Giants Are on Correct Road, Now

We are not altogether certain who it was who “inspired and navigated” these New Jersey superstars who pass themselves off as New York’s Giants. Perhaps it was, in fact, God, who gets credit on a sign outside the Giant locker room. Perhaps it was Mayor Ed, who runs New York City. Or perhaps it was Bill Parcells, the drenched-on-the-brain coach. Maybe it was even those merry Mara family members in the front office--you know, Wellington, Tim, Gomez, Morticia, the whole clan.

Somebody must have shown these guys the way.

At this point a year ago, the Giants were unhappy wanderers. They were 45 guys who knew what they were doing, but not where they were going. Although the still-distant Super Bowl XXI in Pasadena remained a definite possibility, it was up to certain dudes on the roster to clear away some of the emotional debris that had stacked up in front of them like Hefty bags during one of Manhattan’s twice-weekly garbage strikes.

The trouble began when Sean (Swing and a Miss) Landeta, the Giant punter, limbered up for last season’s playoff game against San Francisco by peddling his game tickets to eager buyers at the Meadowlands sports complex. Landeta acknowledged selling the tickets, but not at the scalper’s prices of which he was later accused. He also denied a published report that with every ticket sale, he had offered to toss in a couple of autographed glossy photographs of that ever-popular Giant player, himself.

Landeta beat the rap, but not before experiencing further embarrassment a week or so later in a playoff loss at Chicago, where, while attempting to punt near his own end zone, he whiffed. In a single moment, he became not only the man who took the “foot” out of football but also his sport’s version of a player who lost one in the sun. Landeta, after the game, claimed he lost the ball in the wind.

While the punter spent the off-season worrying about restoring his reputation, Lawrence Taylor, the team’s All-Galaxy linebacker, was trying to convince everyone, himself included, that he was not washed up. “Substance abuse” had been blamed for the worst season of L.T.’s life. The substance was never identified, but club sources confided that it was not Pepsi. Hint, hint.

Actually, it might have been booze. When Taylor’s good friend, a giant ex-Giant named Beasley Reece, paid a visit to his buddy’s home during the summer, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “The most shocking thing was that there was no beer in the refrigerator,” Reece said. Ordinarily, see, Taylor had more beer on hand than John Belushi’s fraternity in “Animal House.”

After Taylor cleaned up his act, he got back to being one of the best in his business. He led the National Football League this season in sacks. The quarterback of the Washington Redskins, who will try again to escape Taylor’s clutches in today’s conference championship game, has been sacked eight times by the Giants in two previous games this season, and on six of those occasions the gentleman who flattened him was L.T.

This is an invader Washington must repel if it intends to see beautiful Pasadena. Another such man is Joe Morris, who, from a physical standpoint, is about as large as Lawrence Taylor’s radio. Said no less an authority on handling Redskins than that old Dallas cowpoke Tom Landry: “If Taylor can rush and if Morris can run, it’s going to be a New York game.”

Redskin defensive back Curtis Jordan had a thought on how to prevent the latter from happening, inspired, possibly, by hailing from D.C. “The only way to stop Joe Morris is to call (Lt. Col.) Ollie North and (former national security adviser John) Poindexter to have him kidnaped,” Jordan said.

Before Morris agreed to take one Giant step for mankind, however, he needed to come to terms with team management during the offseason. Fewer than three hours before the season opener at Dallas, Morris, half-dressed, standing guard at a pay phone near the locker room, waited for his agent to give him the word that he could play.

It might have taken so much time to approve Morris’ contract because Wellington Mara, the team president, and Tim Mara, vice-president and treasurer and nephew, reportedly are not on speaking terms and communicate with each other only by exchanging memos through their secretaries. Said Pat Summerall, the TV talker and ex-Giant: “It’s amazing the team has the record it has under those circumstances.”

GOD INSPIRED AND NAVIGATED THESE SUPERSTARS, reads a sign on a door near the locker room of Giants Stadium. Well, maybe so. Or maybe that’s just another of those ballpark banners meant to be clever. Check out the first letter of every word.

If God didn’t straighten out the Giants, somebody did. In tight end Mark Bavaro’s case, it was an ex-Marine who, during the summer, made Bavaro tougher by dropping barbells on his Adam’s Apple until he could no longer feel any pain. This fellow has a job waiting for him, of course, anytime he wants one, at the G. Gordon Liddy Institute for Self-Abuse.