Once while riding Amtrak from Philadelphia to NYC in the spring of 2000, a man of Caribbean origin was in the seat directly behind me, insisting to the person on the other end of his cell phone that "Dat bitch has tayken all ma fahkin money, mon. All of eet. Shit, mon. What da fuck am ah ganna do?" The whole way. He was upset. The bitch took his money.
As he and I egressed at Pennsylvania Station, he caught sight of my Jets t-shirt and addressed me in the same distressed tone, as if it were part of his ongoing troubles:
"Oh mon! Ha could dey let Key-shahn go like dat, mon! What da fuck day gonna do now, mon?!?"
Well, we know what Keyshawn Johnson did. He won a Super Bowl that the Eagles should have been in. I still resent him for it the way that I resented John Riggins for leaving the Jets for more money, more respect, more chances at a ring (and got all of them). And then #19 Keyshawn went and got kicked off the Bucs. He was the first player of this era to whom I had ever heard of that happening. But then Keyshawn was always special. First, he was tall as hell, and the Jets have not had a receiver of his caliber and height since then, so indeed, my friend on the train was not off the mark with his rhetorical question. He also made a mark by being a petulantly difficult author/rookie on a 1-15 team. That takes something special. The only thing he really did wrong was to slam Wayne Chrebet in his book, which was both a tasteless and a poor call. But then no one will retire his #19 anywhere because he played in too many different places.Bobby Riley was a replacement wide receiver with the #19 for the scab New York Jets of 1987. I wonder if the squad has reunions.
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