THE FATALISTS

It was the last Sunday of the old 2009-year, as I sat in front of my TV. Surrounded by #1 Son, (Anthony), The Macaroni Man (Chris), his fiancé Kim, and a new addition that evening, my God-son and Nephew, my older sister’s (much older) son: John.

We were all awaiting the Jets game to start, as they would take on the favorite Colt’s with their 14-0 record vs. the Jet’s 7-7 record. The predictions were pretty obvious ones from all in attendance.

Chris had declared the Jets losers, way back in August when he saw the schedule for the season, and continued his mantra up until game time. John was a Steelers fan: based on names from the 1970’s roster that he liked, and just to be a pain-in-the-ass, and #1 Son and myself were desensitized, dye-in-the-wool, Jets fans. We were used to bleeding and sobbing.

The game started and we waited to get crushed. We would bleed with our boots on, our plane was ready to dive once more into a ship, our pistols loaded with one last bullet for ourselves. TLW (The Little Woman), the only one smart enough not to root, had reserved rooms at the local hospital, and was stocked with plenty of first aid. Having been married to me for so many years, she knew, between the Jets and Mets, what she needed to do.

But something strange happened. Something so unexpected, that it left us all in a stunned silence! When the game was over, the had Jets won! (The last sentence was not a typo) God deemed it THAT I HAD SUFFERED! (At least until the playoffs) The Colts had done the unthinkable, taking out their starters, their stars and putting in scrubs for the duration, as they held a 6-point lead!

Of course dear readers, this is the truth, and here is another. Because God took pity on us JETS fans, we will probably be condemned for another 45 years without a Super Bowl! I will try to live that long!