Nobody has ever accused Eli Manning of being George Clooney. Elmer Fudd? Sure. But a beacon of suave, sophisticated cool? Fuhggettaboudtit. In case you're new to this whole football thing (and/or enjoy a side of proof with your pudding), however, Discount Peyton served up another glimmering example of his unflinching Every Joe-ness at Giants training camp this morning. Behold:
Now, in Eli's defense, it takes a brave man to bust out the ol' mormon shuffle in the very locker room where Victor Cruz conceived his iconic salsa celebration, but let's call a spade a spade: This is an atrocity—an Elaine Benes-indebted, Skechers-wearing-dad-inspired affront to the literal scientific concept of rhythm. Wake up, America. The day music died wasn't when Buddy Holly's plane went down somewhere over Iowa. It was today, and Eli murdered it with a crunched-up Diet Coke can.
In fact, this primitive biped boogie is so mortifyingly bad, that five months down the line—after Odell has divorced the kicker's net for the Gatorade cooler, the Giants have finished 7-9, and the whole of New York has turned on McAdoo like a hyena on its cousin's carcass—we will be able to trace the Chernobylian reactor meltdown back to this precise moment.
NFL Network's stable of no-necked former linebackers will dub it "weak." ESPN's senile-GM crack squad will call it "uncalculated." America's froth-mouthed football faithful will all drool in agreement.
Eli lost the locker room, and he has nobody to blame but himself.