I went to the disaster known as a New York Jets game this past Sunday. The inept offense allowed the not-real-good Carolina Panthers to leave New Jersey with a victory.
It was an ugly affair. The redeeming events were that I went with my daughter who, because of a stress fracture on her left heel, was on crutches and needed to sit in a handicap seating area, which was in the sun for the entire game and allowed us to have mid-October tans.
I knew when the Livingston, New Jersey Marching Lancers Band received a rousing ovation for their performance before the start of the game, it might be an omen. Which it was. Just not in the Jets favor.
The only things which went right for NYJ were a field goal and two reviews after Head Coach Aaron Glenn tossed the red flags. Otherwise, it was more dreadful football by the guys in Green and White.
But what touched me was something which appeared on the video board during a time out. There was a salute to a 92 year old fan with a Jewish surname who has been a Jets fan since 1960, the year the team came into existence as the New York Titans and played its games at the Polo Grounds, the former home of the New York Giants—both baseball and football varieties.
This man was there with his extended family for the game. It seemed like he never missed a game in his nearly 66 years of team loyalty.
Which made me think. A lot. About myself and my relationship with the New York Jets.
I had been enthralled with sports at an early age. Television in the New York area was saturated with games of the local teams plus some national games, especially in hockey. My youth included Yankees, Mets, New York Football Giants, New York Rangers and New York Knicks games in person and even a trip to Philadelphia in 1959 to see the Los Angeles Dodgers. It was fun. It was exciting to see the games in person and to hear the roar of the crowd.
In 1977, when I was just beginning my career at the New Jersey Office of the Public Defender, my sister and I made the decision to become more than TV fans. While the Giants had a waiting list for season tickets which reached into the years before your name might be called for available seats, the Jets, now in the National Football League and playing at Shea Stadium in Queens, had immediate ticket availability.
So we became more than casual TV fans. We made trips every Sunday to Flushing, either driving the Long Island Expressway after navigating the Lincoln Tunnel to Midtown, or taking the packed subway, which included the infamous number 7 train and its curve nearing Queensboro Plaza.
Jets gear and paraphernalia began to integrate into my life. My Fall and into Winter centered around the home schedule. It became a ritual that has lasted 49 onerous years, with only some winning to compensate for the losing—especially including this year.
What I have observed over my time in Queens and in New Jersey when the team moved away from Shea Stadium and the unfavorable conditions they had as a second tier tenant, is a love and dedication for the team. Supporters clad in team colors populate the parking lots. There is a vocal, guttural sound which comes from within the stadium when the chant J-E-T-S is formalized. There is a joy in the tailgating, even if the season is dismal, as good food of all varieties and alcohol can overcome seemingly perpetual dejection.
I have been seated in three locations at the three stadiums which the Jets have called home. Only in the section I presently have seats do I not recognize people who also have season tickets.
For me, it has become an addiction to remain a Jets fan. Sitting in cold weather when the team is not making the playoffs, bundled up in thermal wear and heated gloves, shoes and socks is a true dedication to the team. Or is my going in the frigid weather simply trying to recoup the significant financial investment of my season tickets? I have become that much more jaded about being a NYJ fan because of all of the losing.
Yet there are plenty of people like the older gentleman and his family who have a vested interest in cheering for the team. From wherever they come, they cling to the hope of a better day, a victorious result and the friendships they have perpetuated.
It’s hard sitting through an unbearable season. I did it once in 1996 when the Jets went 1-15. Each coaching and management change becomes the next step in extricating the franchise from its losing ways.
I saw this during my tenure at Madison Square Garden in the ten years when we shared New York Rangers tickets. Talk about a loyal and faithful bunch, wearing hockey jerseys to the games, rooting fervently for a franchise which, during the time I was there (1977-1986), was trying to reverse the jinx of not having won the Stanley Cup since 1940. Almost always sold out, the Garden would rock, especially during the playoffs or when the team faced long-standing rivals like the Original Six teams, or newer (and sometimes much better) enemies like the New York Islanders or Philadelphia Flyers. It was an intensity I can never forget and still be amazed by how the relationship has endured from generation to generation.
