Nobody grows up dreaming of being a spoiler. “Tank” may be the worst word in sports, but “spoiler” isn’t that far behind. If you grow up around here, you dream of taking a ride up the Canyon of Heroes — or, at the least, crowding the sidewalks of lower Manhattan in order to watch your favorite team take a bow for winning a championship.
Maybe you dream of popping champagne bottles in a dressing room, donning protective eyewear and being showered in the bubbly. Maybe you dream of having a green jacket draped over your shoulder. Maybe you dream of taking a lap around a rink with the Stanley Cup high above your head, or guzzling a bottle of milk after taking the flag at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.
Spoiler?
Nobody wants to be a spoiler. Nobody aspires to be a spoiler. If you’re in position to be a spoiler, it means something has gone very wrong for you. It means the opponent you’re facing has higher ambitions than you’re able to strive for … and so you must make it your holy mission to spoil their fun.
Freddy Mercury never crooned, “We are the spoilers, my friends …”
Jimmy Chitwood didn’t want to play spoiler against South Bend Central.
Nobody would remember how to spell Mike Eruzione’s name if that goal he scored in Lake Placid in 1980 had merely knocked the Soviets out of contention for the gold medal without meaning something for the Americans. Almost 44 years later we would still not be enthralled by the “Spoiler On Ice.”
But sometimes, you get what you get.
Sometimes being a spoiler is the best you can ask for out of a season.
And so we have Monday afternoon’s Christmas Day renewal of hostilities between the Giants and the Eagles. You already know the grim and grisly facts and figures in this hammer-and-nail rivalry. Four straight losses. Twelve out of the last 14. Sixteen of the last 19. Ten straight losses in Philly.
And, of course, the most pressing numbers of all: The Eagles come into the game at Lincoln Financial Field at 10-4, still very much in play for the NFC East title, still an outside shot at stealing the No. 1 seed away from the 49ers. The Giants are 5-9. They are not mathematically eliminated just yet, but it would take some kind of logarithm to make things shake out for them.
The Eagles have everything to play for.
The Giants have nothing to play for.
Except for this: They can ruin Christmas in Greater Philadelphia. The Eagles are already coming in as vulnerable as they’ve been in two years following three straight losses to the 49ers, Cowboys and Seahawks. They’re scuffling. They’re struggling. They have an awful lot to lose, and the Giants have absolutely nothing to lose.
It is the quintessential formula for a spoiler game.
“They’re 10-4,” Giants coach Brian Daboll said. “They’re pretty good. They’re a good football team, got a lot to prepare for, so let’s get ready to play the Eagles here.”
Playing the role of spoiler in a football season is like dabbing your dying tooth with Anbesol: For a fleeting few moments, you’re flooded with relief and the sweet release from pain and misery. But it’s temporary. It wears off too soon. The agony is always eager and ready to return.
The Jets beat the Giants on the last day of the 1988 season, Ken O’Brien hitting Al Toon with a TD pass with under a minute to go. It knocked the Giants out of the playoff race, maybe deprived that championship-level group another shot at adding another Lombardi Trophy. The Jets were triumphant walking off the field. By the time they reached the parking lot, that giddiness was gone.
Still …
If you’re going to play the game anyway — and as of press time, they’re going to play the game anyway — then a little spoiling wouldn’t be so terrible. Maybe it’s not the kind of present you want to find under your tree in any given year. But as stocking stuffers go, it’s not so bad.
Source
