21 Not-So-Rhetorical Questions masking as complaints (but for the unaccustomed, the answers are listed below):
1) Is a DUI a serious enough offense that a coach with integrity can ban the drunk driver and his passengers for two quarters? Maybe three? Four?
2) Is Rex not quick enough with the red flag? Is it wedged somewhere? What's the problem?
3) How many interference calls that lead to touchdowns will Kyle Wilson be responsible for before someone decides to teach the young man how to cover effectively?
4) Is Darrelle Revis OK with his apparent lack of summer conditioning?
5) Is anyone fooled by the nonsensical Peyton Manning impersonation that Sanchez does at the line that is followed by an ineffective Shonn Greene run up the middle?
6) Does an established NFL team not coached by Any Reid really need to call three timeouts in a minute and a half early in the second quarter?
7) How many yards did Thomas Jones gain for the Chiefs against the Niners this week?
8) Do I need Bob Costas to explain to me why Michael Vick is being given a second chance?
9) Enrique Inglesias is the halftime show choice. This is how we know it's Hispanic Heritage Month (there is no Hispanic History Month, apparently). But I'd rather watch Mad Men, which I'm not watching because of this game. So, my question is, can't I just see that funny chick from the Progressive ads again instead?
10) Aren't the MetroPCS adds vaguely racist?
11) Is my dog going to starting freaking out and barking at nothing in particular at a critical moment that I will miss?
12) Is it hot enough for you?
13) Did Rex Ryan take lessons from my pee wee coach in how to fake injuries to slow the game down?
14) Does "Tony Sporano" sound like "Tony Soprano?"
15) I'm starting to think Revis Island doesn't exist. I know Riker's Island exists. Plaxico Burress lives there.
16) How excited am I to see Danny Woodhead break one out for the Jets in this game?
17) How many expensive, drive-killing penalties has Braylon Edwards acquired in this game?
18) Is Brad Smith a star?
19) If the Jets score, will Matt Slossen be responsible for a holding call?
20) Kendall Lankford = AJ Duhe?
21) Am I happy that Braylon Edwards is playing in this game?
1) Yes, yes, and more yes. Unless it's not important to the league. 2) WTF. Found it in the second half, thank you. 3) Keep counting. It's a long season. 4) One would hope not. 5) I would think not. It's pathetic and embarrassing. 6) HOLY GOD, no!!! OH GOD!! 7) 95 yards. 8) No. 9) She briefly appeared on Mad Men, actually. 10) You be the judge. 11) Yes! The Jets' touchdown to Braylon Edwards. Arf. 12) 83 degrees in Miami during the middle of the second half. 13) No. Coach Sutherland is, I believe, in prison. 14) Yes, and apparently many, many jocular references have been made to this over the past two seasons, almost to the point where you would think it wouldn't be worth mentioning anymore, Al Michaels. 15) That's not a rhetorical question. 16) As excited as you want to be, you schmuck. He scored a monster touchdown for the New England Patriots against the Bills this past week. Just like that. Gone for good. I've been pulling for him to be a star on the Jets for years. Now he works for the unspeakables. 17) Again, not rhetorical. But one so far. Inside the red zone after the blocked punt. Tripping. I wish we had gotten Anquan Boldin. Honestly. 18) Well, in this game, sort of. 19) Apparently. Twenty nine penalties in two and three-quarter games. 20) Unbelievably, very freaking nearly. 21) What am I, a hypocritical idiot? Yes.
Minggu, 26 September 2010
Senin, 20 September 2010
And Here I Re-Publish the NY Times: "Jets In Certain Loss Until the Second Half"
by Vince Graylady, Sports Columnist for the New York Times
The unkempt hordes were treated to something akin to a complete victory when the Jets beat the New England Patriots Sunday 28-14. There were smiles of relief on the faces on fans departing the stadium Jets fans are compelled to share with New York's older, more storied franchise. But Serious Questions regarding the injuries to Darrelle Revis, Nick Mangold, Jason Taylor remain, as do concerns over the very existence of a team that a better class of New Yorkers regard as one would the development of a neck goiter.
The New York Jets were very nearly the same team that lost to the Baltimore Ravens last week - unimaginative, incoherent, bloated, loutish, confused, disoriented, and profane - yet somehow, through the mystical works of a universe guided by what appeared to be chance, the defense continued its relentless pressure against Tom Brady in almost the same way that the better-known New York franchise did two Super Bowls ago. Whether or not the Jets' defense would have been distracted by the presence of either of the women with whom Brady has produced children is uncertain. The verdict still remains on the attention span of such a Jets team, and thankfully Bill Belichick presented his detested rival with merely the Patriots' expected lineup. In this sense, one cannot entirely see the Jets' two-touchdown win as a complete victory over a vastly superior Patriots club.
Randy Moss scored his 150th touchdown, a stellar catch made with one hand - gesture that seemed destined to rank among the best of his Hall of Fame career. Meanwhile, the Jets did some things right. They completed passes, their offseason acquisition gained 76 yards on the ground, and the secondary appeared to be in the right places at the right times. That the Patriots did not score the entire second half signified that either the Patriots were doing poorly or that the Jets did well. Jets fans - corpulent, uneducated and rough - may have regarded it as a victory. Less partisan onlookers were prone to scratch it up to an unfortunate stroke of good fortune.
"When Moss got behind Revis to make a one-handed catch for a 34-yard touchdown," wrote George Vescey of this same publication, "the Jets had seemed to be in big trouble in their new home, with their own glib words coming back to haunt them." But even Vescey was forced to agree that the Jets had the game in hand by the fourth quarter. And to do it, "they didn’t need the reality-show language and bluster they exhibited on the television show Hard Knocks....The Jets did not need to make a spectacle of themselves, either on television or in their own locker room," he added, shaking his head in disappointment at the Jets' apparent victory.
The behavior of their coach, their assistants, and players in the presence of Ines Sainz continues to haunt the team. Even avid fans like Martin Roche, whose Jets blog has changed names too many times for the Times to count, has spoken out against the organized harassment of Sainz: "This is the kind of thing that makes me wonder why football itself is of more importance to me than issues of sanitation in the Third World."
