Preacher stands with his Bible, groom stands waitin' for his bride
Congregation gone and the sun sets behind a weepin' willow tree
Groom stands alone and watches the river rush on so effortlessly.
Wonderin' where can his baby be.
Still at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe.
- Boss, "Reason to Believe", Nebraska
What are three things that are interesting to Jets fans about this picture? One, the irony in this week's win of Leon Washington scoring the most exciting play for an offense lead by the most exciting quarterback in football history. Two, Joe Klecko's number in the background reminding us that, though he appears on the nominating list of defensive lineman eligible for the Hall of Fame, he has about as much chance as Ken Anderson does at being named a Hall of Fame quarterback. Third, those boots, those belts...our cheerleaders look like Catwoman's henchgirls from the Batman of Adam West. "Ladies," says he, "I know for a fact that it's not too late to turn away from this life of depravity and crime."
Another week, another disappointing Jets performance, albeit this time a win. For most of the game, the Jets' offense was outshined by the #29 offense in the NFL. All three of Brett Favre's interceptions eventually (if not directly) lead to Chief scores, so I guess he's not really NFL's top rated passer anymore. He looked like Joe Namath from the early 70's, only probably a little more reliable. Laverneus Coles' game-winning catch was nothing short of magic. At long last, the general Coles-Favre misunderstanding seems at a close. But make no mistake. Favre was frightening today, and not in a good way. Sure, every time he passed today, the computer screen read "FAVRE short pass to...," or "FAVRE pass short to...," but still he threw two of three interceptions as a result of just basically chucking the ball into the air with that strange nihilistic flair for which he is so rightly infamous. Perhaps he's still unaccustomed to an offense scheme that runs counter to his basic instincts, or maybe he's just batshit crazy. Chad Pennington, on the other hand, had as fine a day as he could expect in Miami. He is no longer a Jet. After Favre's interception inside the Chiefs' red zone was returned by for a 91 yard touchdown by Brandon Flowers, my wife said, "Well, at least Favre really is a Jet now."
Still, a win's a win. The Lions haven't gotten there yet. Neither have the Bengals. At the beginning of the season, one might have seen games against the Raiders and the Chiefs as wins, easy or no. This did not entirely prove to be the case, and we are left with the usual feelings of unease as another game crawls to its uncertain end. Though the Bills lost to the Dolphins, this just signals the general chaos of our division. The AFC East, once the feeding ground of Those Of Whom We Do Not Speak, is now the home of football's Moe, Larry, Curly and Schemp, all of whom behave as if they are reacting to just another eye jab from just another Stooge. Speaking of slapstick, one of my favorite images from the Chiefs game is of a Favre pass just barely making into Leon Washington's hands after nearly doinking the ducking Alan Facena in the head. And how many times can #75 and #78 be activated as receivers on pass plays? Many, many times, apparently. I'm not altogether sure if anyone was fooled by Robert Turner and Wayne Hunter as receivers, but they sound like a pair, don't they? Tonight on Turner and Hunter, the boys get into a scrape with the precinct captain over "excessive use of force." Next week, New York's toughest cops pose as wide receivers...
And may I here offer my special pleasure taken at the idea of beating Herman Edwards yet again, the coach who was so eager to leave the Jets after 2005? He was so eager to leave the largest football market in America, and (here we sound like a spurned relative) where did it get him? He will be fired at the end of the year. He is dead to me. Which begs me to ask the question...
Who else is DEAD TO ME?
This is just a cheap rip-off of everyone else's rip-off of Stephen Colbert, but since no one reads this blog anyway, it can hardly matter. We're just going to keep rolling that boulder uphill. I mean it's not like it's ever going to roll down over me. It's just a continuous, endless, infinite uphill climb. This is Gang Green Land. I can't go through a list without going off the NFL map, so obviously let's just say Parcells and Belichick are the devil, Jerry Jones is a medicine show huckster fraud, and that despite the universal NFL hate he's gotten outside of Denver over the years, it actually took John Elway's cheesy public endorsement of John McCain in Colorado this week to finally render him dead to me. Blah, blah, blah. The Jetskins are dead to me. The NYT sports section is dead to me after being on notice for a long time. I'm still pissed at Al Groh. I still don't know why Weeb Ewbank thought Charley Winner made a better coach than Chuck Knox in 1973. Why won't the Hall of Fame nominating committee put Winston Hill's name forward? When are they going to vote in Joe Klecko, those bastards? Doesn't anyone who plays professional football vote vaguely left of center? What's the matter with all of these people? I'm going to take down some names here. Some of you people are in some serious @#$%ing trouble.
There. That's another blog entry shot to hell. Ex-Jet Jonathan Vilma proved why the Jets deserve to be dead to me. He proved his worth in a game-saving interception for the Saints in London this past weekend. But here's a great piece about an American going abroad to watch English footie over there - specifically a match involving my new favorite footie team, the Blues, in Birmingham, England (pronounced BEH-ming goom).
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