A Jets Fan's Lament

About a week and a half ago, while in Philadelphia for business, I got a phone call notifying me that my new couch would be delivered February third. This, I would tell almost anyone within 20 feet of me, could not have been more perfect: first, a gorgeous new TV, now a comfy new couch to be delivered within a few hours of Super Bowl XLII. Absolutely perfect.

Absolutely perfect until about an hour ago,* when Brett Favre threw an ill-timed interception in overtime, setting up a whatever yard field goal by whatshisface on the Giants (who went ahead and finally made one after missing two in a row).

I should explain my disdain. I’m a very big football fan. Football, for me, is the only watchable sport, with the exception of English Premier League soccer, which isn’t a very common sight on American TV. As a big football fan, early September through early February is the only sporting season that I have marked on my calendar. It should be needless to say that, during this time span, Sundays are spoken for.

The specific reason why my Sundays during these five or so months are spoken for is simple: The New York Jets. The J! E! T! S! Jets! Jets! Jets! For as long as I can remember, the Jets have been not only my one true professional sporting love, but the same for my brother, and—when they’re having a good season at least—my father. When my parents divorced, one of the activities that made me feel particularly close to my father was watching the Jets. The Jets for me are both my favorite sporting team of any sport, and a means to share a passion with members of my family with whom I may or may not have much more in common.

As a Jets fan, the following scenario is particularly undesirable: A New England Patriots vs. New York Giants Super Bowl. The New England Patriots are the bane of Jets’ fans existence. For the past too many years, they have been a shoe in for division leaders, and with the exception of the 2002-2003 season, have made it impossible for any other team in the AFC East to be anything more than the wild card (the ‘02-‘03 season belonged to the Jets). There’s also a lot of bad blood between the two teams: Curtis Martin left New England to become a Jet, as did Bill Parcells, who brought with him his assistant coach Bill Belichick. Parcells would soon retire from being the Jets’ head coach, leaving the team to Belichick who would quit after one day to become the Patriots’ head coach. Belichick brought with him for the task of defensive coordinator his old assistant coach from the Cleveland Browns, Eric Mangini, who would later leave the Patriots to become The Jets’ head coach. The bad blood between the two coaches would become the thing of legends, even though this season was only Mangini’s second as head coach. I’m sure you heard about SpyGate. Even if you didn’t, the above description should be proof enough that these two teams have enough between them to warrant bad blood. As a Jets fan, I can only say, “Fuck the Patriots.”

The Giants on the other hand are victims of circumstance when it comes to my hatred (though my hatred for the Giants pales horribly in comparison to the hate my brother feels). The Giants are in a position to treat the Jets like little brothers, yet they seemingly chose to treat the Jets like little step-brothers. The two teams share a stadium, which is called Giants Stadium (though in a few years, they will share a brand new stadium not specifically dedicated to either team). In general, the Giants always seem to get better press than the Jets, and they are always considered the better team (please ignore the fact that they generally are). For Jets fans like myself, it’s hard to watch the Giants do well, because while they represent my city, they don’t represent me (think Cubs fans when the White Sox won the series, or Mets fans all those times the stupid Yankees won). The Giants’ success means only more good press for them, and the Jets being even worse by comparison.

So after the Patriots defeated the San Diego Chargers, something everybody knew was going to happen, pushing them to 18-0 (the first team ever), I was able to confidently sit back and assume that The Packers would beat the Giants in the NFC championship game, creating a Super Bowl match up that I repeatedly said would be awesome: the career record holder versus the season record holder. I was not happy to see the Patriots move onto the Super Bowl. Again. But it’s been clear for at least a month that it would happen. I can deal. But then, just past 9 PM, Favre threw that interception, setting up that stupid field goal, and more dreadfully, setting up that horribly match up: the bane of my existence versus my proverbial step-brother.

Right now, in a warehouse somewhere, my couch is hoping it will be moved to a good home. It’s imagining itself showing up to its new residence, greeted by its new owner with a great smile. But this February third, I’ll have nothing to smile about.

*This post was written within an hour of the Super Bowl match up being finalized.