The Times spends a great deal on its football coverage itself when its award-winning columnist Nicholas Kristoff is practically earning a Nobel Prize for Peace, and it makes the men who cover the Jets feel a crisp sense of shame that a good showing over the Patriots cannot help quell. In fact, Jets victories only seem to make it worse. The question is not so much whether or not the Jets can sustain their success without Darrelle Revis (a question they were wondering during training camp anyway) but whether or not the success the Jets have will force to compel a reader of the Times to imagine the distinctly unpleasant possibility witnessing a victory parade down Broadway filled with heavy men in Broadway Joe shirts.
Fortunately history tells us that the Jets won't get that far. Nevertheless, Times sources inside the Bloomberg government indicate that the current state of the city's economy would prohibit such a celebration.
Unless, of course, the Yankees repeat.
The unkempt hordes were treated to something akin to a complete victory when the Jets beat the New England Patriots Sunday 28-14. There were smiles of relief on the faces on fans departing the stadium Jets fans are compelled to share with New York's older, more storied franchise. But Serious Questions regarding the injuries to Darrelle Revis, Nick Mangold, Jason Taylor remain, as do concerns over the very existence of a team that a better class of New Yorkers regard as one would the development of a neck goiter.
The New York Jets were very nearly the same team that lost to the Baltimore Ravens last week - unimaginative, incoherent, bloated, loutish, confused, disoriented, and profane - yet somehow, through the mystical works of a universe guided by what appeared to be chance, the defense continued its relentless pressure against Tom Brady in almost the same way that the better-known New York franchise did two Super Bowls ago. Whether or not the Jets' defense would have been distracted by the presence of either of the women with whom Brady has produced children is uncertain. The verdict still remains on the attention span of such a Jets team, and thankfully Bill Belichick presented his detested rival with merely the Patriots' expected lineup. In this sense, one cannot entirely see the Jets' two-touchdown win as a complete victory over a vastly superior Patriots club.Randy Moss scored his 150th touchdown, a stellar catch made with one hand - gesture that seemed destined to rank among the best of his Hall of Fame career. Meanwhile, the Jets did some things right. They completed passes, their offseason acquisition gained 76 yards on the ground, and the secondary appeared to be in the right places at the right times. That the Patriots did not score the entire second half signified that either the Patriots were doing poorly or that the Jets did well. Jets fans - corpulent, uneducated and rough - may have regarded it as a victory. Less partisan onlookers were prone to scratch it up to an unfortunate stroke of good fortune.
"When Moss got behind Revis to make a one-handed catch for a 34-yard touchdown," wrote George Vescey of this same publication, "the Jets had seemed to be in big trouble in their new home, with their own glib words coming back to haunt them." But even Vescey was forced to agree that the Jets had the game in hand by the fourth quarter. And to do it, "they didn’t need the reality-show language and bluster they exhibited on the television show Hard Knocks....The Jets did not need to make a spectacle of themselves, either on television or in their own locker room," he added, shaking his head in disappointment at the Jets' apparent victory.
The behavior of their coach, their assistants, and players in the presence of Ines Sainz continues to haunt the team. Even avid fans like Martin Roche, whose Jets blog has changed names too many times for the Times to count, has spoken out against the organized harassment of Sainz: "This is the kind of thing that makes me wonder why football itself is of more importance to me than issues of sanitation in the Third World."
The Times spends a great deal on its football coverage itself when its award-winning columnist Nicholas Kristoff is practically earning a Nobel Prize for Peace, and it makes the men who cover the Jets feel a crisp sense of shame that a good showing over the Patriots cannot help quell. In fact, Jets victories only seem to make it worse. The question is not so much whether or not the Jets can sustain their success without Darrelle Revis (a question they were wondering during training camp anyway) but whether or not the success the Jets have will force to compel a reader of the Times to imagine the distinctly unpleasant possibility witnessing a victory parade down Broadway filled with heavy men in Broadway Joe shirts.
Fortunately history tells us that the Jets won't get that far. Nevertheless, Times sources inside the Bloomberg government indicate that the current state of the city's economy would prohibit such a celebration.
Unless, of course, the Yankees repeat.
Selasa, 14 September 2010
It's hard to write about a football team you love and care about in a blog without sounding pathetic and redundant. I'm going to be perfectly honest about that. I'm tired of writing about my feelings regarding this team when, well, to tell the truth, I'm too screwed up about how I feel during the season to really express any coherent thoughts. I'm a mess every weekend worrying about them, and the better they have to potential to be, the lousier I feel. I get this blank expression on my face most of the time, hanging around in my 12 or 28 jersey staring at the TV set, hoping for something that won't make me wince rather than hoping for a big play that will make me happy.
Which was appropriate for Monday night's game to be sure. It was painful, gut-wrenching. Not fun stuff. I figured out my next door neighbor was a Ravens fan. He has been kind enough not to gloat. But then this wasn't a blowout. The Ravens just strangle their opponents like a boa constrictor, watching the light in its prey's eyes slowly die out before ingesting it whole. He was worried that he was being too loud. He wasn't. When Kyle Wilson committed the pass interference that help set up the Ravens' lone touchdown, I took the Lord's name in vain so loudly that my wife told me that I sounded like the kind of man whom neighbors think beats his wife.
The Jets committed 14 horrible fouls throughout, the kind that reminded me of the heavily penalized teams of the early 80's that had all the potential to win the division but none of the luck or the discipline. The did talk big, they did swagger, and eventually all they did was make other teams shake their heads in bemusement. Nineteen eighty, Walton's first season, Parcells' last and Mangini's second - they all had the kind of promise that went into this new year, and they all leave my personal history with this team feeling empty and meaningless.
