There’s Only One Way to End the Suffering for Jets Fans

Illustration by Thomas Dyson

My father was a lot of things. An eager family man. A connoisseur of the finest greasy diner foods. A rigid, nearly OCD-ish cleaner. A subtle prankster. But, perhaps above all else, he was a sports fan.

Growing up in Brooklyn in the 1940s and 50s, he had a front-row seat to the heyday of New York baseball, and even decades later would wax poetic about the one time in ’55 that the Bums finally exorcised their demons by beating the damn Yankees.

After Dodgers ownership betrayed Brooklyn and moved the team out west, instead of doing the sensible thing and going over to the dark side to become a Yankees fan (like my mom is), my dad eventually picked the Mets as his new team, and of course, that schizophrenic squad became mine too. (Thanks, Dad.)

The team that meant the most to my dad, however, was the New York Jets. He was there in Miami in 1969 when they famously beat the Indianapolis Colts to win their one and only Super Bowl. Little did he know then that that would be the high point of rooting for Gang Green. I can recall many a Sunday afternoon that ended in anguish after another futile attempt by the Jets. Even during the stretches when they were actually pretty good, my dad would follow the team with the sense that things would ultimately crumble, which, of course, they always did.

My dad is pretty much the reason why I’m as big a fan as I am now, and much of my childhood was spent either watching games, venturing into or around NYC to see games in person, or playing games out in the yard. Fortunately, football was pretty far down on my list of favorite sports, so I never really became a full-fledged diehard Jets fan, instead choosing to have my heart regularly ripped out by the Mets and Knicks.

The utter dysfunction of the Jets has been documented at great length, but if you want to know what it’s like being a fan, watch this video by sportswriter Jeff Pearlman. He goes into painstaking – and hilarious – detail about the organization’s gross missteps over the last 40-plus years and at one point describes the Jets as an STD that has infected fans:

“The pronounced pain, the awfulness, becomes a part of you, almost like a disease that you can’t get rid of. Not a disease that’s gonna kill you, not a fatal disease, but a really bad disease.”

Every time the Jets are in the news, I can’t help but think of my dad. While his frustration at the team could be funny, it’s nice to know that he wasn’t subjected to some of the more recent misery. For example, he didn’t have to experience the euphoria turning into instant despair with Aaron Rodgers. Or see former Jets QB Sam Darnold bringing two other teams to the playoffs and now headed to the Super Bowl.

He got to avoid getting his hopes up with yet another rebuild with yet another new head coach in Aaron Glenn, only to discover that if the team had just waited a year before making a move, they could’ve had their shot at numerous better candidates.

He didn’t have to see the New England Patriots – the Jets’ nemesis for decades – have a couple of bad seasons only to quickly become elite again. Or history repeating itself when the team’s presumptive next “franchise quarterback” – Oregon’s Dante Moore – decided to go back to college for another year, perhaps in an attempt to avoid being their pick. (There’s always next year, Dante.)

While it would be terrific to be able to spend a Sunday afternoon watching football with my dad again, there’s also some solace knowing that he’s no longer infected with the plague that is the Jets. Wherever you are, Dad, I hope you’re in a comfortable spot with your favorite snacks and a refreshing beverage – watching Joe Namath beat the Colts on an endless loop. Okay, sports fan?