It's Shabbat. Let's talk football.

Shalom, friends. I have a few things to say before I forget, so here goes.

I was 10-4 with my predictions last week. I don't know how good Vegas did with their predictions, but I think 10-4 is pretty good for a first try. That's a much better percentage than James Caan had last week on NFL Total Access, and I'm not even an actor. Tune in for this week's predictions.

Last week's predictions started a little back-and-forth with someone I will keep anonymous. He's a NY Giants fan, and I'd hate for that information to sully his otherwise solid reputation. And I don't want him to think that I don't enjoy every second of those exchanges.

This past week, he reminded me, without remorse, of the utter grotesquery of my beloved Titans, with a side dish of how good the Giants are. He's right. We really stink, and they're really good, but I still hope Eli gets some mental fasciitis somewhere in November and the Eagles can score some touchdowns 1, 2, 3.

But, in good faith, I believe that I should honor his team's excellence by, as he asked, saying something nice about the Giants. I'm going all in and saying three nice things about the Giants.

Take a photo, send a memo, call your parents, because I'm not doing this again.

Three Nice Things About the Giants

1. Bill Parcells is my all-time favorite coach. Mainly because he's called The Big Tuna, but also because his football genius is limitless. That's why you lift all them weights.

2. Lawrence Taylor is the first person I'd take to a brawl. If it weren't for Richard Marvin Butkus and John Harold Lambert, I'd call him the greatest linebacker ever. I still might.

3. Eli actually looks like he belongs in his big brother's league.

My Marriage Depends on Danica Patrick

Dear Danica,

I know that you don't know me and that you're probably not really interested in taking on another obligation. Those NASCAR truck races are probably weighing heavily on you these days.

But, listen, I need a favor. Please stick with IndyCar. Please.

My wife's exact words were "I will divorce you if you get into NASCAR."

You're married, right? You know the stakes. Help me out. Stick with IndyCar.

See, here's the deal. I don't give a damn about NASCAR, but I am a big fan of Andretti Green Racing and that's your team. I mean, damn, who wouldn't like a team with you, TK, Hideki, and Marco. Christ, that's like John, Paul, George, and Ringo. You'll have to sort out who's who.

If you bolt to NASCAR, as a fan of AGR and you as a driver, I'm going to have a hard time not paying attention to your career, even though you're signed on with Tony Stewart. That won't matter. I'm a loyal fan and too dumb to not pay attention to something I'm already sort of interested in.

See, I like car racing. The sound, the repetitive rhythms of a race, the infinite minutia that goes into fielding a team, and the amazingly complex strategery that goes into winning a race.

And, besides, I've been down with Girl Power since Sporty, Scary, Posh and them, so I support your career for the same reason I read Betty Friedan or listen to Queen Latifah. I'm into paradigm-challenging women. And, you not only qualify, but you kick ass at it.

And God knows NASCAR could use the revolution that you'd bring.

So I'm caught.

Do I support the rights of women to drive fast as lightning in supercharged cars or do I maintain domestic tranquility?

I'm stuck.

So, here's my solution. Stick with IndyCar. You and I both know it's cooler. The cars go faster, look more like spaceships, and you might be the one to dethrone Dixon or Dario.

Speaking of, ask Dario why he went back to IndyCar. I bet he'll tell you because it's cooler. And because Ashley didn't want her husband messing around with NASCAR no more.

So help me out. Or, alternatively, call my wife and tell her that it's not worth divorcing me over.

Thanks,

Adrian