IN THE VALLEY OF TEARS

Or, the Jets didn’t make it to the Super Bowl.

I spent every Sunday watching them, every play, every mis-play, and every word they stated. I rooted with the Macaroni Man, #1 Son, and alone, and I even attended a game due to the wonderful gift from #1 Son for Christmas.




On the last Sunday two weeks ago, I even wore my Jets shirt, which I had won at a raffle, along with my autographed Joe Namath football only to witness the final blows of the price they paid for sloppy, uninspired motivation for a first half of the game. I don’t usually wear jerseys, with some jock’s name on the back, never have, never will, but this was something else. (I do love baseball hats, though)

I have been a Jet fan ever since they had day one, and were called the New York Titians, and did a strange thing, like playing in New York.



When they moved out of Shea Stadium for New Jersey, I vowed I would become a Buffalo Bills fan; after all, they played in New York State, they didn’t leave me for New Jersey! But it wasn’t the same, and so it didn’t work out, since the heart was still connected to the Jets.

And so, like my Brooklyn Dodgers, and my New York Islanders, and like my New York Mets, not to mention the New York Knicks, I will accept defeat once again. I will bow my head down in deep sorrow, cry, wring my hands and swear off sports, because my team loses all the time.


In all the years I have rooted, and for all the teams, my teams have won only eight or nine championships! That is very little over 65 years for that many teams, and So, no more sports watching for me. My Sundays will be spent in deep reflection and prayer, and I will dedicate myself to listening to TLW (The Little Woman), as she remakes me into a new man, by watching “Complete Makeover, and Flip This House.

There will be no more sports pages, or sports shows, or sports period. (Is that redundant, using the word with the symbol?)

This time I mean it.

Spring training begins in about 9 days.