the winter of my discontent

1969 seems like a very long time ago, especially if you were born in 1976
16 regular season games, nine victories including a gift by the Colts right around Christmas Time, a rookie QB who poses in his underwear, a rookie coach who nobody wants to see in his and a swarming no-nonsense defense.

The season ends like every other one, with a bitter loss and there is yet another winter when there will be another team and another group of fans celebrating with the Lombardi trophy. I’m sure that in two or three days, you can look back and smile when thinking about the season but I also know that today it feels like a kick to the gut which hurts worse than the BBQ I had last night. Jets fans know how to lose, they know not to expect too much and they know that they shouldn’t count their blessings. Jets fans like to lose, like the feel down and have self-pity because it’s the only thing we know. Whether it’s bringing in old man Favre or that fat guido Vinny T the faces change but the results stay the same. It’s a funny thought but every single year 31 teams are disappointment but some teams know how to twist the knife around a bit better than others. The season ends with only four wins or twelve the result is always the same because both years are disappointing. You wait for next year but you always expect the other shoe to drop, you watch your buddies who have been able to celebrate three Superbowl victories in your lifetime yet they still find more pleasure in your misery than their own success. You replace your Keyshawn Jersey with a Vilma Jersey and your Vilma Jersey with a Sanchez one knowing that by wearing it you’re pointing the obvious out to the world, that you love pain.

You are only guaranteed 16 games each season so you have to hold each one dear since you know a 10 loss season is just as likely as a 10 win one.

You do smile when you think about the fat coach, the smarmy QB and the menacing defense but more than anything you smile because you feel like you’ve seen this movie before. When you have a team whose biggest tradition in disappointing, its fan base has an intimate relationship with misery.

This year the Saints get a shot, next year it’ll probably be the Falcons or the Chargers or the Eagles but really they don’t know your pain they don’t know what it feels like to be brought to the mountaintop and then have the carpet pulled from underneath you again.

Or maybe they do.