This is one outlet's own report from Yahoo Sports — the article as it was filed. Other outlets are covering the same event; open the full story to compare every source side by side.
See the full story · 1 sourcesThis is one outlet's own report from Yahoo Sports — the article as it was filed. Other outlets are covering the same event; open the full story to compare every source side by side.
See the full story · 1 sourcesWHITE SULPHUR SPRINGS, W.Va. — Vinny Busher looked out at the football field in front of him, a postcard setting backdropped by rolling green mountains and a cloudless blue sky.
“It’s gorgeous,” he said.
More than eight hours earlier, at 4:30 a.m., Busher left his home in Wappingers Falls, New York, and began the drive to Giants training camp at The Greenbrier resort. Busher, 37, pulled on his Eli Manning jersey and brought his girlfriend, Analisa Aste, along for the ride, ready to bask in the optimism of coach John Harbaugh’s first camp.
“I’m here for the vibes,” Aste said.
Unlike Busher, she’s not a Giants fan worn down by so much misery over the past 14 years. Still, here she was Thursday, watching the Giants’ second camp practice on a perfect, low-humidity West Virginia afternoon. They’d stay the night and drive back in the morning. Weekend commitments awaited.
But they just had to squeeze this trip in.
So did Alex Gentile, a 65-year-old lifelong Giants fan who grew up in Brooklyn and made the 13-hour solo drive from his retirement home in Florida. Because maybe, just maybe, this camp would mark the start of a magical rebirth under Harbaugh.
Yet even in his Lawrence Taylor jersey, Gentile couldn’t help but feel a tad uncertain about Harbaugh as the Giants’ sure-thing savior.
“I don’t want to be skeptical,” Gentile said. “I want this to be a Super Bowl team.”
With the Giants’ East Rutherford training facility under construction — and an NFL-ready complex in place at The Greenbrier — they and their suddenly hopeful fans trekked to this remote and delightfully curious corner of America this week. The Giants, who have been here since July 28, will call it home until Aug. 8.
The Giants and their fans all sought renewal, as so many others have for centuries in this place — from U.S. presidents bathing in the luxury resort’s mineral springs to hippie homesteaders in the 1970s whose live-and-let-live worldview left an enduring imprint.
The Greenbrier will be home to many Giants fans through Aug. 8. Darryl Slater
Back in New Jersey, the initial reaction to this first-ever faraway Giants camp was blunt: They’re going to the middle of nowhere .
But everywhere is somewhere. So what’s out here, nestled 2,000 feet up in the Allegheny Mountains, along the eastern border of West Virginia?
There are plenty of quirky, contrasting vibes on either side of the Greenbrier River, separated by nine miles of winding, undulating two-lane road. And so much of what you learn here feels unexpected — especially the part about bear-tracking dogs falling into a cave.
On one side of the river, there’s the sprawling, buttoned-up Greenbrier, with its stately white exterior and uniquely gaudy interior — plus a Cold War-era bunker built to house Congress during a nuclear war. It sits just outside the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it downtown stretch of White Sulphur Springs, a map dot where locals hang banners for President Donald Trump.
Just up that two-lane road is the nearest larger town — Lewisburg, with a population of 3,900 (about 1,700 more people than White Sulphur Springs).
A liberal, LGBTQ-friendly enclave with a pesky sinkhole problem and a coffee shop that hosts Friday tarot card readings, Lewisburg maintains a complex relationship with The Greenbrier — begrudging reliance on an exclusive resort that feels cold and distant.
“A lot of Lewisburg wouldn’t exist without The Greenbrier,” said Dani Sabbag, 36, a New Jersey native who co-owns The Public House bar on the town’s historic, well-manicured main drag. “It’s a necessary evil.”
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At first sight, The Greenbrier’s massive main building looks equal parts regal and creepy — the White House meets “The Shining.”
Inside, pastel-painted walls, floral-patterned curtains, furniture and carpets overwhelm you. It feels like your grandmother’s living room on steroids.
The Greenbrier lobby, before reaching rooms that could cost customers $400 to $600 a night. Darryl Slater
Still, this resort — where rooms go for $400 to $600 a night — has dozens of amenities, from golf to a casino to those famous mineral springs. Bunker tours cost $52 for adults, $24 for kids.
The Greenbrier also embraces prominent sports teams. The Saints, Texans and Browns previously held training camp there. The Patriots, 49ers, Cardinals and Raiders did shorter practice stints.
The resort hosts early-season college basketball games in one of its massive ballrooms that are lined with giant old-fashioned pink curtains. Leading up to this year’s World Cup, Iraq’s national team made The Greenbrier its base camp for training.
One of West Virginia’s Republican senators, former Gov. Jim Justice, owns the resort. He comes from coal money — lots of it. Lewisburg knows Justice well. Since 2003, he has coached girls’ basketball at the town’s high school, Greenbrier East.
“If he walked in here right now, I’d tell him to get the f--- out!” Taylor Feury piped up as she sipped a can of hard seltzer.
Behind the bar at The Pub — as everyone calls it — Sabbag chuckled and nodded. She and Feury, 32, own this place together.
The mirrored wall behind Sabbag displayed a small rainbow pride flag, tucked into a wood-carved outline of West Virginia’s distinct shape.
A world away in downtown White Sulphur Springs, a framed oversized restaurant order slip hangs on a coffee shop’s bathroom wall, with an illustrated message printed across it in big letters: “Jesus Paid It All.”
Back at The Pub, Sabbag poured another lager. A straight single mom of three, she wore a hat that read: “Daddy Needs A Beer.” She and Feury, who is gay, both graduated from Greenbrier East.
The Pub owners, Taylor Feury (left) and Dani Sabbag (right), who grew up in New Jersey. Darryl Slater
Feury played for Justice — and hated it. She considers him a bully who uses the resort for personal enrichment instead of addressing this state’s real problems.
“I’ve buried over 20 people I know from opioids,” Feury said.
Feury and Sab...
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