FanHouse

I've never gotten to experience a championship parade. I've been to three celebratory parking lot parties -- not parades -- thrown by the New Jersey Devils. And if you're an astute FanHouse reader, you might know that my NFL love belongs to the Saints. New Orleans has a ton of parades, but none of the Super Bowl variety.

So I couldn't pass up the chance to take an extended lunch and watch a bunch of people go all Britney for the Giants, a team I've been a fan of for, oh, just about four hours in my life (our own Dan Benton went as a real fan and not a blogger and, yes, there's a difference). My experience was ... um, manic.

I'd love to use this space to show you my pictures, give you some insights, maybe some words from fans. But I couldn't get any of all three. The parade route was less than a mile. The sea of people surrounding the parade route was another half of a mile. Meaning, unless you were one of the fans who pulled up a seat before the sun did, chances are your view wasn't so great (if you were lucky to get a view at all -- I wasn't).

One thing I was able to observe from the people I saw was a distinct lack of Tiki Barber and Jeremy Shockey jerseys. Lots of Plaxico Burress, Eli Manning, Michael Strahan, and Brandon Jacobs jerseys (even a couple for Ahmad Bradshaw). Granted, my sample size was rather limited, but it made me wonder if the fans have castigated and moved on from Barber and Shockey, who's still a Giant. It's hard to blame them -- there's a new era of harmony, and I'm sure it's more enjoyable than last year's debacle.

Inevitably with so many (inebriated) people in such a tight area (we're talking six figures, here), elbows flew, bodies were pushed, drinks were spilled, ears were screamed into. It just comes with the territory. And I'm sure it was good for Giants fans, but I don't consider being packed elbow-to-elbow with larger men than I in the rain a good morning. Not unless strippers are involved.

And those people. Loud, rude, and abrasive: typically my three favorite qualities of living in New York. But when so much of it is concentrated in a tiny area, it can get a tad overwhelming. I talked to a few, who offered drunken insight about how f---ing awesome Burress is and how A.J. Smith and Bill Belichick could do exotic things to their genitalia.

So all in all I spent about 25 minutes at City Hall, where the ceremony took place. I left before the Giants arrived. And yet, despite the negative picture I've painted, a large part of me was envious that it wasn't me getting screamingly drunk and sharing that ecstatic feeling with so many others. My first championship parade taught me that, if I live to see a Saints championship, I have to find my way to New Orleans. This morning was, after all, a lifetime highlight for so many clad in Blue. Me? I spent the rest of that extended lunch at New York Burger Co.