Keidel: As Sad And Painful As It May Be, It's Time For Giants' Coughlin To Go

By Jason Keidel
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One of the longtime hallmarks of the Giants, which has thrust them ahead of the Jets as a monolithic NFL franchise, is stability.

They are old-school. Corporate cool. Suits and ties. The NFL iteration of an Original Six club. The Yankees of NY football. They could play in pinstripes if they wanted. Their handle, after all, says it all...

The New York Football Giants.

At first the handle was meant to distinguish them from the New York Baseball Giants, who played in the Polo Grounds when baseball was our pastime, in the pristine elements of postwar America. When, as Ken Burns would say, the game was perfect. When we had three MLB teams in NYC, when at least one local club reached the World Series 10 times in 11 years.

Since then, football has usurped baseball as America's game, and the Giants have long passed the Jets as our preeminent franchise. One of those reasons is the Jets don't have an avatar, an emblem, a face and voice that speaks for the franchise.

The Giants have had two over the last 30 years. First, of course, was Bill Parcells, the local kid who made good. After an ignominious 3-12-1 maiden campaign, Parcells came this close to being whacked by Wellington Mara. Had that happened, who knows if Parcells coaches another team, much less win two Super Bowls.

COUGHLIN MORE FOCUSED ON WINS THAN FUTURE

Parcells then swore to himself, to his coaches and to his club that he would go down as himself. Whereas he coached his rookie year as someone else, as his idea of what a coach should be, he promised he would be Bill -- the cranky colonel who would become a local legend and enjoy his bronze bust in Canton, Ohio.

Then, after a few failures under the headset, the Giants got another icon. A Parcells prodigy, no less, who was there on that enchanted night in Tampa when Whitney Houston sang the most glorious rendition of our National Anthem and Scott Norwood booted a ball wide right. The Giants became giants, with two Lombardi Trophies in four years.

Enter Tom Coughlin, who came from Boston College to turn the neophyte Jaguars into a power. After a few rough seasons, he was fired by Jacksonville, left on the scrapheap of aging coaches. His ornery, military style seemed too archaic for the new breed of ballers, who needed their egos stroked more than they needed tackling technique. Coughlin was cut from the Parcells cloth. His time had presumably passed.

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But Coughlin was given a reprieve by the Giants. Despite the objections of GM Ernie Accorsi, ownership threw Coughlin a lifeline. He was, as WFAN host Mike Francesa says, Wellington Mara's last coaching hire.

Which makes this time quite tough. Not only because of the nostalgia for the old man who owned the Giants since Frank Gifford graced the sidelines, but also because the reality that Coughlin may not be the man for the job anymore.

You don't just can a man like Coughlin. He's too important, too successful, too noble. He's led the Giants with the requisite class, grace and red-faced intensity that has come to define the G-Men since Wellington Mara was the hungry, yet humble, patriarch.

Wellington Mara knew something about good coaching. He once had two assistants named Landry and Lombardi, and let both walk. Landry went on to become the creator of the Dallas Cowboys, the most epic American franchise this side of the Yankees. Then Wellington Mara tried to snag Lombardi after realizing what a mistake it was to let him flee to Green Bay. But it was too late. Lombardi became Lombardi, the Packers became the Packers and the Giants slid into ignominy for about 20 years.

Then came Parcells, with his two rings. Then came Coughlin, and his two rings. Coughlin drew comparisons to his teacher, something none of us expected. We figured he'd flame out, stuck to his old-world ethos. No way he would be malleable enough for millennials.

But Coughlin adapted and adopted a new coaching cadence. After entering the Big Blue world with his General Patton approach, assuring us injuries were a thing of the mind, he changed. He softened. He listened. And he won.

Now Coughlin, after 12 years, is looking like the hero in repose. He still has the red-faced mania of a fledgling coach. He still has the blue-collar, hard-hat work ethic. His sunrise-to-sunset office hours are legendary. At 71, he's on the treadmill at 5 a.m., putting his players to shame. He still studies film like Alfred Hitchcock.

But the results are gone. While we were always sure he'd find a reason for a season in peril and turn it around, we don't get that same cozy sense that he's just one move, one play from a deep run to January.

As Francesa said, this is no longer Coughlin's club. It's not his coaches, his players, his fist clenched on the roster. Nothing about this club -- which gagged a 10-point fourth-quarter lead to the hated Jets -- feels, sounds or smells like a Coughlin club.

The defense has more potholes than 8th Avenue. The running game resembles a Pop Warner team. The team's toughness is at its lowest since Ray Handley roamed the sidelines. No, this is not a Coughlin club.

So is it over?

Pretty much.

If it is, how do we tell him?

And who could you find more dedicated to the team or more determined to change it? Who, among the wide palate of coaching candidates, has Coughlin's Yoda-like wisdom and encyclopedic retention of rules, plays and years?

No one.

But that's not to say he should stay. Even Pat Riley realizes a coach can overstay his welcome. That doesn't make Coughlin any less of a coach, or a man. It's just time. There's no silver lining now, no stud or strategy, that can turn this tanker around. Even if the Giants somehow win the rancid NFC East, they will have done it by default.

Other than Eli Manning and Odell Beckham Jr, there are no stars that tickle the media or the masses. There's no help around the corner, no savior, no messiah. There's no reason to think next season will be better than this one.

It's time for Tom to go. Kudos to the Giants and the Mara family for being prescient enough to hire him, patient enough to stick with him in the lean years and classy enough to keep their reservations and lamentations private. The Giants are almost always good for a darn good reason. They are the class -- that is, the classiest -- of the NFL

I'm just glad I don't have to tell him. That's on Mr. Mara -- John Mara. He didn't hire coach Coughlin, but he will have the solemn task of firing him.

Follow Jason on Twitter @JasonKeidel.