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Last night, the G-Men collapsed under the weight of the Coughlinian Dialectic and proved, once again, that the measure of any team can be seen in how well it responds to adversity. Jimmy Johnson (the bad one, not the good one) earlier this season asserted that the Eagles had "no chance" to make the playoffs. Not only did they forcefully take the division from the faltering Giants, but they come into the playoffs with that decidedly Philadelphian chip on their shoulders that makes them the last team anyone wants to play against. Indicative of this persona is Brian Westbrook, snubbed by the same morons who chose Tony Romo for the Pro Bowl, who ran for 141 yards and a touchdown. Admittedly, I was a bit worried when Shockey's helmet came off and he bounced back up like some kind of Nordic viking berserker, replete with the long blond hair and obvious bloodlust. Fortunately, his manic energy didn't prove contagious, and the Giants were sent meekly on their way home.

If it is any consolation, at least they are not the worst franchise in New York. Thanks, Isiah!

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