Giants Dodge Panic, Move Forward

EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J. -- Urban mythology has it that only cockroaches and Twinkies can survive a nuclear holocaust. You can now add Matt Dodge to that list.

"By God's grace I'm still here," he said Monday.

The Giants' punter didn't know if his name would still be above his locker. Not after becoming the star of New York's collapse against Philadelphia.

Blowing a 31-10 lead in the final eight minutes wasn't quite as devastating as a nuclear attack. New Yorkers might even agree with that once they crawl out from under their lounge chairs.

The city was in full recrimination mode Monday. The cover of the New York Post featured a picture of two Giants futilely chasing Michael Vick. Their helmets had been replaced by the heads of a Bulldog and a Chihuahua.

"GIANTS DOG IT" was the headline.

And for their next trick ...?

---

---

Coach Tom Coughlin held up Dodge as a possible indicator. Instead of kicking out of bounds, the rookie panicked and punted to DeSean Jackson on the final play.

In case you didn't see any of the 14,298 replays, Jackson returned the kick 65 yards for the winning score. Then the camera lingered on Coughlin chewing out a speechless and befuddled Dodge.

That's why the rookie wasn't sure he'd still have a job Monday. But Coughlin told him to "get his dauber up" and move on.

"He understands it," Coughlin said. "You've seen him walking around this morning. You're asking me questions about a young guy, and you can see it in his eye."

See what, exactly?

"That's for you to figure out," Coughlin said.

Sorry, but I didn't know what a dauber was (it's a painting tool. The phrase essentially means keep your chin up, painter. Or punter). I sure can't read the minds or biorhythms of Dodge and his teammates.

Will Sunday be a rallying point or a cliff? A doctoral student in psychology could do a thesis this week on how athletes respond after making one of the biggest piles of dog poop in football history. Will Sunday be a rallying point or a cliff? A doctoral student in psychology could do a thesis this week on how athletes respond after making one of the biggest piles of dog poop in football history.

For what it's worth, the Giants are saying and doing all the things a shell-shocked team is supposed to. Coughlin went home Sunday night and sat alone in the dark for 2 ½ hours.

"We're all frustrated by it," he said. "We're all angry. We're all miserable."

Eli Manning even called a players-only meeting Monday morning.

"We can't hang our head," he said. "We don't have time to moan about it."

It was supposedly the most vocal moment of Manning's career. That will make a nice touchstone if New York beats the Packers Sunday, clinches a playoff spot, gets revenge over the Evil Vick and romps to a Super Bowl win.

Or maybe not.

Sunday's loss could leave an emotional scar like the stock market crash of '29, or even The Fumble of '78. The Giants fired their offensive coordinator the day after Herm Edwards returned the fumble into infamy. Coach John McVay was axed at the end of the season.

The chatter Monday was that Coughlin could face the same fate if New York loses its final two games. His message to the troops:

"We've got to move forward."

That's what Custer said. But what's Coughlin supposed to say, "We've got to move backward?"

He has to go through The Day After motivation book and stress that the Giants still control their destiny. They can make those snarky headline writers eat their photo-shopped words. And people have crawled out of bigger disasters.

Look no further than Vick, who was the most hated man on the planet two years ago. Now he's a superhero on the cover of New York tabloids.

"That was yesterday," Coughlin said. "We screwed up. It's over."

Or is it?

Maybe Coughlin can look into his players' eyes and figure it out. All I know is that after Sunday, even a cockroach would have a hard time getting his dauber up.