NY Jets #42 - Part 2

What do these two men have in common? Are they New York's most relentless crime fighters? Its trigger-happiest detectives? Anzalone and Harper?

No, but they do wear the same uniform.

Not just the same number, but the same name and number, which no one else so far in our journey can claim for himself (or for someone else) - unless he can somehow lay claim to meeting himself, maybe in Milliways, which, as the Guide points out, is fairly embarrassing if not, of course, completely impossible.

First, the man on the right. This is Bruce Harper, who wore #42 from 1977-84 and is considered a universally loved Jet. Players like Bruce Harper are permanent fixtures in the memories of longtime Jets fans because, like Wayne Chrebet, they represent something of the indispensable underdog. In a franchise that ritually backs into the playoffs, such persons are always important. Bruce Harper is best known as a return man for the Jets; his 82-yard punt return just before halftime in a 1978 home game against the Bills at Shea was one of those moments that helped us to believe in a turnaround season when we saw one. Harper blazed down the sidelines. I was visiting Jake Walsh in Sag Harbor at the time, so I didn't see it on TV (I don't think the Jets sold out that season at Shea until the Patriots game, anyway), but I saw the replay the following week on This Week in the NFL, with Harry Kallas narrating the play, with the run documented in slow motion, taken from a camera positioned atop the right field upper deck. How do I remember such details. It's sad. But Bruce Harper had arrived to my world.

And he made himself indispensable. Though he was a return man, the 1978 runback was his only career return for a touchdown. Look at his statistics, and you see that he gained more on pass receptions than from the backfield, and he scored touchdowns on more pass plays than on the run. His career is even more impressive when you consider he was all of five foot eight. And from little Kutztown University in Central Pennsylvania. And a New Jersey native and current resident, no less. You couldn't have a better formula for a Jets hero, unless you were a walk-on from Hofstra. Bruce Harper is a man who represents the team's spiritual core. A six foot player is an underdog. Bruce Harper came from beneath the underdog. We are all Bruce Harper.

This might then explain the other man in the picture above. He is Ed Anzalone, or Fireman Ed, the Jets' "superfan," official fan of sorts, and universally recognized supporter of the beloved Green. He wears Bruce Harper's jersey. Why? I don't know. I guess I want to believe he wears it for the same reason that I think Bruce Harper represents the essence of who we are as a team.

We don't have a mascot, thank Christ. Instead, we have Fireman Ed, one of many such superfans around the NFL. Each team theoretically has one. Usually this person is a fan whose excess of spirit has made him a character of some local color who becomes so empowered by the subsequent attention that he develops into a self-appointed cheerleader. Every stadium has one, and if they are like Ed, they garner a following that the team then co-opts, hoping that they are not dealing with someone who has a severe mental illness. As we know, Fireman Ed hoists himself atop a larger man and leads the now famous cheer than anyone who finds out that I'm a Jets fan offers to me as if it were a lodge greeting. According to his bio, Ed has been leading the cheer since 1986, but I remember hearing it at Shea Stadium as far back as 1980; who knows when it began. Heard in full throat by the tens of thousands, it's highly formidable, almost like what totalitarian dictators crave when they stand on a balcony in platform shoes, hands on hips. The fact that the cheer is a four-letter word repeated thrice for those who missed it the first time, makes it - in my humble opinion - that much more charming.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a teacher, actually."

"Wow, what's that like?"

"T! E! A! C! H! E! R!" TEACHER! TEACHER! TEACHER!!"

Nope. Doesn't have the same ring to it. When last we heard of him, Fireman Ed was going to be publicly roasted by Chad Ochocinco in the Jets' season finale, which didn't happen of course because Darrelle Revis is the finest cornerback in the world. Apparently in order to compensate for making Ed a part of his ongoing Vaudeville program, Ochocinco offered to fly the superfan out to Cincinnati for the Wild Card game. The oracle of Wiki tells us of Ed that, "though he was appreciative of the offer he declined to take (sic) on the moral ground that he did not think it was right to be flown out to the game by the opposing team. He did however say that if the Jets made him an offer he would take them up on it, though no offer has been made." Only men named Barrel Man, Chief Zee, Crazy Ray, Colonel Joe, Horse Lady, Arrowman, or Sign Man can see in such a circumstance the potential absence of moral judgment. They are something more than their team. They have their own reputation to uphold.