And then there's Inez Sainz. Of course my first reaction to all of this was to recall those whorish-looking babettes jiggling in front of the cameras during World Cup coverage on Univision and Telemundo. Still, wrong is wrong. In one week, the Jets coaches and players behaved in a way that has been rightly deemed inappropriate. (deep breath here) Even Rush Limbaugh said it was wrong to catcall Inez Sainz, although the next day he did say that the Jets were "celebrating her body." I mean, Rush is scumbag, after all. Still, when he's right, he's....well, never mind. The problem isn't really that a team of inhumanly sized men made animal farm noises at Mexico's idea of female sideline journalist, which includes a booty about which men with gold teeth often wax poetic. The real problem is that these two phenomena are made for each other in a sport mostly celebrated by lumpy and fat men like me. It's all wrong. Just all wrong.
I got sick watching the Ravens game, so I don't even know what I'll be like for New England on Sunday. I can't really write about it anymore. I've just got to go back to numbers, sweet numbers, because the past is filled with a disappointment that is comprehensible because it already happened, while the nature of the future's disappointment is unpredictable, leaving me with feelings of unspeakable dread. I believe what I'm actually describing is what my mental health care specialist would refer to as trauma. Ah well. Now let's go eat a god@#$ed snack.
Which was appropriate for Monday night's game to be sure. It was painful, gut-wrenching. Not fun stuff. I figured out my next door neighbor was a Ravens fan. He has been kind enough not to gloat. But then this wasn't a blowout. The Ravens just strangle their opponents like a boa constrictor, watching the light in its prey's eyes slowly die out before ingesting it whole. He was worried that he was being too loud. He wasn't. When Kyle Wilson committed the pass interference that help set up the Ravens' lone touchdown, I took the Lord's name in vain so loudly that my wife told me that I sounded like the kind of man whom neighbors think beats his wife.
The Jets committed 14 horrible fouls throughout, the kind that reminded me of the heavily penalized teams of the early 80's that had all the potential to win the division but none of the luck or the discipline. The did talk big, they did swagger, and eventually all they did was make other teams shake their heads in bemusement. Nineteen eighty, Walton's first season, Parcells' last and Mangini's second - they all had the kind of promise that went into this new year, and they all leave my personal history with this team feeling empty and meaningless.
And then there's Inez Sainz. Of course my first reaction to all of this was to recall those whorish-looking babettes jiggling in front of the cameras during World Cup coverage on Univision and Telemundo. Still, wrong is wrong. In one week, the Jets coaches and players behaved in a way that has been rightly deemed inappropriate. (deep breath here) Even Rush Limbaugh said it was wrong to catcall Inez Sainz, although the next day he did say that the Jets were "celebrating her body." I mean, Rush is scumbag, after all. Still, when he's right, he's....well, never mind. The problem isn't really that a team of inhumanly sized men made animal farm noises at Mexico's idea of female sideline journalist, which includes a booty about which men with gold teeth often wax poetic. The real problem is that these two phenomena are made for each other in a sport mostly celebrated by lumpy and fat men like me. It's all wrong. Just all wrong.
I got sick watching the Ravens game, so I don't even know what I'll be like for New England on Sunday. I can't really write about it anymore. I've just got to go back to numbers, sweet numbers, because the past is filled with a disappointment that is comprehensible because it already happened, while the nature of the future's disappointment is unpredictable, leaving me with feelings of unspeakable dread. I believe what I'm actually describing is what my mental health care specialist would refer to as trauma. Ah well. Now let's go eat a god@#$ed snack.
Minggu, 05 September 2010
NY Jets #24 - Part 2
"Who? I don't know who that it is. Once I step on the field it doesn't matter who's out there. I don't pay attention to numbers or names. I go out there and I focus on what I'm supposed to do. That's not a slight on him, or whoever he is. I just go out there and play football."
- Terrell Owens, quoted in Newsday, November 21, 2007
I'll tell you who. Contrary to the above sentiments of everybody's favorite sufferer of undiagnosed bipolar depression, our work is very much dedicated to to paying attention to numbers and names. And the man about whom Terrell Owens was speaking that day was Darrelle Revis, our current #24. The Cowboys made mincemeat of the Jets on Thanksgiving Day 2007. Owens scored one touchdown, and Revis had five tackles, but now, after three seasons we know exactly who that is.
One of the first things Rex Ryan said when he was first hired was that Darrelle Revis was the best cornerback in the game. I thought, well, maybe someday. And someday was last year, at which point he made himself the central point of one of the year's best defenses. Behold. His remarkable domination of Ochocinco in the season's last game and against the Chargers in the playoffs were things to which Jets fans are unaccustomed. We are accustomed to Bill Romanowski speaking ill of us and then pounding us in the divisional round. Revis' interceptions are like works of leaping, pirouetting choreography. He is a star. We have so few in the history of these numbers and names. This is what one looks like. This is no Albert Haynesworth. This is Darrelle Revis. That's who, Terrell. That's who.
Until the summer, and apparently now this season of 2010, rumors swirled that this was the week when Revis would sign for the team, but as Jets fans know, if an essential piece of a championship is missing, it will stay missing. I'm terrified now that it's all too late; that Revis has missed too much and won't be as effective as he would ordinarily have been. I know Rex Ryan has done much to bluster away the long, stale fog of bad fortune in our franchise's narrative, and he was right to insist in episode 1 of Hard Knocks that one man does not a team make. But he was also right in saying that Darrelle Revis is the best cornerback in the NFL, and among Jets fans, such a one is so unique that we cannot help but believe that one man will make all the difference. For so long, on any given Sunday, 11 men seemed to make absolutely no difference whatsoever. So why not one? This isn't a logical thing.
I wish they had signed him back sooner than Labor Day 2010. The club that keeps track of its conscession (sic) stats even in preseason should have been able to dig very, very deep much earlier and given one of its best investments exactly what he richly deserves. Yes, a contract is a contract, but as the white collar parasite CEO's of America will tell you (between taking sips of infant blood in diamond-studded carafes) there are always exceptions for people who are deemed indispensable. The Don Drapers of the world. I believe Darrelle Revis will be the last #24 in New York Jets history. That's what's important here. I don't want to have to write about another one. Call it greed or call it righteous indignation on his part. I believe Darrelle Revis is entitled to whatever he wants. If his contract made a specific demand that my Toyota Corolla to be handed over to him just so that he could bring it to his estate and light it on fire in front of his mighty entourage as a sacrificial sign of his power and glory, then that's fine. He can have it. (A talented colleague of mine has enabled you to see this conjured image for yourself). I can get up an hour early each day and take two trains to work. I just need the Jets to have a shot at the division before the 2011 lockout. As I would watch each station pass on the sunrise elevated blue line and stare out of its yellow windows, I would think to myself, "No, no. This is right. This is as it should be. This is good."
