Personal Seat Licenses. A Giant Dilemma

I came to the United States from England in 1983. I fell in love with the country, married my sweetheart and settled into a new culture. However, some things are hard to let go, and coming from England, my sport fancies were suddenly in a quandary. I gave up cricket for baseball and rugby for football. I didn't give up football for soccer; for the unwise, your soccer is called football in England. OK - let's stop the lexicon semantics. (Although I must admit that the boot sounds better than the trunk, and a spanner has to be a better word than a wrench!) Enough of this! I learned early on that comparing a new nation to the one you just left is just not worth it.

Gary, my new brother in law, an ardent Giant's (NFL) fan was instrumental in teaching me the rudiments of football and my initial comparison to Rugby (what a bunch of sissy's with all that padding) gave way to an appreciation that football is a game of yardage and position whereas rugby is fundamentally a running game. Acknowledgment that it takes three and half hours to play an official one hour game took a little longer. I quickly learnt the art of going to the refrigerator during ads and the whole purpose of the existence of Weight Watchers.

I began to enjoy my Sunday afternoons watching the Giants; after a time I could hold a discussion about plays and obscure rules. But it was approaching the time when I had to see a game surrounded by 75,000 other fans. It was time to go live; tailgate, drink and holler at the top of my voice. Excitedly I approached Gary and unexcitedly he told me that tickets are as rare as a nugget of gold at a coal miner's convention. He went on to say that there is a about a fifteen year waitlist and no, he was not on the list.

Oh the complacency of the citizenship! Does the great American dream only apply to new citizenry? I took a leap of faith and sent a nice letter to the Giant's front office with a pretty- pretty please for consideration. The response was quick and ruthless. Essentially it said you're on the waiting list but the time out is way out. That was in 1986 and yes I'm still waiting.

In 2010, the New York Giants in conjunction with the New York Jets are to open a brand new stadium within punting distance from the old one. Instead of joy and excitement from season tickets holders, there is a climate of discontent. Personal Seat Licenses (PSLs) is the buzz acronym as fans ponder how to cough up the extra bucks. The Giants and Jets are quick to point out that the license fee is a one time event. Still an extra $1,000.00 for upper deck seats and $5,000.00 or more for the rest is no small change. According to the New York Daily News, Giants owner John Mara concedes that some fans may have to give up or move seats they have held in their family for years. It's 'gridiron robbery' for sure but hey, if it bumps me up on the line I'll take it.

When the call comes in from Mr. Mara I will bawl out to all my friends (are you listening Gary) that have nagged me the past decades with those three words, "heard anything yet." Asking them for an extra grand or so may be problematic, but now it will be their turn to claim a piece of the great American dream. Wake up guys and smell the turf; it could be football time!