Once upon a time, I remember sweating out a game, 17-14 - the Jets beat the defending champion LA Raiders, the team that people said they couldn't beat in the strange and twisted playoff structure of a strike season. I remember sitting on the floor, waiting, watching, hoping. Please, I just kept saying. Please hold onto the lead and win. And they did win. I felt euphoric, weightless, like I was going to lose my mind.
And that's pretty much how I feel right now, 27 years later. The Chargers killed themselves, but the Jets won the game.
In the midst of Haiti's agony, nothing done on the football field can possibly compensate for the troubles of the world - I grant this and I acknowledge it. But to the degree that it can supply a lasting happiness to a single individual, I admit its power. This will give me the energy to do my job just a little bit better. So long as I live, this January will be - just as January 1999 was - a magical time.
Unless the Jets lose by a field goal to the Colts. I don't think I could bear that.