The More Things Change...
It’s a well-worn expression by now, three words uttered so many times by so many people that an explanation is no longer necessary. Equipped with a semi-tangible knowledge of the game and any sense of history and you have everything you’ll need to understand.
Same Old Jets.
Three words that say it all. Three agonizing words that hurt even to type. Three words that perfectly sum up the complete and utter incompetence of an organization that has been marked by failure since the day a victorious Joe Willie walked out of the Orange Bowl too long ago.
With each passing season, that night in 1969 recedes further in the franchise’s rear view mirror. For people like me who were not around for it, Superbowl III exists merely as legend, alongside Babe’s called shot, the Loch Ness Monster and Skee Lo’s follow-up to “I Wish.”
When WFAN personality and long-suffering Jets fan Joe Benigno told New York Newsday last week that this was the golden age of Jets football, he wasn’t kidding. The statement was an indictment of the franchise’s failure more than anything else, a telling statement that typified how very little the franchise has accomplished. For perspective, in earning a playoff berth in three of the last four years, the team nearly matched the number of playoff appearances for the franchise in the previous two decades combined (4 to 3). Just remarkable. There is no history for this team post-Namath, just infamy.
And it's all of these factors combined that makes Saturday’s 20-17 overtime loss to the Steelers all the worse to stomach. This team was there. They were different than the others. Destiny, for once, seemed on their side. But by 8 p.m. a familiar reality had set in, the Jets forced to cope with arguably the most excruciating loss in the franchise’s history.
There’s no way it should have ended that way either. The Steelers were in their quintessential gag mode, at home, huge favorites, basically begging the Jets to finish them off. Roethlisberger looked like a rookie, Bill Cowher’s jaw was quivering, the crowd was tight as a drum.
But the Jets couldn’t get it done. When Doug Brien pulled his best Ray Finkle impression, missing back-to-back game-winning field goals to close out regulation (including one off the crossbar – classic Jets), it was just the culmination of a day of misfires. The New York Post would blindly demonize Brien as the Jets new Bill Buckner the next day, not recognizing that the epic loss was a team effort, a failure that only the Jets could have managed.
Back in college, I had the opportunity to watch the Patriots in Boston during their first championship run. New England wasn't an all-time great team that year, but they were an opportunistic one...a group that knew what it took to win. If the Jets had Adam Vinatieri instead of Doug Brien, are the Jets golfing today? If you inserted Brady for Pennington, do you think Brady misses the critical Pop Warner-level third down conversion to Moss following Bettis’ red zone fumble? If Bill Belichick was on the sideline instead of Herman Edwards, would Belichick pull the reigns back in the final minute to settle on a 43-yard field goal in the hardest building in football to make a kick? The answer to all three is a resounding no.
In the end this was a Jets team just like all the ones before it…a well-meaning group that couldn’t get the job done when it counted most. They played like a team afraid to succeed, in the end earning the rightful distinction as a loser because of it.
Following the game, the media swarmed around Brien like vultures, picking at the corpse of a guy who will wear the scarlet letter as damaged goods for the rest of his career. The Jets place kicker looked shaken, apologizing to everyone he could think of.
Everyone that is, except the fans…probably the one group of people that these losses affect the most. Fortunately or unfortunately, I attended an open bar party later that night, self-medicating with my good friends Tanqueray and Tonic. Sitting in a cab on the way home, a pang in my stomach rang out, almost reminding the inebriated version of myself of what had transpired earlier in the day. Quietly I stewed, angry that one game and one team could affect me so much.
But it does. And they will. And I’ll be back for more next year, unrequited in my affection for a team that has given me nothing but gray hairs and heartache my whole life. Because deep down, there's a part of me that feels this will all turn one day, that common logic will rule the day. Until then, the long wait for September begins.
Same Old Jets. Couldn’t put it any better myself.
Same Old Jets.
Three words that say it all. Three agonizing words that hurt even to type. Three words that perfectly sum up the complete and utter incompetence of an organization that has been marked by failure since the day a victorious Joe Willie walked out of the Orange Bowl too long ago.
