Eli Manning. Getty Images. New York Post website

In Peru when you are still in your mom’s belly, your father has already decided which is going to be your favorite soccer team. Parents welcome you to the world with a little uniform of their team. That’s life in countries where Fútbol is the only passion.

As the years went by,  I  discovered the exhilarating experience of sharing the passion for my soccer team with my friends, and even with strangers (whom you only met once a week at the stadium) when all together and sweaty, you embrace and jump and yell and sing until you lose your voice, raving for your team.

When I came to live in New York I thought I was never going to able to find a sport like Fútbol. I went twice to the baseball Stadiums–once to the Yankees, once to the Mets.  I enjoyed a Rangers game and even raved a little bit for the Devils, but hockey was not the same.

Until something happened  four years ago.

It was a winter night and I was one of the many strangers in an Irish bar in the Bronx, watching in awe, with my mouth open, how the Giants defeated the unbeatable Patriots. That night, I felt electricity running in the marrow of my bones, touching all the nerves of my body when the Giants made it happen. I yelled, I jumped, I was so happy.

Yesterday night I discovered myself jumping like a kid when Mario Manningham got that impossible ball. I jumped and yelled, full of joy, when our players managed to block the Patriots from getting that almost-perfect, last-minute ball. We are the champions my friend. Again.

Yesterday night, watching that game, it felt as good as I when I was a kid, jumping in that Estadio Nacional de Lima. I never considered myself a  football fan. But maybe I am becoming one: a New York Giants Fan.