegas night and he was sitting in a pair of tattered Everlast trunks and a sleeveless t-shirt. It was the uniform he had worn when he went into the ring. When he was young. When he was a champion. When he was invincible. That was a long time ago.

He had lost most everything. His money. His fame. His reputation as the merciless winner that struck fear into every one of his opponents. Now he was a joke. Or if not a joke then a caricature to be used to mock the person he used to be. He was a character in the “Hangover” movies spoofing his lifestyle. He had couple of shows on the Comedy channel.

Now at least he had peace. He had fought much tougher battles than Larry Spinks or Mitch Green. He fought alcoholism. Bi-polar depression. His own rage. It was a constant battle that he raged one day at a time. He didn’t always win. Just as he did in the ring. But these days he won more often than not.

His wife Kiki was away with the kids visiting her Moms. She at least still loved him. Not like that mercenary bitch from the TV who took all of his money. Or Monica who was the real love of his life but who abandoned him because of his sins. He was a sinner. Looking for redemption. She could not find it in her heart to forgive him. He could understand. He was not of a forgiving nature his own self. Still it was one more brick of regret to throw on the pile.

The Bear Abides

He was tired. Bone tired. More tired than he had ever been in his life. More tired then when he had been sent to the joint the first time. More tired then when he had to throw the fight to that mincing faggot. More tired then when he had to take a job collecting the vig for the Vegas sharks who threw him a bone. So tired.

He sat in his bedroom. Geraldine was out. She was out most days now. She still loved him. But she was ashamed of him. Geraldine was a good woman. The only good thing he had in his life. She tried to turn him to the Lord but he could never quite do it.  She was going away for a couple of weeks. To take a break. He understood. It was just that he couldn’t take a break from his life.

There was a knock on the door. Who could that be? Nobody ever visited them. He heaved himself off of the bed and walked to the door. When he opened it he saw death on the doorstep.

The Bear Abides

He thought he had him. In the fourth round he had him. And the boys couldn't blame him. If that mouthy faggot quit it wasn't his fault. He would have took the dive but it’s not his fault if the punk quit first.

He had done something that had worked time after time. Joey had smeared the medicine on his shoulder. He got that punks head and pushed it right onto his shoulder. Into his eyes. He could see that he was blinded. He looked around like a chicken before the ax. That punk was ripe for the pickin.

The Bear Abides

He hit the heavy bag in lethal combinations. Left, left, left, right, uppercut. Sweat dripped off of him in a torrent as he banged the bag into submission. His shoulder ached with all the fires of hell. He couldn’t talk about it. He couldn’t complain. Nobody would give a damn. He was just meat. Meat don’t talk. Meat don’t bitch. Meat just got et. Just the same as it had always been.

“Time” called out one of his corner men. Joey Pollino had been with him the longest out of them. He trusted him if he trusted anybody in his corner. He hadn’t been happy ever since he had to drop Joey Pep because the government and the NAACP came after him. Pep had his best interest at heart. He thought him how to fight. How to move and stick the jab. When to go in to finish them off. The official things. Joey Po taught him how to rub his laces in the eyes or the soft skin to start a cut. How to push his opponents head into his shoulder where he had put his special ointment so they couldn’t see. How to stomp on his foot and hook his trunks to get in close to pound the kidney. Joey Po was the one who taught him what he needed to know.

Still he missed Joe Pep the most. He trusted him. He knew the real deal. He dealt with Mr. Palermo and Mr. Carbo. He protected him. Now he was gone and he was adrift.