With each passing season, that night in 1969 recedes further in the franchise’s rear view mirror. For people like me who were not around for it, Superbowl III exists merely as legend, alongside Babe’s called shot, the Loch Ness Monster and Skee Lo’s follow-up to “I Wish.”
When WFAN personality and long-suffering Jets fan Joe Benigno told New York Newsday last week that this was the golden age of Jets football, he wasn’t kidding. The statement was an indictment of the franchise’s failure more than anything else, a telling statement that typified how very little the franchise has accomplished. For perspective, in earning a playoff berth in three of the last four years, the team nearly matched the number of playoff appearances for the franchise in the previous two decades combined (4 to 3). Just remarkable. There is no history for this team post-Namath, just infamy.
And it's all of these factors combined that makes Saturday’s 20-17 overtime loss to the Steelers all the worse to stomach. This team was there. They were different than the others. Destiny, for once, seemed on their side. But by 8 p.m. a familiar reality had set in, the Jets forced to cope with arguably the most excruciating loss in the franchise’s history.
There’s no way it should have ended that way either. The Steelers were in their quintessential gag mode, at home, huge favorites, basically begging the Jets to finish them off. Roethlisberger looked like a rookie, Bill Cowher’s jaw was quivering, the crowd was tight as a drum.
But the Jets couldn’t get it done. When Doug Brien pulled his best Ray Finkle impression, missing back-to-back game-winning field goals to close out regulation (including one off the crossbar – classic Jets), it was just the culmination of a day of misfires. The New York Post would blindly demonize Brien as the Jets new Bill Buckner the next day, not recognizing that the epic loss was a team effort, a failure that only the Jets could have managed.
Back in college, I had the opportunity to watch the Patriots in Boston during their first championship run. New England wasn't an all-time great team that year, but they were an opportunistic one...a group that knew what it took to win. If the Jets had Adam Vinatieri instead of Doug Brien, are the Jets golfing today? If you inserted Brady for Pennington, do you think Brady misses the critical Pop Warner-level third down conversion to Moss following Bettis’ red zone fumble? If Bill Belichick was on the sideline instead of Herman Edwards, would Belichick pull the reigns back in the final minute to settle on a 43-yard field goal in the hardest building in football to make a kick? The answer to all three is a resounding no.
In the end this was a Jets team just like all the ones before it…a well-meaning group that couldn’t get the job done when it counted most. They played like a team afraid to succeed, in the end earning the rightful distinction as a loser because of it.
Following the game, the media swarmed around Brien like vultures, picking at the corpse of a guy who will wear the scarlet letter as damaged goods for the rest of his career. The Jets place kicker looked shaken, apologizing to everyone he could think of.
Everyone that is, except the fans…probably the one group of people that these losses affect the most. Fortunately or unfortunately, I attended an open bar party later that night, self-medicating with my good friends Tanqueray and Tonic. Sitting in a cab on the way home, a pang in my stomach rang out, almost reminding the inebriated version of myself of what had transpired earlier in the day. Quietly I stewed, angry that one game and one team could affect me so much.
But it does. And they will. And I’ll be back for more next year, unrequited in my affection for a team that has given me nothing but gray hairs and heartache my whole life. Because deep down, there's a part of me that feels this will all turn one day, that common logic will rule the day. Until then, the long wait for September begins.
Same Old Jets. Couldn’t put it any better myself.
posted by Dan Hanzus at 8:21 AM
2 Comments:
Um, actually I was at the open bar, and more importantly, at the apartment that very night...The only misery you were going through was when I was fake-beating the shit out of you and lighting you on fire which ended with you coming back to life as a fake demon and finishing me off "Hard To Kill" style. I guess your frineds T&T helped you out after all.
-The Showstopper
We found Nice and clear knowledge from your The More Things Change.... Though we were looking for payday loans but we found your blog. But its worth reading on your blog and i have left a piece of note on it about my Payday Loans & Loans site . Please share your thoughts on our blogs as your visit is valuable for us and we would welcome your visit to us
Post a Comment
<< Home