Some people are fans of the New York Jets. But many, many more people are NOT fans of the New York Jets. This 2018 Deadspin NFL team preview is for those in the latter group.
Your team: New York Jets.
Your 2017 record: 5-11. Last year I thought the Jets had the worst roster in football history and that they’d struggle to win a single game, and every Jets fan took me aside and they were like, “No no no no no, you don’t get it. They’re gonna meaninglessly overachieve just to fuck up their draft position,” and LO AND BEHOLD. You people know your team all too well.
So let’s not go overboard and declare that 5-11 a feel-good 5-11. The Jets still managed to pack plenty of Jetsiness into last season. For example, their best offensive player turned out to be a thoroughly deranged asshole who allegedly threatened an officer that he would find the cop’s wife, “fuck her and nut in her eye.” Their fans couldn’t name five players on the team. Their offensive coordinator gave up and ran the ball while down 20-0 against a 4-12 Denver squad because he didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Ghosts invaded Jeremy Kerley’s urine. They traded for a new cornerback without bothering to tell the head coach. Bryce Petty couldn’t put his helmet on:
Also, the catch rule robbed them of a comet-rare opportunity to beat their [can barely contain laughter] “rivals,” the Patriots. Because they’ll never win anything of actual consequence, the success of any Jets season is basically dependent on them salvaging a split with the Patriots during the regular season. You should see Jets fans anytime they manage to stay within 10 points of Belichick. They are fucking BEAMING with pride. That whole stadium gets loaded and does the Truffle Shuffle. They act like they just won the Presidency. Then the refs botch a call and the team melts. It’s the most pathetic routine in all of sports. This year I look forward to the Jets mounting a 13-0 lead against Brady’s backup in Week 17, just enough of a lead to get Sal from Piscataway to brandish his dick at a cheerleader, only to end up losing 48-13.
By the way, I’m still dying at Darrelle Revis’s retirement. Revis is arguably the best Jet ever, which means NOTHING, and his career highlight is winning a Super Bowl with the fucking Patriots. The best part was when the Jets honored him by dumping a bunch of sand in their lobby:
I bet that idea sounded much cooler on paper. I know exactly who had to clean that sand up, too…
Your coach: It’s Todd Bowles! How’s it feel to still be in charge, Todd-o?
This guy always looks like he just discovered an unexpected surcharge on his phone bill. But that’s not all, Jets fans. The team also retained general manager and Values Voter Summit attendee Mike Maccagnan!
That’s a man who definitely thinks vapers are the most oppressed members of American society. The duo of Bowles and McCcccccagnagnagnao’ghan have won 10 games and been outscored by 218 points over the past two years, but Woody Johnson was apparently too busy raising his sons to be assholes and scouting out Irish golf courses for Trump that he didn’t bother jettisoning these two puds. Instead, the Jets gave Bowles and The Guy Who Drafted Christian Hackenburg a whole new cycle of roster development, starting with…
Your quarterback: MY SON!!!!!
Awwww, look at my boy! He’s got his father’s chin, you know.
Let me tell you something: when you trade three second-rounders to move up three spots, and the dude you end up drafting looks like a drunk teenager at a Nantucket wedding, you’ve made a terrible mistake. Granted, the Jets were wise to get rid of all their second rounders, because everyone they’ve ever drafted in that round ever has been a bust, but still. Last season Sam Darnold threw 13 picks and fumbled 12 times in 14 games. A USC quarterback with a fumbling problem? WHERE HAVE I SEEN THAT BEFORE?
It never gets old. If we were talking about Lamar Jackson, that kind of regression on the field would have dropped a QB down into the third round. Instead, every NFL scout was like LALALALALALA ALL I REMEMBER IS THAT ONE ROSE BOWL LALALALALA and Darnold got cloud-soft profiles like this one:
Sam Darnold is boring. We might as well get that out of the way… Southern Cal’s redshirt sophomore quarterback doesn’t tweet. He doesn’t talk shit… In the modern world of Sports Mythology: 101, Sam Darnolds are increasingly rare specimens. There’s a playbook, written long ago and perfected lately by LaVar Ball, that demands our offspring live and die with a gilded mojo and chosen sport.