The hockey fan mentality of the Garden made its way to New Jersey when the Devils were established. A new breed of anti-Rangers was born, not unlike the separatists on Long Island when the Islanders were formed. No less noisy and fervent, the Devils fans were able to witness winning the Stanley Cup before the Rangers did, just as the Islanders fans had.
Whether it was 40 games to see in hockey or just 8 football games, it becomes a full and complete part of one’s life. It is no different with Rutgers fans and the alumni who populate SHI Stadium or Jersey Mike’s Arena. They pay ridiculous prices to support an athletic program which appears to be destitute, many of them fans of the Jets, Giants, Devils, Rangers or other local teams.
Being a Yankees fan at least brought more success. Certainly more than the Mets, whose initial years were anything but pretty.
For many who sought championships, the New York Yankees were the team in baseball, like the Boston Celtics, Los Angeles Lakers and Chicago Bulls were in pro basketball or the Montreal Canadiens in hockey, with some winning seasons by the Islanders and Edmonton Oilers and Pittsburgh Penguins. Those in other cities had to bide their time.
Wearing the pinstripes with the interlocking NY was a right of passage. Many former and present Yankees players were Yankees fans as kids—Gerrit Cole, Ben Rice and Cody Bellinger come to mind.
When I watched games like the Seattle-Toronto ALCS series won in seven games by the Blue Jays, I observed all sorts of fans excited about their team’s chances to make the World Series. Then there is the woman sitting in the first row in Milwaukee, perpetually charting pitches and keeping score—without any family members nearby. Kudos to her and her allegiance.
There is faithfulness even in staid LA, where the greatest game perhaps ever played by one player took place when Japanese super star Shohei Ohtani dazzled the Brewers in a series-ending Game 4 by posting 6 innings as a pitcher, allowing a measly 3 hits, striking out 10 batters and walking only 3. While clubbing 3 homers, two of them monster shots at Dodger Stadium. Those Angelinos should wear everything blue and scream their heads off when they face the Blue Jays in the 2025 Series.
And an aside to New York Giants fans. I watched and felt your pain when the Denver Broncos scored 33 points in the fourth quarter to overcome a valiant effort by New York and snatch victory in a miraculous way that over 1000 teams had not done before when trailing by 19 points with six minutes to go. I know many people in the NY Metro area were screaming at their TV sets, unable to stop what was happening. While the sea of orange in Denver was in absolute shock and awe, heading to the exits jubilant and flushed with victory.
I recognize that none of what I have written about my teams is totally peculiar to New York. Look at the legions of fans in the South pulling for SEC schools or in the Big Ten and ACC. They are no less ardent about their cheering for their teams. Some are the everyday alumni and fans shelling out significant money for the right to purchase costly tickets. Or they are the big boosters whose influence over the school’s athletic fortunes can lead to coaching changes for non-performance no matter the cost (see James Franklin’s enormous buyout at Penn State) just as much as luring the best athletes to the school through making available significant N-I-L money. All demand winning seasons and hate losing (Vanderbilt and Georgia Tech alums and fans must be reveling in their school’s new-found success on the gridiron after so many years of football purgatory).
Whatever team somebody attaches to, for whatever reasons, it has its roots in something deep and abiding. It is an outlet for our daily lives and the stress associated with them. Something hard to fathom but something deep and necessary. We want to be winners and we stay true when there is continual losing—see the Chicago Cubs who took forever to break a supposed curse about the team winning the World Series.
Call it what you want. Fandom for a particular team is cult-like. Psychologists have written much about the phenomenon. Rooting in sports is sure unique as much as it it is similar and goal-oriented.
I have stayed the course with the Jets over the years with the eternal hope that someday I might see another trip to the Super Bowl besides the win in Super Bowl III. Just like I will be back watching the Yankees continue to strive for the first World Series title since 2009.
For me, it comes down to one word: loyalty.