Football is no longer the working mans sport. Not since the punks began perfecting then parading their punknicity, and the broadcast networks provided us with giggling fools to praise such antics. The ratings plummet but the game remains a rich mans plaything so it endures. That and gambling. Take away the Sunday morning spread, shut down the Vegas football pools, and the NFL would lose a third of it's audience overnight.
In 1969 I made a bet with a friend who didn't make it back from the rice paddies. If the Jets won the Super Bowl I'd root for them the rest of my life. That's how sure I was they'd be creamed, that's why I follow them to this day, and that's why the latest coaching fiasco is dreadful.
Herm Edwards, Mr. Clueless, is leaving the Jets and were I still in NYC I'd throw him the going away party of going away parties. The Jets and Kansas City Chiefs are working on a fair price for his services, so expect the Jets to receive a bag of slightly used balls and a half-season supply of Gatorade as compensation for his skiping town and moving to Arrowhead Stadium.
The reason the Jets are the way they are? No home games. No feeling of permanence. No brick and mortar to call their own. They rent space from the Giants and play "home" games in Giant-Stadium. All the other teams fire THEIR coaches, but the men who design the Jet X's and O's leave on their own. Everyone likes having a place that's all theirs, and college football stars that make it into the NFL are particularly prone to the dearth of rah-rah that permeates the tradition laden stadiums of other teams. And until the Jets get a building with their name on it, they'll continue to be the hobo's of the league and players and coaches will come and go as they please, with nary a look in the rearview.
New York Daily News - Home - Gang ready to Jettison Herm
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