You hear that, LaVar Ball? My son is an ANGEL. For real though, I am dumber for having read that, and I will be dumber for having watched Sam Darnold turn the ball over 87 times this coming season. Darnold, by the way, has already defied Jeff Pearlman’s character study by holding out of camp like a GLORY BOY instead of the supposed tape monk he’s being portrayed as above. Every other team in the world drafts a QB high and signs him instantly thanks to the rookie cap. Somehow the Jets failed in even this most rudimentary task because of course they did.
The good news for you Jets fans is that, even if Darnold stinks, you no longer have to pretend that Bryce Petty was worth a shit. He’s with Miami now, and Christian Hackenberg is out of the league entirely after the Raiders needed just three weeks to figure out what the Jets needed two whole seasons to learn. Both those men were sunk costs from the beginning, and they have now been replaced by glass-boned sweetheart Teddy Bridgewater and 72-year-old man Josh McCown. I fully expect Josh McCown to be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame once his career ends because he will talk to any NFL writer at any time about anything. We could learn a lot from this … [checks notes] career 80.8-rated passer. If I read one more story about what a great mentor he’ll be to Darnold, I will shit in Fireman Ed’s hat.
What’s new that sucks: The Jets exist in a perpetual state of building for the future but also making a handful of token WIN NOW moves so that the tabloids stay interested and no one involved gets fired. So say hello to Trumaine Johnson, who will get $26 million this season to have MetLife patrons hurl beers at him and tell him that he’s no Revis. Terrelle Pryor is also here. You have to work very hard to regress as a player after LEAVING the Browns, but I saw it happen with my own eyes last year. Pryor played like the ball was made of fucking anthrax.
They also brought in free agent running back Isaiah Crowell, but I promise you that they’ll still manage to throw the ball 50 times a game anyway. Matt Forte retired, hopefully to take courses in graphic design. After spending years inexplicably feuding with their own defensive tackles, the Jets divested themselves of both Sheldon Richardson and Muhammad Wilkerson and now have a Goatse-sized hole in the front seven to show for it. HOORAY! I know the cooler Johnson brother is currently housesitting the franchise, but trust me, they will still find a way to Jets all this up.
Mike Francesa quit and then un-quit because no one else would hire him. Mike Francesa has a mouth full of veneers and a head full of soup.
What has always sucked: I think it’s time we all admitted the truth, which is that New York sucks. This isn’t an opinion. It’s supported fact now. Everything that used to make the city good—the people, the food, the energy—has been wiped out. The subway doesn’t work. All the interesting people got priced out of the tri-state area entirely and were forced to relocate to, like, Detroit. The restaurants are boilerplate high-end Vegas garbage. Linebacker Dylan Donahue got loaded and drove the wrong way through the Lincoln Tunnel because that is now, by far, the most efficient way of getting around town. Everything is soaking wet ALL THE TIME. Nothing works. The only people left are billionaire dipshits and angry men in construction helmets. All the new real estate in town consists of 71-story luxury condo towers with one apartment per floor, each occupied for three weeks a year by the hideous nephew of some Uzbek cobalt magnate. New York City, itself, has become the Jets of cities: an expensive, boring wreck.
What might not suck: This is the first time in a very long time when you Jets people could say, “Hey, at least we’re not the Giants.” Savor it. It won’t last.
Let’s remember a Jet who sucked: To me the quintessential sucky Jet will always be Browning Nagle, because he was someone who clearly had NO potential and yet Jets fans expected the world of him anyway. Without Browning Nagle, there is no Bryce Petty. The man was a trailblazer.
HEAR IT FROM JETS FANS!
Darnold’s face mole bothers the absolute fuck out of me.
I married into this shit & it’s going to be a long marriage every fall.
Jamal Adams is going to hold out in two years Revis-style and then win five rings with the Pats.
In 2010, I watched the Jets win their biggest game in my lifetime, and I went home and cried. It was a divisional playoff game.
Somebody asked me last year what I would do if the Jets moved out of NY or stopped existing. I thought for a moment and said, “Holy shit. I’d be free.”
We drafted Christian Hackenburg in the 2nd round.