****
And now another modern football tale of, well, what else? - money. Salaries, the cap to supposedly contain them, the question of honor - all of these things are relative in the the angst-ridden world of pro football management. Number 24 Ty Law was a victim of franchise anxieties about the cap in New England and with the Jets. His one season with us was 2005, arguably his best as a pro. He had 10 interceptions, one of which was a stellar touchdown return against the Patriots the day after Christmas - a gift of sorts for Mr. Law because a year before, the Patriots had wanted to renegotiate with him to put themselves back under the cap. Bruised, he said that a "bridge was burned" with the Pats. Anybody who says this is fine by me. And what better way to celebrate this fissure with the Devil than with this belated Christmas gift of a touchdown pick?
But then of course the Jets made him a victim of the cap's anxieties a year later, and so Law went to play for another Jets-rejecting coach at Kansas City, Herman Edwards. Then in 2008 Law wanted back in New England. Bridge burned, bridge rebuilt.
The story becomes all the more poignant, or more likely cruel, when we consider the case of #24 Ray Mickens. As we mentioned, to cover themselves with the salary cap, the Patriots let Ty Law go in 2005, and the Jets picked him up. This made Ray Mickens, one of my personal favorite secondary players, very happy for the help he'd get in the secondary. "Unselfish one day," Karen Crouse wrote in the Times, "unemployed the next." With Law on the team just before the 2005 season, the Jets needed to fix their cap problems, and so they released Mickens and gave Law his number. After a year in Cleveland with no interceptions, the Jets resigned Mickens in 2006, ten years after Ritchie Kotite first drafted him. Then they immediately released Ray Mickens again. He was then picked up by New England to play four final games of his career with them in 2006. If these fellows did not make at least a million a year, I would almost bemoan the quandaries that the cap creates, but these guys know that it's not personal. Bridges never actually burn in the first place. That's the reality, and while the cap may theoretically encourage some parity among teams, most teams like the Jets achieve and lose that parity within a year or two partly because of these very issues.
BUT WAIT!! The rebuilt bridge got burned again!! Ty Law came back once more. He got signed by the Jets to play against the Pats the week of 11/10/08. "I know they're going to throw at me," he said to ESPN, "but I welcome the challenge -- bring it. I got the tricks for you." Ty Law seems to have retired after a year with Denver. He wore #22 while with the Jets again, and #26 with Denver.
Did you know that Darrelle Revis grew up in the same small hometown of Aliquippa, Pennsylvania as Ty Law? And that Revis also chose #24 as a tribute to the elder Law? "That's my little boy," Law said of the younger Revis. Even Darrelle Revis was somebody's little boy once. But wherever Ty Law is, wherever he goes, one thing's for sure. As soon as he's back working in anyone's lineup, for anyone, the laws of the universe will require that Ray Mickens will have to be released from something somewhere. A marriage. A prison. A demon. A job. A cobra's grip.
- Terrell Owens, quoted in Newsday, November 21, 2007
 |
| "Who?" |
One of the first things Rex Ryan said when he was first hired was that Darrelle Revis was the best cornerback in the game. I thought, well, maybe someday. And someday was last year, at which point he made himself the central point of one of the year's best defenses. Behold. His remarkable domination of Ochocinco in the season's last game and against the Chargers in the playoffs were things to which Jets fans are unaccustomed. We are accustomed to Bill Romanowski speaking ill of us and then pounding us in the divisional round. Revis' interceptions are like works of leaping, pirouetting choreography. He is a star. We have so few in the history of these numbers and names. This is what one looks like. This is no Albert Haynesworth. This is Darrelle Revis. That's who, Terrell. That's who.
Until the summer, and apparently now this season of 2010, rumors swirled that this was the week when Revis would sign for the team, but as Jets fans know, if an essential piece of a championship is missing, it will stay missing. I'm terrified now that it's all too late; that Revis has missed too much and won't be as effective as he would ordinarily have been. I know Rex Ryan has done much to bluster away the long, stale fog of bad fortune in our franchise's narrative, and he was right to insist in episode 1 of Hard Knocks that one man does not a team make. But he was also right in saying that Darrelle Revis is the best cornerback in the NFL, and among Jets fans, such a one is so unique that we cannot help but believe that one man will make all the difference. For so long, on any given Sunday, 11 men seemed to make absolutely no difference whatsoever. So why not one? This isn't a logical thing.
 |
| Darrelle Revis, contractually satisfied (a dramatization). |
 |
| Ty Law |
And now another modern football tale of, well, what else? - money. Salaries, the cap to supposedly contain them, the question of honor - all of these things are relative in the the angst-ridden world of pro football management. Number 24 Ty Law was a victim of franchise anxieties about the cap in New England and with the Jets. His one season with us was 2005, arguably his best as a pro. He had 10 interceptions, one of which was a stellar touchdown return against the Patriots the day after Christmas - a gift of sorts for Mr. Law because a year before, the Patriots had wanted to renegotiate with him to put themselves back under the cap. Bruised, he said that a "bridge was burned" with the Pats. Anybody who says this is fine by me. And what better way to celebrate this fissure with the Devil than with this belated Christmas gift of a touchdown pick?
But then of course the Jets made him a victim of the cap's anxieties a year later, and so Law went to play for another Jets-rejecting coach at Kansas City, Herman Edwards. Then in 2008 Law wanted back in New England. Bridge burned, bridge rebuilt.
 |
| Ray Mickens |
BUT WAIT!! The rebuilt bridge got burned again!! Ty Law came back once more. He got signed by the Jets to play against the Pats the week of 11/10/08. "I know they're going to throw at me," he said to ESPN, "but I welcome the challenge -- bring it. I got the tricks for you." Ty Law seems to have retired after a year with Denver. He wore #22 while with the Jets again, and #26 with Denver.