Perhaps when a famous fan's attention to his work begins to eclipse his team itself the fans and the world at large begin to turn the worm. Under "Everyone hates Fireman Ed," there's the usual rant from a Jets hater on Deadspin; I beg to differ. A superfan is a superfan, whether he's in it for his own fame or not. I write a blog no one reads. If someone made me a superfan of the Jets, such that under the New York Giants' guy named "Big Blue" you saw a new New York Jets superfan named "Martin Roche," I'd be flattered. What am I going to say? No? Probably. Still, Fireman Ed is less convoluted than Arrowman; he's less flabby and disturbing to look at than Barrel Man. He is what he is. If he weren't the superfan, some other person would be. Someone always is.

But the Deadspin rant offers an interesting wrinkle to the uniform riddle. Apparently Ed's favorite player growing up was Paul Warfield of the Cleveland Browns and, most damningly, the Miami Dolphins. The trouble is, do you know what number Warfield wore? It's the same as the ultimate answer to life, the universe and everything:

42.

You see? Like I say: I want to believe.

Healing and Redemption

Apparently this past Super Bowl eclipsed even the final episode of MASH in viewership. What's remarkable is how different the time periods between these two "television events." In 1983, cable TV was available to a limited population, and now it's the mainstream. The Super Bowl became the event uniting us all in...what, exactly? Two things, I believe. First (and this came to light only afterwards) was the crowning of Peyton Manning as a goat, although I could have sworn we were all tuning in to see him anointed as the Greatest Ever. Oh well.

More importantly, we all watched to see New Orleans granted a blessed redemption on a global scale. As one sign at the Super Bowl said, "Katrina is Now Forgotten." How that could possibly be when there's so much evidence of it remaining in New Orleans, I don't know. I suppose I could generalize about Southerners always being patient with their quality of life so long as their pride is upheld, but too many people in NOLA probably disagree with the young man's sign. Nothing can make up for Katrina, except a complete economic renewal, and most of the country is struggling with that.

But didn't it feel good to know that New Orleans felt good for reasons other than their strange, ancestral bacchaes? I guess it did. A beautifully derelict city didn't deserve to be nearly destroyed by the forces of nature and seen as a laughingstock by the likes of Bill O'Reilly. What's incredible is what we all know about our teams. We love them, we identify with them, we crave their victories because we know, despite all evidence to the contrary, that their win is ours, too. I watched normally wretched people in Philadelphia become owl-eyed children when the Phillies won the Series in '08. It just feels good. It's like getting a raise in hard times. It's like winning big at the racetrack. It's like being picked out at a party by a really good-looking woman. It's like cracking a really good line at just the right moment. You remember it and cherish it for a long time.

No, it's better than that. And in a way, that's why I'm glad the Jets didn't make it to the Super Bowl. First, we would not have won. The Jets needed to play the perfect game against the Colts, and for about 27 minutes of playing time, they came close. But they didn't. They would not have been able to do to the Saints what (I feel) the best QB of his time and the Colts were unable to do. Plus, we would have become the unfortunate object of the nation's blurry scorn come Super Bowl time. We would have been the team to stand in the way of New Orleans' redemption, and a "New York" team at that. I wouldn't have felt guilty, but I don't think I would have found much support among the people around me after a loss to the Saints in the Super Bowl. Yeah, but you know. It's New Orleans. They deserved it. What are you, a monster?

And finally, the Saints did play a perfect game - maybe not in the first half, but certainly in the second. And here, over the past two years, we've seen two teams - the Giants and the Saints - rise above the expectations of smug prognosticators and play exactly the kind of Super Bowl game everyone said they wouldn't. As Drew Magary has said, after decades of mediocrity as a game, the Super Bowl is living in its golden age.