Seriously, at this point the NFL might as well reserve the 6th pick for the Jets in advance of every season.
I stepped in vomit at the Dennis Byrd game and it’s the most connected I’ve ever felt to this franchise.
As a result of the Christian Hackenburg Experience, I now have draft-related PTSD and can’t get even a little bit excited about Darnold’s potential.
I actually would take Rex Ryan back.
Whenever there’s a USC QB on the board whose weaknesses are accuracy and decision-making, the Jets can’t possibly pass that up.
Mark Sanchez is the second most successful quarterback to play for the Jets and he’s most famous for running into the ass of his own offensive lineman.
Each season the Green and White becomes replaced with a numbing grey…
Getting to and from the Meadowlands is such a pain in the ass that I’ve willingly gone up to Buffalo from Long Island each of the past two years to go to a Bills game instead of going to a Jets one. Both games were cold and rainy and the Bills lost those two games by a combined score of 88-35.
I still feel like I made the right decision.
Even with three decent QBs on the roster, I half expect a freak accident where all three QB’s get hurt and we have to sign someone like Brandon Weeden.
Fuck The Pats.
The Jets gave Hackenburg every chance they could in the preseason to win the job. They played him in every game and gave him first team reps all through camp. He was so bad that he’ll end his career having never taken a regular season snap.
When the Jets re-signed Revis a few years ago, I went to the bodega with the express purpose of buying a NYDN in order to commemorate the occasion. I don’t remember if I thought the Jets would be good that season—I just remember feeling hopeful and sated in a way no Jets fan deserves. Revis lasted ⅗ of one season before falling off a cliff, but that day at the bodega was probably my 6th-happiest moment as a Jets fan. First is last year’s Super Bowl, because I’m a fucking loser.
Early in the Buttfumble Game, after we’d coughed up a kick return the Pats returned for six, my aunt said, “They’re having a bad night.” In my response to this perfectly fine comment, I barked a sarcastic “THANKS” at her. Furious, my mom sent me to the basement to watch by myself. I was 22 years old. Despondent, I brought a bottle of wine downstairs—a bottle I immediately spilled everywhere while watching the buttfumble in real time. I spent hours cleaning the carpet with a horrible hangover the next day. The moral of this story is not, “This team makes me drink!” The moral is that I am a piece of shit who belongs in a basement.
I first started to think about why the Jets suck on August 11, 2016, a little before 7:00PM. I had just got out of my office elevator and turned towards the exit. I wasn’t going to get home in time for the preseason game, so I was going to go to a local sports bar and watch it there with friends. But when I turned, I saw two guys in Jets jerseys. One was wearing a Santonio Holmes Jersey. The other was wearing a Hackenberg jersey. These two douchebags were like the Ghost of Jets Seasons Past and the Ghost of Jets Seasons Future coming to tell me that it was all a lost cause.
I never made it to the bar. My friends don’t know where I went. I just got hammered somewhere and woke up on Saturday with a raging hangover. The eleventh of August 2016 was a Thursday.
They’ll have more cap space than anyone else next offseason, but we’re already prepping for the marquee free agents to all pass up massive paydays. Cousins and Suh did it this year and there isn’t enough money in the world for Le’veon Bell to sign here.
I go to four Jets games a year with my Uncle, his buddy and his buddy’s 12 year old son. As my Uncle and I have a few beers, his friend tries to set an example for his son by proudly proclaiming “You see son, Daddy doesn’t need to drink to have a good time.” We had earlier caught him popping a handful of Percocet in the car while we were buying charcoal.
I was born into a Giants family. I could be basking in the glow of 5 Super Bowl appearances (4 of them wins!) during my lifetime. Alas, I chose to punch myself in the dick repeatedly.
In the mid-nineties, my dad, knowing that I loved the Jets, generously took me to my first NFL game. Rich Kotite’s Jets vs. pre-Peyton Colts. The Jetswent up 17-0 and then 21-3 at halftime. It was exciting. My dad said “this game is over, let’s beat the traffic.” So we left, and then as we sat on the Jersey Turnpike in bumper to bumper traffic, I listed on the radio as the Jets blew the lead and lost in OT, 27-24. This team hasn’t stopped fucking me since.