Did you know that Darrelle Revis grew up in the same small hometown of Aliquippa, Pennsylvania as Ty Law? And that Revis also chose #24 as a tribute to the elder Law? "That's my little boy," Law said of the younger Revis. Even Darrelle Revis was somebody's little boy once. But wherever Ty Law is, wherever he goes, one thing's for sure. As soon as he's back working in anyone's lineup, for anyone, the laws of the universe will require that Ray Mickens will have to be released from something somewhere. A marriage. A prison. A demon. A job. A cobra's grip.
NY Jets #24 - Part 1
 |
| Leon Burton |
 |
| Freeman McNeil |
In 1992, Freeman McNeil was also the named person representing the players' interests in the McNeil vs. NFL case that helped rule against the NFL's efforts to sustain parity among teams by protecting up to 37 players from free agency, aka Plan B. The court ruled in favor of the players headed by McNeil, the man with the historically appropriate name of Freeman. As with Curt Flood, the ruling in McNeil's favor came too late, for that same year McNeil retired.
 |
| Freeman McNeil (at his most calm) |
"My wife has a rule," says Freeman, 38. "No smoking in the house, or around the children. So I go outside with my Peterson and a cup of Earl Grey tea with sweet milk. It's very soothing. I'm at my most calm when I'm relaxing with my pipe and my tea."
When are you at your most calm? Are you ever at that point? I don't think I really have an answer to that. There's jogging, yoga, reading, biking, writing, meditation, but I haven't the discipline for any of these as consistently as I'd like. One presumes Freeman McNeil does some of those things in retirement even still. But would you begrudge this man his pipe? Not if you're a fair person. Not by a long shot. He looks too pleased with retirement for you to step in and be just another person to talk to him about the distant possibility of mouth cancer. Hell, no. He can keep smoking. He's Freeman McNeil.
****
 |
| Artimus Parker (not deceased) |
 |
| (deceased) |
Was the late Johnny Sample really a dirty ball player? Number 24 was certainly confrontational, but in light of the more egregiously gruesome displays put on by Jack Tatum and the like, Sample was more of a trash talker than a "dirty" player, whatever that means. He relentlessly pushes and needles Fred Bilentnikoff after the play is done throughout the 1968 AFL Title Game, but it was Randy Beverly who tried to trip Fred's legs after he caught a Raiders touchdown in the first half. Sample was clearly a character absolutely indispensable to the Jets' morale in Super Bowl III, hectoring his former teammates on the Colts. After intercepting the ball near the Colts' goal line, Sample decorously places the ball on Willie Richardson's head.
Sample passed away last year. In an interview during NFL's Greatest Games discussion of Super Bowl III, done while Sample was still alive, Tom Matte insists that he would never speak to Johnny Sample if he saw him. His reasoning derives, we presume, in no small way from the event that transpired between the two during the game. In pursuing Matte during a 58 yard run, Sample failed to stop himself and apparently stepped on Matte's groin when Matte went down, compelling the offended party to get quickly to his feet and, accidentally, knock a few of an official's teeth out in the ensuing but brief donnybrook.
 |
| Johnny Sample did not step on Tom Matte's groin |
It was strange for Jim Tiller, too, the second #24 in franchise history - a man with 11 games with the New York Titans to his NFL record, 43 yards rushing, no touchdowns. According to Titans' press material on Tiller, he "worked as a social worker during the offseason." It's not exactly the field of work I see football's toughest players going into, which might explain the terrible Titans that much more. But if Harry Wismer was in charge of dispensing information on his players to the press, can we ever really know the veracity of this information? Henry Ford was right. History is bunk.
Sabtu, 21 Agustus 2010
NY Jets #19 - Part 2 (Includes Profanity)
While riding Amtrak from Philadelphia to Penn Station in the spring of 2000, a guy in the seat directly behind me, who certainly sounded at high decibel like someone from Jamaica, was nearly spitting in my ear while conversing to the person on the other end of his cell phone. He insisted, time and time again, that The Bitch left him with nothing. The bitch took his money. All his money.
"What am I gonna do?" he asked, over and over again - not so much even to the lucky person on the other end after a while, it seemed, but to the world and to God. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"
It went on like this the whole way. It was OK at first, maybe around Croydon, but it was really old by the time we reached Newark. I couldn't move my seat; there was nowhere else available in the car, and I wasn't about to risk losing it in an effort to look through the crowded train just because I couldn't stand hearing it over and over. The bitch left me with nothing. Nothing. What am I gonna do? New York wasn't far by then.
Finally, New York. I got up, and as he and I exited to our separate ways at the station, he caught sight of my New York Jets t-shirt and addressed me in a familiarly distressed tone, as if it were part of his ongoing troubles:
"No!"
I looked at him.
"Holy shit. What the fuck they gonna do without Keyshawn, now? Huh? They are so fucked. What they gonna do?"
Well, we know what Keyshawn Johnson #19 did. He won a Super Bowl with Tampa Bay that the Philadelphia Eagles should gone to and won. I still resent him for leaving the Jets for more money, more respect, more rings the way that I resented John Riggins for doing the same in 1976. But then Keyshawn went and got kicked off the Bucs a little while afterward. He was the first player of this era to whom I had ever heard of this happening. But regardless of where he went, Keyshawn was, deep down, always that petulantly difficult author/rookie on a 3-13 team. He was tall and singularly self-possessive to the point of narcissism, which laid the groundwork for all the headcase wide receivers to come - Randy Moss, Terrell Owens, Ochocinco, Braylon Edwards - and yet the Jets have not had a receiver of his caliber and height since then (including Braylon Edwards) so my friend on the train was right to worry after all.
