Well, probably not. But really, the gloomy time between March and June - the time between coaching and free agency changes and minicamp - the period also known as "Spring" - is already feeling like the heavy weight of Plymouth rock on Giles Corey's chest. No mas. No more. No more weight.
My wife and I are focused on buying a house right now. I realize that the house I want is not out there just yet - affordable, the right size for two people and the dog we're going to get someday, not falling apart. It's a dream. At the risk of sounding like tens of thousands of people in my generation, I imagined that everyone eventually got a house the size and style of the Bradys, with an astro-turf backyard and a dog named Tiger. But even then I knew it was too much to ask for Joe Namath to show up and play catch with my son Bobby.
Actually, I bleed for spring. When I was little, I was always sad to see winter go. It meant summer was coming, and I would submit willingly to its exercises. Summer: swimming lessons, little league and all the other things that made my crazy, neurotic brain spin around with anxiety. Why did all the old people want to move to Florida, where every day meant swimming lessons in unheated pools? Why would you do that? In truth, the more winters you experience the more you realize you'd rather have a root canal than go through another day under the impenetrably gray skies of the long, cold season, football or no football. So, really, my mind has changed. I'm joyously happy to see buds on the trees. Spring at last.
And lately I've had very little desire to examine the revamped Jets. I'm taking a hiatus from the draft this year. Last year, I spent weeks and weeks trying to make sense of something that culminated in the drafting of Vernon Gholsten. So I'll just skip it this year.
And the numbers? Well, I think there's even less interest in the numbers than ever. People have told me that they don't read my Jets By the Numbers because it's all so focused on specifics of players and names that have almost all been completely neglected by time and history. But I guess that this is why it pleases me. It's a vast momento mori. Which isn't terribly entertaining. But my mother encouraged me to continue, as mothers must. "You promised you'd do this," she said. "So now you have to do it." Yes, I must.