I’m a fan of a baseball team that, so far this season:
– Had a star pitcher get diagnosed with hand, foot, and mouth disease
– Has a star pitcher with a sub-2 ERA and only is 5-5
– It’s star outfielder comes back after 2 months on the DL, homers, and then reveals after the game he needs double heel surgery
– Batted out of order
– Started 12-2 and ended May with the worst record ever after starting 10+ over .500
– Set a major league record for ineptitude of batting average on a homestand
And yet, somehow, someway, I’m still dreading the Jets season more. Todd Bowles just decided to punt again.
Sam Darnold’s career won’t truly begin until he’s pile-driven all the way to China in Week 1, never to be heard or seen from again.
Josh McCown continues to exist as a man who plays in the National Football League largely because the Jets exist.
I am forever alone in my fanhood.
Every Thanksgiving I sit down to watch football and know I will get to watch at least three replays of the butt fumble. People forget that the Patriots scored three TDs in 52 seconds directly after the ButtFumble, and Tebow chants were heard before halftime. I got very drunk.
Fuck Bill Simmons with Josh McDaniels’s head.
I took my son to his first Jets game in 2002, where they took on Drew Bledsoe and the Buffalo Bills. My 7-yr-old son in his Curtis Martin jersey is having the time of his life at his first tailgate with his old man and we’re so excited taking the escalator together up to our seats when we became aware of the true personification of a Jets fan. This drunken behemoth was immediately ahead of us on the escalator, which made him seem 8 feet tall and 400 lbs. He was wobbling back and forth and I was fearful he would fall and crush my son and another 10 Jets fans below him, but instead he managed to stay upright and sing a cute little diddy in honor of my kids’s maiden Jets appearance. To the tune of Camptown Races he sang out at the top of his lungs, “Bledsoe takes it up the ass, DOO DA, DOO DA, Bledsoe takes it up the ass, all the DOO DA DAY!”.
I still to this day see the confused look of horror, fear, and amazement in my kid’s eyes. Come to think of it, that was the same look he had on his face when we watched the Buttfumble during Thanksgiving 2012.
You know they’re going to completely ruin Sam Darnold by putting him into a game too soon, benching him after he throws four picks in a quarter, letting their patchwork OL get both of Bridgewater’s knees torn, and relying on Josh McCown for another glorious 5-11 season, where they win just enough games to make sure they don’t get a top draft pick.
The highlight of being a Jets fan this century is beating the Patriots in the AFC divisional round — that’s it. And I barely remember that game. I wish we had a miraculous moment to remember forever but NOPE even our biggest wins were just like, good defense and Mark Sanchez avoiding mistakes.
The Jets suck because they gave up three second-round picks to move up three spots to #3 in a draft in which there were five QB prospects deemed capable of becoming competent NFL starters but none are sure things. The Jets suck because an idiot asshole like me better understands the value of draft picks than does the Jets’ front office. And hey screw Woody Johnson, I hope that Trump-enabling stooge stays in England and chokes to death on a fish and chip.
This guy used the same fake, poorly spelled names on multiple witness reports he never actually took. Allegedly.
I was so dead certain that they were going to fuck up and draft Josh “If it ain’t white, it ain’t right!” Allen that I’m almost disappointed by their competence.
Woody Johnson’s brother volunteering to pay anthem protest fines is great and all, but I’m sure Woody will match (or double) anything anyone pays in ICE donations, too.
Can’t wait to go 5-11 again with Bowles blankly staring on!
Here is a history of QBs the Jets have drafted since the salad days of Ken O’Brien:
- Christian Hackenberg
- Bryce Petty
- Tajh Boyd
- Geno Smith
- Greg McElroy
- Mark Sanchez
- Erik Ainge
- Kellen Clemens
- Brad Smith
- Brooks Bollinger
- Chad Pennington
- Chuck Clements
- Glenn Foley
- Jeff Blake
- BROWNING NAGLE
- Troy Taylor
- Bill Ransdell
This is a draft history ineptitude unparalleled in its longevity and consistency. It’s the Cal Ripken Streak of Shitty QB Drafting. I sometimes wish I’d grown up a Bills fan.