The only thing he really did wrong was to slam Wayne Chrebet - someone who came to the Jets as a walk-on and not a first-round draft choice - in his 1995 book. And then, after being picked up by Tampa Bay, Keyshawn compared himself to Chrebet by saying. "You're trying to compare a flashlight to a star. Flashlights only last so long, a star is in the sky forever." Their careers are the same number of seasons, with Keyshawn finishing with 814 catches in 162 games, whereas Chrebet finished with 580 in 152. Hardly a star to a flashlight. To this day, Keyshawn's unkind words about Chrebet provide the lone basis for my judgment of him. You can see Keyshawn Johnson on ESPN as a talking head on Sundays, wearing the inexplicably bad suits that they put their talking heads in, but no one will retire his number anywhere because he could never be a part of a team for long enough.
Wayne Chrebet has lost a great deal more. He has lost much of his memory and cognitive function due to the frequency with which he was pounded on the field, and unlike Keyshawn, Wayne Chrebet will be immortal with us, for whatever that is worth to Wayne. Number 80 hasn't been worn by anyone lately, and it should be retired by Wayne Chrebet's only team. Star to a flashlight indeed.
****
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.
Number 19 and former Jets quarterback Malcolm Wood's nickname is "Dick."
When did the name "Dick" became something a widely understood slang - scurrilous, profane and insulting? It must have been somewhere around the early-70's, after the declarations of the sexual revolution, just after the Nixon Administration, about when I first became a Jets fan. I don't exactly know when in grade school I first learned that among all the terms for the male member the most notable was "dick," but its usage was widening fast. Thus, when Dick Cheney became Vice President, the name and its bearer were already so inextricably linked as to be anticlimactic, redundant. Of course he was a dick. What kind of man shoots his friend in the face? Now I'm worried that Cheney's complete and overall dickness as a Dick has actually softened the impact of this all-purpose slur.
But talk about redundancy and bad luck, how about "Dick Wood?" When he was drafted in 1959 by the Baltimore Colts, the name Dick was perceived as no more poisonous to the common person than a basement lined with asbestos. But by 1979, most of my classmates named Richard were already nicknamed "Rich" or "Richie." Nobody was a Dick anymore. But Malcolm Wood was still Dick. That wasn't going to change just because society did.
Today the use of "dick" has been expanded to encompass the usage as noun, verb, and adjective - all pejorative, all useful, while "Dick Wood" is now the kind of name that intramural college whiffleball teams give themselves. Among Dicks, Dick Wood is still a lesser figure, despite throwing the first touchdown at Shea Stadium and being the most traveled quarterback among different AFL teams, which, when you think about it, may not be all that much of a compliment.
Yet he retains a distinction of having a name that scores high in repressed giggles, along with names that are even funnier, like Dick Trickle of NASCAR or Dick Pole of the Red Sox and Mariners in the 70's. And interestingly enough, Dick Wood coached his way back to the Jets, as running backs coach for a Richard - Ritchie - Kotite's 3-13 squad of 1995. Just a couple of Dicks.
"What am I gonna do?" he asked, over and over again - not so much even to the lucky person on the other end after a while, it seemed, but to the world and to God. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"
It went on like this the whole way. It was OK at first, maybe around Croydon, but it was really old by the time we reached Newark. I couldn't move my seat; there was nowhere else available in the car, and I wasn't about to risk losing it in an effort to look through the crowded train just because I couldn't stand hearing it over and over. The bitch left me with nothing. Nothing. What am I gonna do? New York wasn't far by then.
Finally, New York. I got up, and as he and I exited to our separate ways at the station, he caught sight of my New York Jets t-shirt and addressed me in a familiarly distressed tone, as if it were part of his ongoing troubles:
"No!"
I looked at him.
"Holy shit. What the fuck they gonna do without Keyshawn, now? Huh? They are so fucked. What they gonna do?"
Well, we know what Keyshawn Johnson #19 did. He won a Super Bowl with Tampa Bay that the Philadelphia Eagles should gone to and won. I still resent him for leaving the Jets for more money, more respect, more rings the way that I resented John Riggins for doing the same in 1976. But then Keyshawn went and got kicked off the Bucs a little while afterward. He was the first player of this era to whom I had ever heard of this happening. But regardless of where he went, Keyshawn was, deep down, always that petulantly difficult author/rookie on a 3-13 team. He was tall and singularly self-possessive to the point of narcissism, which laid the groundwork for all the headcase wide receivers to come - Randy Moss, Terrell Owens, Ochocinco, Braylon Edwards - and yet the Jets have not had a receiver of his caliber and height since then (including Braylon Edwards) so my friend on the train was right to worry after all.
The only thing he really did wrong was to slam Wayne Chrebet - someone who came to the Jets as a walk-on and not a first-round draft choice - in his 1995 book. And then, after being picked up by Tampa Bay, Keyshawn compared himself to Chrebet by saying. "You're trying to compare a flashlight to a star. Flashlights only last so long, a star is in the sky forever." Their careers are the same number of seasons, with Keyshawn finishing with 814 catches in 162 games, whereas Chrebet finished with 580 in 152. Hardly a star to a flashlight. To this day, Keyshawn's unkind words about Chrebet provide the lone basis for my judgment of him. You can see Keyshawn Johnson on ESPN as a talking head on Sundays, wearing the inexplicably bad suits that they put their talking heads in, but no one will retire his number anywhere because he could never be a part of a team for long enough.Wayne Chrebet has lost a great deal more. He has lost much of his memory and cognitive function due to the frequency with which he was pounded on the field, and unlike Keyshawn, Wayne Chrebet will be immortal with us, for whatever that is worth to Wayne. Number 80 hasn't been worn by anyone lately, and it should be retired by Wayne Chrebet's only team. Star to a flashlight indeed.
****
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.
Number 19 and former Jets quarterback Malcolm Wood's nickname is "Dick."When did the name "Dick" became something a widely understood slang - scurrilous, profane and insulting? It must have been somewhere around the early-70's, after the declarations of the sexual revolution, just after the Nixon Administration, about when I first became a Jets fan. I don't exactly know when in grade school I first learned that among all the terms for the male member the most notable was "dick," but its usage was widening fast. Thus, when Dick Cheney became Vice President, the name and its bearer were already so inextricably linked as to be anticlimactic, redundant. Of course he was a dick. What kind of man shoots his friend in the face? Now I'm worried that Cheney's complete and overall dickness as a Dick has actually softened the impact of this all-purpose slur.