Time is healing the wounds, slowly. We should have beaten the Colts. They weren't as good as any of us thought. The Jets may not have entirely backed into the playoffs, but in the AFC Championship they played like a 9-7 team. Still, they are ranked higher than any of us dreamed, and they will compel us to dream bigger while pitchers and catchers show up in Florida, while the spring blooms later than we would have wished and while we find all the crap left behind after the melting. Suddenly we will start wondering what Rex Ryan is thinking about, hoping that he has a few ideas about the draft, hoping that he has a few ambitious thoughts about free agency, hoping he will not keel over and die. He is such an enormous man.

Jets/Colts - 2:15 pm EST

The Times recently and incorrectly reported that this is the fifth league/conference championship in which the Jets are appearing. This is of course incorrect and is probably based on the erroneous information Bob Herbert was given for his otherwise affecting article on being a Jets fan. His sense of unrewarded loyalty in this is probably the same as mine - the chance of a Jets championship is about as likely as universal health care for all of America's children under the age of 18. But, hey, what the hell.

This is actually the fourth. Here's the rundown:

December 30, 1968: playing in an icy cold wind that went into turbine at Shea Stadium, the Jets beat the Oakland Raiders in Heidi II, the game that would decide a winner without the interruption of the courageous Swiss girl and her disabled friend and loyal dog, and won the AFL Championship. The rest is literally History, capitalized. My favorite parts of the "AFL Films" 22-minute game recap narrated by Charlie Jones? Randy Beverly trying to trip Fred Bilentikoff after the Raider flanker beat him for a touchdown. Jim Hudson pounding the turf after missing out on a deflected interception. Don Maynard's left...no, right hand sideline catch to set up the winning touchdown, and the fact that my Dad was at the game.

January 23, 1983: you only have to wait a little over 14 years for the next one. The Jets lose to Miami 14-0 in an Orange Bowl that is filled to the ankle with rainwater. It's called the "Mud Bowl," but I recall that the mud in question had largely washed away and that all that was left was what looked like a grayish surface submerged beneath inches of pure agua. Why? (The following is a highly plausible conspiracy theory): Dade County and Don Shula, working in secret tandem, realize that the best way to stop the Jets highly effective running game is to turn the field into a wading pool, so they leave the tarp off during an overnight-into-day spell of rain. It works.

January 17, 1999: In this case you had to wait 16 more years. A whole other adolesence. The Jets lose in Mile High to the Broncos 23-10, despite having more first downs, more passing yards and more overall yards than the home team. They lead at the start of the fourth quarter. However, they gain 14 rushing yards on 13 attempts and cough up four turnovers, and they don't have Terell Davis. They lose. I watch silently in bar while all around me the world seems to go about its merry winter way, as if to mock me, as if to drive me to the realm beyond grief with its falt-out reluctance to get upset about the whole thing. Be adult, they seem to say. And don't worry - and I believed it too - they'll probably be back next year.

Eleven years later, here we are. And face it, no one thought we could do it. I did not. They have been baffling and charming, or at least as charming as a football team can be. And if anything, there is no way to flood Lucas Oil Arena. But I've been subdued all day, thinking about next week's work, thinking about the promise of spring, thinking about Midlake's new album, thinking about baseball and the possibility of the Mets and Phillies really having the rivalry they should in 2010. But God knows when we'll be back in an AFC Championship. Will it happen before the Big Melt? Not this year, my neighbor says about Super Bowl Whicheveritisthisyear. But next year, definitely. I shake my head.

Always fascinating to see how the printed media (albeit online) in New York covers the Jets.

The Jets are traditionally a kind of muse for Newsday, the paper whose beat is the sprawl of the Island so many Jets fans historically call home. On page one, you will find a thoughtful piece on what Dr. King would say to President Obama, as well as a nice juicy slab of business about a young couple passed out in the middle of day (near the start of the Saints game, no less) in Suffolk County while their 3 year-old wandered the streets of Brentwood. Newsday has always walked the fine line; I recall delivering them for a neighbor while he was on vacation during the summer they finally apprehended Son of Sam, though I'm not sure I was savvy enough to notice their high- and lowbrow takes on the matter. At the top of the page, though, is a banner with the essential information about what you really want to know about: Jets vs. Colts. We know what you want.