When I was 7 years old, my dad bought two season tickets to the New York Jets. Every game, at the end of the second quarter, my dad and I would trek over to Gate D so he could have a smoke. This was in the old Giants Stadium which had the spiral ramps at each corner of the field. Arriving at the Gate D spirals, we would walk into a scene of unthinkable debauchery.
The drunken kelly green masses would chant at any woman passerby to flash the crowd. On plenty of occasions, they’d be obliged. Meanwhile, the crowd would gather around the inner spiral and throw dollar bills down the middle. Any dopes at the bottom who made a run for the money as it landed would be pelted with all manner of projectiles and debris from up high. If you were a fan of the visiting team, you might have your hat ripped off your head and thrown down the center as well.
Some weeks, the crowd would become absolutely frenzied. My dad, looking out for me, would always put me on his shoulders so I’d have a good view.
The Gate D halftime show happened every single home game, regardless of the weather, regardless of the score. Of course, years later, the rise of the internet and YouTube helped spread the word and shame security into clamping down and putting an end to the spectacle. Later, they would put up chain link fencing around the inside of the spirals. They eventually tore the whole stadium down for good measure.
It’s not the team that’s cursed. It’s the fan base. And we deserve everything that we get.
I’m now done enough mental gymnastics to convince myself that I root for the woke team.
Even my friends, who are all complete fucking assholes, are tired of making fun of me for being a Jets fan.
Fuck Woody Johnson upside down in the ass with a funnel and pour in baby shampoo till it’s coming out his nostrils.
There are so many fun moments to choose from, but my own personal hell came in 2010. That year, we were 9-2 going into our game at the Patriots – tied for first! We had already taken them down early in the season, the Sanchize was riding high in his 2nd year, and this was going to be the year we took down the Pats and won the AFC East. The game was on Monday night, and I settled in to watch it in my college apartment. My roommate had just gotten a new girlfriend, and the 2 of them, despite not caring about football at all, joined me on the couch.
So the game starts, and of course it doesn’t go well since it’s a Jets-Pats game in primetime. No buttfumble needed here, just a run of the mill destruction. We’re down 17-0 after the first quarter, with one of the NE TD’s coming off a 12-yard shanked punt deep in our own territory. Meanwhile, my roommate and his girlfriend have lost all interest in the game and are focused only on each other. Some important facts:
· I was well known for being incredibly conflict-averse in college, and my friends all knew that would never confront them about anything they did, no matter how annoying. At worst I would slink away and just not talk to them for a while. I can honestly count the number of times I’ve yelled at someone in anger on one hand, and had never done so in front of any of my college friends
· Our couch was not a big couch
· We’re all sharing the same couch
· My roommate and his girlfriend are both larger people, and they are not sitting vertically like well-behaved humans, so I am shoved into a corner
· They’re not even making out like typical horny college kids. That would be acceptable. Instead, they’re fucking tickling each other on the couch, so they keep squirming and kicking and whacking me like lunatics
I managed to sit there and take it as they screamed and yelled like children, stewing more and more. But as Brady threw his 250th career TD to put the Pats up 24-3 midway through the 2nd quarter, as the announcers continued sucking his dick, as we saw our hopes of winning the division fade away, I finally lost it.
I honestly don’t even remember what I said, exactly. I think it was about three year’s worth of pent up frustrations with his lack of respect for personal space, his inability to ever do the dishes, how he never paid for booze, how I thought their improv shows were terrible, and they needed to stop fucking tickling each other while I was trying to watch the game, all amplified by the deep depression of seeing my favorite team revert back into their true selves once again at the hands of the dreaded Patriots. In my memory I ranted for a whole half, because I don’t remember anything else from the game. I do remember how they were so terrified of seeing their usually passive, non-aggressive friend turn into a raging monster that they didn’t even go to his room, but sat there in silence for the rest of the game, watching the Jets finish off a 45-3 shellacking. So that satisfaction was nice.
Also, that season, despite being one of the 4 times in my life I’ve ever turned to open aggression, is arguably the 2nd best season in Jets history, and the last time we made the playoffs. J-E-T-S!
Submissions for the 2018 Deadspin NFL previews are now closed. Next up: Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
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