The guy on the 8:16 this morning with the Eli Manning Giants jersey over his white dress shirt.
One or the other, dude–wear the Giants jersey, or wear the tailored white dress shirt. But a fancy oxford collar poking out from under your Eli #10 v-neck uni? Less cool than sneakers and a suit. Less sartorially acceptable than the bottom three inches of a sport coat sticking out from under a ski jacket.
I’m not sold the concept of grown ups wearing the team jersey to work, unless, of course, they happen to play for the team. I mean, my son is 6, and they’re basically making them do it today at school. News 12 is there, and so is the Journal News shutterbug, and that’s fun, even if the only thing my kid will be rooting for on Sunday will be more Doritos. (Should the Yankees make the Series next year, and his principal mandate some sort of Yankee gear, well, we’ll just have to have Junior take a sick day.)
But a grown dude wearing the Big Blue jersey to work? (As I type that, I can hear Patrick Warburton’s monosyllabic Puddy on Seinfeld, explaining to Elaine why he painted his face in Devils colors: “Ya know, support the team!”) I always had kind of a weird issue about wearing the jersey of a guy who was actually younger than me–it just felt wrong–but now that I’m older than nearly every pro athlete except for Tim Wakefield, I may have to rethink that rule.
I dig it, it’s the Super Bowl. We’ll be lucky if the Giants, or the Jets, make the Big Show in the next decade. It’s a big deal. And you, sir, undoubtedly stuck with Couglin and Manning a few months back when everyone else wanted them impaled on a big foam finger. You’ve earned the right to wear your Eli jersey–let’s call it “Manning up”–to work.
Just don’t wear it with a dress shirt underneath, man on the 8:16 tapping at his laptop while dreaming about the Super Bowl.
We pulled into Grand Central and slowed. You wandered over to the semi-private folding seat spot, where there were no people. I wondered why, until I saw that you were checking your appearance in the darkened window.
You don’t need a mirror to tell you how you look. You look ridiculous.
Sincerely,
Trainjotting
PS: Go Giants.
Trainjotting 