The Times remains staid about it. There's too much going on in the world. Of course, the Old Gray Lady is correct, as she always is (well, except about initally supporting the Iraq War; oh, and about calling for Clinton's resignation; and oh, well, its plagiarism cases). My beloved team cannot compare with the catastrophe of Haiti, nor with the suicide bombings in Kabul. (By the way, a student last week tried speaking for Pat Robertson's sickeningly stupid claim about the quake being God's will; I wish that I had known that it was actually the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden Fault that runs parallel to Port-au-Prince that caused it, as I would have told her, although she certainly would have claimed that God put that fault there. God can do anything.) However, I was grateful that the Lady was kind enough to make the Jets the top story in the Sports section way down the page, especially when the Jets' win over Cincinnati last week fell second to the NFC playoff game that same day.

The Daily News puts the Jets atop their "Hot Topics," right ahead of the Golden Globes and the earthquake, which posts an impressive third place.

The Post puts the Jets first and foremost, while secondly speaking of machete-wielding gangs roaming Port-au-Prince. It claims that NYPD have also been silencing Duane Reade security guards in the Port Authority over reporting an increase in thefts, while they do their able best in the service of Rupert Murdoch by criticizing Governor Paterson for going out on a date.

Joy

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.

Jets/Chargers - 1/17/10

At the end of three-quarters of what should be the year's best weekend of football, the home teams have outscored the visitors, 99-20. This might mean that the Jets will lose 34-7. More likely, it will be a close game that will break my heart. The Chargers have won 11 games in a row. Plenty of people have told me that on any given Sunday, the Jets can beat any of the remaining teams this year. Thank you, thank you. This is very kind. But this is also not true.

Given the dumb things I thought as this great season began, I cannot count this season as anything other than a success. A second round appearance in the playoffs is not what I thought our team was capable of doing, backing in or not. But I am ready for the same experience as the second round AFC Divisional Playoffs back in Januarys of '03 and '05. The former was an outright loss of 30-10 to the last of great Raiders teams, with Bill Romanowski, fully juiced up, decrying the Jets' blowout of Peyton Manning the week before. He mocked them. He was speaking the truth, though he a pernicious liar by nature. The awful, awful, awful, godawful 2005 loss to the 15-1 Steelers, 20-17 would have been a victory had Doug Brien made two field goals that clearly were shanked by the stress of the moment. If Jay Feely's not going to make the crucial field goal to win, I will take the blowout. I will take it like the Jets fan I am.

The Jets elect to kick. Deep, deep breath. Here we go.

The Bright Side of Things, Really

Well, it's time to update, isn't it? Whatever any of our expectations were of this season, a second round appearance in the playoffs is the very outside edge of my own definition of success. I love that we "backed" into the playoffs. Let freedom ring. I love that Rex Ryan swings into bipolar moods of euphoria and ponderous disappointment. I am glad that I am forced to feel shame and self-criticism every time Shonn Greene plays to his potential and well beyond my recent criticism of him as a washout. I was wrong in every way. God Bless My Stupidity.

And while we're at it, let's take a moment to praise the New York Jets for drafting well over the past five years, something that I don't think the franchise has ever done over such a span: David Harris, D'Brickashaw Ferguson, Kerry Rhodes, Nick Mangold, Brad Smith, Leon Washington, Drew Coleman, Dustin Keller, Dwight Lowery, and of course, Darrelle Revis. Oh, and Mark Sanchez. And Shonn Greene, provided that neither man is responsible for more than two turnovers each in San Diego on Sunday evening.

Listen to me. There I go again.

And while we're at it, I want to thank everyone who made this possible. I don't think we have a chance this weekend. Our last outing here last year was disastrous. But I have to go to bed. It;s going to be a long weekend.