I am a New Yorker. I watched the 0-4 New York Jets beat the 3-2 Dallas Cowboys two days ago. I HATE the Jets! Well, actually, that’s not true. The fact is, I’ve tried to abandon the Jets for 45 years. I just can’t let go of them. Here is why.
In 1974, as a wee lad ten years old, I sat down next to Joe Namath at a bar/restaurant. Picture this scrawny 10-year-old kid sitting next to the quarterback of the New York Jets who won Superbowl 3 in 1968. I mention “bar/restaurant” because there was one seat between him and most of the starting offense at the time at the bar, and my mother somehow managed to get me into that seat. So I roll up on Joe with a big swag, ordered a Jack & Coke, and… well, not really. I was completely star-struck. Speechless. Here in front of me is a living legend and after he asked me my name, the next thing I remember is smelling salts and mom’s gentle gaze.
I’ve faced death, divorce, cancer, and betrayal – but nothing has been more demoralizing than being a New York Jet fan since 1974. I mean, I would go as far to say I’ve had an exceptional life — grew up in the Hamptons, finished flight school, shot award-winning commercials, raced motorcycles – but being a New York Jet fan has hung a black cloud over my head that not even Sam Darnold’s masterful 24-22 victory over Dallas could erase. [but man, that felt good].
But here is the real reason I can’t let go: that memory in that bar with Joe reminds me of my mother and father and brother growing up together in Long Beach, New York. It reminds me of watching Joe Namath and the Jets with my dad on Sundays. It reminds me of home.
I know – with some good Cognitive Behavioral Therapy – I could probably stop the moaning and let them go. But I just can’t let it go. Actually, it’s not that I can’t. It’s more like I won’t.