The Quest for Mediocrity

After the back to back match ups of the most brutal blowout in [very recent] history and the most deflated, excessively covered win, for week 14 the Jets headed to Jacksonville. Of course the biggest story line of the week was that the son of Christ, Tim Tebow would be returning to his hometown. My question is: Why?! If Tebow was playing quarterback, if he even had a chance to play, sure. Knock yourselves out, set up a whole studio show outside his locker and hotel room, report on every time he blows his nose and wipes his ass. But Tebow didn't play. Yes, Tebow was activated over recently beloved, third string, and most importantly, healthy quarterback Greg McElroy, but that's beside the point. We saw that one coming. The winds of change could only blow for so long and sure enough it was back to Mark Sanchez and the Inconsistent Bunch.

MC-EL-ROY

Growing up, Sundays were time for my dad and I to bundle up and head to the Meadowlands. Sure, throughout my childhood the Jets were nothing to write home about, but he had season tickets and we went. One of my fondest memories will always be the game my dad and I went to in the dead of winter, easily the coldest day of the year. I don't remember who the Jets played, I don't remember the outcome of the game. What I do remember is that we layered up in so much warm clothes that we were barely able to move our extremities. I remember the thermoses of soup my mom made and the hand warmers, foot warmers, and even padded seat warmers she sent us with. I remember climbing all the way up to the top of the corner end zone section where our seats were practically the farthest from the players in the whole stadium. I remember it all because it was one of those bonding experiences with my dad that has and always will stay with me. It was hysterical. We didn't stay all game. But we went. We suited up and supported Gang Green like I have for 22 years.

An Open Letter to My Fellow Jets Fans

Gang Green,

It has taken me a few day to really recuperate to a level where I feel I am ready and willing to address you about the events that occurred on November 22, 2012, a day that will forever live in infamy for the New York Jets. This past Thursday, our men were massacred to a point of no return. The slight glimmer of hope we once held despite pain and ridicule was stomped out, spit on, set on fire, and sent out to sea. Vegas dropped our odds of winning the Super Bowl to 300 to 1. Boston celebrated. And most crushing of all, Fireman Ed quit.

I, along with 79,087 others, spent my Thanksgiving night in exotic East Rutherford, New Jersey. Rather than stay warm, eating until combustion, and drinking myself to oblivion with the rest of my family, my brothers and I bundled up and headed to the Meadowlands. The night started off festive as ever. We joined family friends in an extensive tailgate complete with tents, tarp, a generator, (us Tri-Staters have become experts on these post-Sandy,) a space heater, toasters, microwaves, a multi-course Thanksgiving feast, and of course, enough alcohol so that we could forget the inevitable loss ahead.

I Hate You, Tom Brady

I really did not want to write this article. I really hoped that the outcome this past Sunday would have been different and I would be writing a bragging, celebratory post boasting about New England's failures and dangling first place over their heads. Sadly, that eternal itch I can't scratch, Tom Brady, did it again. God, I hate him. While the Jets fell 29-26 in an overtime heart breaker to the Patriots, all was not lost. Yes, a win's a win and a loss is a loss. I'm not one for moral victories, they don't affect the standings so they don't count. However, Sunday's battle in Foxborough proved one thing to the world: these are not the same untouchable Patriots that we've come to expect throughout the Brady/Belichick era. Of course Pats fans like to think nothing's changed, but it has.