“Wow, this is like Giants Stadium,” marveled a young, wide-eyed dad—toddler perched high on his shoulders—as he walked onto the PBA fields, clearly for the first time. He passed the Creative Caterers food truck and the long line for coffee, and then by the big-name advertisements for sponsors I could only dream of nailing down for the magazine.
Must be kiddo flag football season.
And unbeknownst to Rookie Dad, he was mere feet from actual Giants royalty.
For many parents of school-aged kids, Saturday mornings during this time of year revolve around waiting in the parade of cars clogging up Weibel Avenue and committing to what is hopefully a comfy chair to sit in on the sidelines of their kid’s games.
And then there’s the gossip.
“The moms from last year were more fun.” “I would never let my kids play tackle football.” “Never!”
“Bill Parcells’ grandson is on the Saints.” “No sh*t. Does he come to games?”
He does:
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