I Quit The Jets

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The Jets have made me hate football. I don’t even care about other games anymore.

Worse, the Jets have also made me hate some of my life choices, like why I’m still a Jets fan. The franchise, headed by Trust Fund idiot Woody Johnson, obviously doesn’t care about its fans. Otherwise, he’d sell the team.

Instead, he (and his family—Woody was away for a few years serving as United States Ambassador to the United Kingdom during the first Donald Trump term—that should explain a lot about a person who was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple) has bungled the operations to the point where the Jets hold the longest playoff drought of any team among the four major pro sports leagues at 15 seasons. Only once in that span did they even post a winning record.

And they keep hitting new lows. Going the whole season without an interception is this year’s Razzie equivalent. The Jets go through GMs, coaches, players, etc., and nothing changes. Hence, the cliched Same Old Jets refrain can never retire.

I feel saddest for those who continue to expend money, not just time, to watch this team. I was a season ticketholder for a few years in the 1990s when each game cost $15. I don’t know what relative percentage increase the Jets’ charged to watch this 3-13 disaster, but I’d bet it was an exponential factor over the country’s inflation rate. What a waste.

Given the number of Patriots fans in attendance for Sunday’s noncompetitive 42-10 blowout in Gang Green’s home finale, I’m hoping some season ticketholders were at least made whole for the day as opposed to being forced to give them away.

I stopped watching Sunday’s embarrassment from home after Jets rookie Head Coach Aaron Glenn called a timeout with 1:25 remaining in the first half. New England had previously marched down the field with ease for four consecutive touchdowns and probably were ready to take their foot off the gas and go into halftime with a 28-3 lead. But since Glenn opted to extend the torture, the Patriots obliged, scoring again six snaps later.

Enough. No mas. Jets fans are inherently loyal creatures, but I can’t keep doing this to myself and my family. I don’t like how I let the frustration from pining for at least one trip to a Super Bowl in my limited remaining lifetime build inside me.

My New Year’s resolution is to let the Jets go. I can follow from a distance, but as for organizing my Game Days around their schedule, that’s over.

I quit the Jets.

I have some experience with this from when I was furious over Major League Baseball’s 1994 strike. I was once a fervent Yankees fan; I’ve been a casual observer since, even through that generation’s glory years. I have zero remorse about that—and if you Jets fans think that this cut-off will similarly reverse the curse hanging over your franchise, by all means feel free to bet on it.

As for Jets coverage on this forum, I will still occasionally opine on certain topics like a major organizational change. I may even do a Mock Draft. However, I will leave the detailed data mining and analysis to the host of dedicated content providers available to you in this vast media landscape. Good luck to all who choose to continue to endure the mental punishment.

And for the record, Sunday’s result put me: 10-6 versus the spread, 13-3 money line.