But talk about redundancy and bad luck, how about "Dick Wood?" When he was drafted in 1959 by the Baltimore Colts, the name Dick was perceived as no more poisonous to the common person than a basement lined with asbestos. But by 1979, most of my classmates named Richard were already nicknamed "Rich" or "Richie." Nobody was a Dick anymore. But Malcolm Wood was still Dick. That wasn't going to change just because society did.
Today the use of "dick" has been expanded to encompass the usage as noun, verb, and adjective - all pejorative, all useful, while "Dick Wood" is now the kind of name that intramural college whiffleball teams give themselves. Among Dicks, Dick Wood is still a lesser figure, despite throwing the first touchdown at Shea Stadium and being the most traveled quarterback among different AFL teams, which, when you think about it, may not be all that much of a compliment.
Yet he retains a distinction of having a name that scores high in repressed giggles, along with names that are even funnier, like Dick Trickle of NASCAR or Dick Pole of the Red Sox and Mariners in the 70's. And interestingly enough, Dick Wood coached his way back to the Jets, as running backs coach for a Richard - Ritchie - Kotite's 3-13 squad of 1995. Just a couple of Dicks.
Jumat, 20 Agustus 2010
NY Jets #19 - Part 1
Someone very close to me has a quote he uses almost unselfconsciously to describe his reaction to the status of life in general, and his words become more and more important to me as I get older. Is est quis est. It is what it is.
It's another version of Doris Day's que sera, sera, but with a little more acceptance of the present, not just the future, as an uncontrollable element of life. It is what it is. What is it? What it is. Accept it or not. It is only what it is - which is what it already is. This is not to rhetorically say, in the manner of Peggy Lee, est ut totus illic est ("Is That All There Is?") for what is is not actually all there is, but what is is what is.
Back in the early 1970's, it was common to greet someone with, "What it is?" as in "What's happening?" but the question soon became a statement - less a curious interrogative than a declarative of preemptive mutual acceptance: "What it is, my man." Slang changes quickly, though, and "What it is" is now long dated even among my Me Generation colleagues at work.
When I think about American culture in the span of my 41 years, I have to admit how much has changed in just the last decade. This morning, I corresponded with three people via Facebook and e-mail, whereas at college in the late 80's, I had to speak on the phone, by mail, or by face-to-face contact, none of which I'm particularly good at. This was also the case in 1971, when Chris Farasopoulos #19 first joined the New York Jets. In a very short period of time, within the last ten years, the world has gotten better at accommodating hermits like me. I'm not entirely sure that this is a step forward for civilization, but I am of a mind that all forms of progress - with the exception of cul-de-sac track housing and Twitter - are to the benefit of humanity. And it is what it is, anyway.
Two years ago, when I first did research on Chris Farasopoulos, I found a story that says he was initially offered a baseball contract with the Baltimore Orioles, which he apparently turned down because they asked him to shorten his name.
He refused. It is what it is, he said. Accept what it is or not. Can you imagine any sports team trying to pull that today? Ask Troy Polamalu, whose hair is allowed to conceal his own name on his jersey and nearly his number. Times have changed for the better in a short span.
Of course, there's always the chance that the Orioles may simply have been trying to be polite in saying that Farasopolous' long "ethnic" name was the problem when it might, for all we know, have been his lack of ability, although that's a strange way of being polite. Luckily, the New York Jets were a team that welcomed eccentrics and individualists, so they were certainly capable of accepting someone on the squad whose only peculiarity was that he was born in Greece. Did Farasopolous feel cheated later that decade when Jon Lowenstein was allowed to keep his name on the back of his Orioles jersey? Does he feel cheated by progress' ironic sense of humor, especially when the Jets are a contender in their sport now (which wasn't the case in the 70's) but the Orioles are not? Nowadays the O's would take a Sri Lankan bowler like Muthumudalige Pushpakumara if they thought he could throw a curveball.
****
I don't have children, but if I had produced a son by some accident and were allowed to give him a name, it would almost certainly be Laveranues. It's a first name you can never spell correctly the first time. Laveranues Roche.
Sometimes people leave your life, then they come back. Then they leave again. Then they come back again. This is our team's relationship with Laveranues Coles, now #19. As we know, when he played for the Jets time and again, Coles wore #87. We wore #80 for the Redskins and #11 for the Bengals. David Clowney wears #87 for us now, and numbers 82 and 88 are taken by tight ends this summer. I think Number 80 has been kept special (though not retired) in the wake of Wayne Chrebet, as is #85, (for Wesley Walker). Dustin Keller is #81. Jerricho Cotchery is #89. That still left #84 and #83. Is it an insult to wear a number too close to your old number? I'm not going into why I disapprove of receivers wearing such low numbers. I just do. There's precedent for it, but linemen don't wear any numbers in the 80's anymore, so there's plenty of those ten digits to go around these days on any given squad, even with more tight ends than there were in the old days. A receiver shouldn't wear a quarterback's number. That's not the way God made us.
(NBC lists Coles' 1999 near $400 discount at Dillard's as one of the most bizarre sports scandals of all-time, which is silly. How many of us have received discounts from friends working at a major chain? When I was in grad school I got a $3.23 employee discount on a copy of Richard Bausch's Violence from a guy who worked at Borders back in 1992. Does that make me a criminal? Likewise who can blame Coles for stealing? College students and graduate students do their work for nothing, after all)
Coles' receiving numbers are a little bit better than most receivers. Compare him to - or confuse him with - Santana Moss who was drafted by the Jets out of the University of Miami a year after Coles (and who mocked him with a Dillard's bag, no doubt) and for whom he was once traded back to the Jets later on; we see that Coles' numbers are statistically better. Would it therefore have been an insult to wear #83, the number of a player for whom you were once traded by very same team that signed you on again, and then again?
