Not because a team that’s undefeated and considered one of the best EVER gets beaten. 

Not because a guy who models for Stetson cologne (STINK) and dates Giselle (what a cliche) gets beaten. 

Not because the New York Giants, who I normally loathe since I’m a Redskins fan, make history and make the biggest upset ever in the Super Bowl. 

It’s because with one minute left, a kid with the last name of Manning performs a miracle. 

His father is an NFL legend. He has two competitive, older brothers. And his middle brother just happens to be named Peyton, who won MVP in the Super Bowl last year. 

It’s one minute left, and I don’t see a 27 year old directing his team to a win. 

I see the youngest boy, who was a slow starter in most things, who probably wasn’t given much of a chance compared to his older siblings. I see him yanking out of a potential sack, the way a frustrated child might tear away from his brother’s grasp out of pure defiance. I see him throwing a perfect pass. I see him calm under pressure and knowing that he is something, that he can win it all, that he can do the same thing his father and his brothers have done. 

This is why I love football. 

Had the Giants lost tonight, I still would have loved the game. But good ole Eli Manning, the baby of the family, throws the winning touchdown. His brother, Peyton, cheers in the wings. 

I can only imagine what his mother and father feel. The joy and pride and love they must feel. Same goes for Peyton. 

Nobody gave the Giants a chance. But most probably didn’t give Eli a chance, either. The New York fans sure didn’t about a year ago. 

This is why I love football.