To quote the intrepid mariner, Popeye the Sailor: “That’s all I can stands, ’cause I can’t stands no more!” 

I grew up an unshakable Giants football fan. Good times, bad times. Allie Sherman to Ray Handley to Brian Daboll. I was No. 16, Frank Gifford, in the fall and winter, No. 16 Whitey Ford in the spring and summer. (I could stand in front of a mirror and become a lefty like Ford.) 

But it’s over. This past Sunday, after the Giants’ drag-arse loss at home to Washington, I filed for an open-ended separation. 

I’m not the most dignified boy on the block, but the Giants are now beneath my dignity. It wasn’t that the Giants lost or that I can no longer indulge Daniel Jones — when’s the last time he was able to set up in an uninvaded pocket? — but instead it’s the way they lose or occasionally win.