It's actually nice to have Coles back one more time. He felt loyal to Chad Pennington in 2008 when people like me were willing to let him go in favor of Brett Favre. He never really seemed to buy Favre's act, and now it's fashionable for everyone to turn their nose up at Brett. He also sang with Elmo, which my wife loves. When sports figures really aren't supposed to admit any level of vulnerability, he also had the courage to open up about being a victim of childhood sexual abuse: it is what it is, he seemed to say, in hopes of helping others to come to terms with accepting what it is, too.
His second reappearance with us signals the twilight of his career, which I suppose explains why he wears a number that's, well, just available. He admitted that this is the end for him and that he will probably be gone as soon as Santonio Holmes is ready to play again. When you have to give up your old number to David Clowney, you know you are very near done. Other than giving up his old number, he is willing to accept what it is and that what will be, will be. Is est quis est quod quis ero, ero.
It's another version of Doris Day's que sera, sera, but with a little more acceptance of the present, not just the future, as an uncontrollable element of life. It is what it is. What is it? What it is. Accept it or not. It is only what it is - which is what it already is. This is not to rhetorically say, in the manner of Peggy Lee, est ut totus illic est ("Is That All There Is?") for what is is not actually all there is, but what is is what is.
Back in the early 1970's, it was common to greet someone with, "What it is?" as in "What's happening?" but the question soon became a statement - less a curious interrogative than a declarative of preemptive mutual acceptance: "What it is, my man." Slang changes quickly, though, and "What it is" is now long dated even among my Me Generation colleagues at work.When I think about American culture in the span of my 41 years, I have to admit how much has changed in just the last decade. This morning, I corresponded with three people via Facebook and e-mail, whereas at college in the late 80's, I had to speak on the phone, by mail, or by face-to-face contact, none of which I'm particularly good at. This was also the case in 1971, when Chris Farasopoulos #19 first joined the New York Jets. In a very short period of time, within the last ten years, the world has gotten better at accommodating hermits like me. I'm not entirely sure that this is a step forward for civilization, but I am of a mind that all forms of progress - with the exception of cul-de-sac track housing and Twitter - are to the benefit of humanity. And it is what it is, anyway.
Two years ago, when I first did research on Chris Farasopoulos, I found a story that says he was initially offered a baseball contract with the Baltimore Orioles, which he apparently turned down because they asked him to shorten his name.
He refused. It is what it is, he said. Accept what it is or not. Can you imagine any sports team trying to pull that today? Ask Troy Polamalu, whose hair is allowed to conceal his own name on his jersey and nearly his number. Times have changed for the better in a short span.Of course, there's always the chance that the Orioles may simply have been trying to be polite in saying that Farasopolous' long "ethnic" name was the problem when it might, for all we know, have been his lack of ability, although that's a strange way of being polite. Luckily, the New York Jets were a team that welcomed eccentrics and individualists, so they were certainly capable of accepting someone on the squad whose only peculiarity was that he was born in Greece. Did Farasopolous feel cheated later that decade when Jon Lowenstein was allowed to keep his name on the back of his Orioles jersey? Does he feel cheated by progress' ironic sense of humor, especially when the Jets are a contender in their sport now (which wasn't the case in the 70's) but the Orioles are not? Nowadays the O's would take a Sri Lankan bowler like Muthumudalige Pushpakumara if they thought he could throw a curveball.
****
I don't have children, but if I had produced a son by some accident and were allowed to give him a name, it would almost certainly be Laveranues. It's a first name you can never spell correctly the first time. Laveranues Roche.
Sometimes people leave your life, then they come back. Then they leave again. Then they come back again. This is our team's relationship with Laveranues Coles, now #19. As we know, when he played for the Jets time and again, Coles wore #87. We wore #80 for the Redskins and #11 for the Bengals. David Clowney wears #87 for us now, and numbers 82 and 88 are taken by tight ends this summer. I think Number 80 has been kept special (though not retired) in the wake of Wayne Chrebet, as is #85, (for Wesley Walker). Dustin Keller is #81. Jerricho Cotchery is #89. That still left #84 and #83. Is it an insult to wear a number too close to your old number? I'm not going into why I disapprove of receivers wearing such low numbers. I just do. There's precedent for it, but linemen don't wear any numbers in the 80's anymore, so there's plenty of those ten digits to go around these days on any given squad, even with more tight ends than there were in the old days. A receiver shouldn't wear a quarterback's number. That's not the way God made us.
(NBC lists Coles' 1999 near $400 discount at Dillard's as one of the most bizarre sports scandals of all-time, which is silly. How many of us have received discounts from friends working at a major chain? When I was in grad school I got a $3.23 employee discount on a copy of Richard Bausch's Violence from a guy who worked at Borders back in 1992. Does that make me a criminal? Likewise who can blame Coles for stealing? College students and graduate students do their work for nothing, after all)
Coles' receiving numbers are a little bit better than most receivers. Compare him to - or confuse him with - Santana Moss who was drafted by the Jets out of the University of Miami a year after Coles (and who mocked him with a Dillard's bag, no doubt) and for whom he was once traded back to the Jets later on; we see that Coles' numbers are statistically better. Would it therefore have been an insult to wear #83, the number of a player for whom you were once traded by very same team that signed you on again, and then again?
It's actually nice to have Coles back one more time. He felt loyal to Chad Pennington in 2008 when people like me were willing to let him go in favor of Brett Favre. He never really seemed to buy Favre's act, and now it's fashionable for everyone to turn their nose up at Brett. He also sang with Elmo, which my wife loves. When sports figures really aren't supposed to admit any level of vulnerability, he also had the courage to open up about being a victim of childhood sexual abuse: it is what it is, he seemed to say, in hopes of helping others to come to terms with accepting what it is, too.
His second reappearance with us signals the twilight of his career, which I suppose explains why he wears a number that's, well, just available. He admitted that this is the end for him and that he will probably be gone as soon as Santonio Holmes is ready to play again. When you have to give up your old number to David Clowney, you know you are very near done. Other than giving up his old number, he is willing to accept what it is and that what will be, will be. Is est quis est quod quis ero, ero.
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