Back in March, I was trying to persuade my dad to stop taking the subway to work in Manhattan and join me upstate. So I paid $75 to Leonard Marshall, a retired New York Giants defensive lineman we both loved in the 1980s, to send the message.
“I put a few guys in the hospital, Bob,” he told my father solemnly. “I need you to play defense in these crazy times.”
It worked, and my father hasn’t been to Times Square since.
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