Loyalty

  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. 

Franklin. PSU. Segura. Baseball. NYJ

  This was a week when the unexpected happened. For the most part.

With Northwestern’s 22-21 win in State College over Penn State, on the heels of the Nittany Lions’ loss to an underperforming UCLA team in the Rose Bowl, PSU fired football head coach James Franklin. It was surprising that it was during the season—the home loss to Oregon didn’t help either, further demonstrating that Franklin’s teams simply cannot win against top flight competition in the Big Ten. 

Having visited the Penn State campus many times while my daughter attended school there, it was evident that Penn State took pride in its athletics. Not all teams were successful—men’s and women’s basketball and baseball come to mind. But soccer, volleyball, gymnastics and wrestling thrived there. 

Still, the big, driving force at PSU was football. With a stadium currently undergoing a massive remodeling to comfortably seat over 100,000 rabid fans, game days in Happy Valley were an event. The big bucks which were poured into the biggest revenue sport demanded excellence on the field and no repeat of the scandals which plagued iconic coach Joe Paterno’s last days. 

Franklin came from Vanderbilt, where he managed to resurrect a dormant Commodores program into a winning one against the highest caliber of SEC teams. He didn’t win a SEC crown during his tenure in Nashville, but he seemed to be an up and coming coach who knew how to develop a winning culture. 

So Penn State grabbed him over 12 years ago with the goal of his leading the Nittany Lions not just to national prominence, but to win the National Championship. The administration gave him all that it could by way of top-notch facilities. The necessary N-I-L money was available to recruit the highest level of student-athlete. The fact that PSU was in the middle of Pennsylvania was overcome by the ability to play in one of the best leagues, if not the best one in the Big Ten.

Franklin’s teams did well enough to earn nice end-of-the season bowl game trips. But he failed miserably against Ohio State and Michigan and even Oregon. That wasn’t good enough for those who poured money into the program and expected especially this team to be a national title contender by its pre-season ranking in the top 3. 

Simply beating Rutgers, Maryland, Purdue et.al. wasn’t sufficient. The repeated failures began to put Franklin on the hot seat. Losing to Oregon may not have been very good. But defeats from the bottom feeders in the league were his death knell as the head coach of PSU Football. 

Thus the administration pulled the trigger and jettisoned Franklin. Many pundits were astonished, given the fact that Franklin had a very large buyout clause which kicked in with his departure. Whether it was in-season or at the end of the 2025 campaign didn’t matter. (There is some mitigation here—Franklin has to actively look for employment as a head coach to offset some of the money PSU owes him for his firing)

I never liked Franklin, going back to his days at Vandy. I thought his brash, arrogant manner of speaking to the media and fans was condescending. His internal drive to win didn’t match his external expressions. 

Then again, he is like a whole lot of head coaches in football and basketball. Full of bravado and short on talent—theirs along with the players recruited. 

James Franklin will arise again on the college football scene. Too many job openings occur yearly. There will be a spot for him at some program which believes Franklin has the right capacity to win. Many ex-coaches with fairly good resumes who have not satisfied the alumni or administration in their last job find new and purposeful employment in win-starved environments. 

Could it be a school which felt it should be playoff bound yearly? Perhaps. Or might it be a Vanderbilt-like college which wants to be in the conversation with the big boys. Look at the current Top 25 which includes names like Indiana, Mississippi, Texas Tech, Georgia Tech, Missouri, Virginia, South Florida, Memphis, Utah, Cincinnati and Nebraska—teams not normally associated with the rankings and are having renaissances. Might it be Arkansas, UCLA, Virginia Tech, Oklahoma State, Stanford—big names already in search of a new head man? There certainly will be more schools firing the current guy in the hopes of landing someone of Franklin’s stature. And after the dust settles, does he have to take a TV job for a year or move down a notch to re-establish his reputation? 

As for Penn State, where do they go now that they have fired Franklin? Would they lure ex-coach Bill O’Brien, who had to deal with the aftermath of the Paterno mess, back from Boston College? Indiana’s Curt Cignetti is now out of the running, having secured a lucrative extension. Matt Ruhle, the now-successful Nebraska coach has a close relationship with the PSU AD Pat Kraft; Nebraska is not somewhere to walk away from so quickly. Also mentioned are Tulane HC Jon Sumrall; Missouri’s Eli Drinkwitz; Matt Campbell from Iowa State with a proven track record; and yes, going to Vanderbilt and snatching Clark Lea.

There are a whole lot of possibilities beyond the ones prominently mentioned to succeed Franklin. It might even be an assistant coach from a Power 5 school. That path worked at Georgia and Clemson, among other places. 

Whatever the direction this takes, a lot of money will be thrown about to secure the next Joe Paterno in Happy Valley. Remember this—Paterno, a former Brown quarterback, was the top assistant to Rip Engle at PSU before being elevated to the top job. Maybe the interim coach might become the winner of this lottery to keep costs down. 

The legacy at Penn State is based on two consensus national titles before the playoff system was instituted: 1982 and 1986. In 2026, that will be 40 years hoping for the next great team. I wish them luck—just not too much for I’d love to see Rutgers rise up and surpass PSU and others ahead of them. I just don’t think that will occur with Greg Schiano at the controls. Nor would it happen with Franklin. 

And there is one other possibility. That PSU shot itself in the foot by firing Franklin and will be consigned to the wilderness of chasing unrealistic dreams for years to come. 

Some other notes. First, my wife, daughter and I saw comedian Tom Segura perform at the beautiful New Jersey Performing Arts Center in Newark this past Wednesday night. Segura is not a household name. At least among my generation of older adults. 

Yet I found his humor funny and bright, his wit and delivery were polished and savvy. He even found a way to diss Bill Belichick, the former Super Bowl champion coach in New England and now embattled at the University of North Carolina in his first foray into the collegiate ranks. 

Segura is going to become a known commodity. He has the talent and ability to make a bigger splash than he already has with videos, his podcast and live performances like this one, which was sold out. Go see him if you have the opportunity and keep your eyes open for his upcoming movies and specials. You won’t be disappointed.

Now I can turn to baseball. With the Division Series in full force, I have to say that I am not surprised with the results thus far. The Los Angeles Dodgers always were a highly talented group which actually improved from last season—even if the regular season record didn’t quite measure up to people’s expectations. I was dubious about how good the Milwaukee Brewers really were and their struggles to get past the Chicago Cubs in the NLDS may have told me all I needed to know how they might fare against the reigning MLB champions. That is why LAD has a commanding 3-0 lead.

Meanwhile, Toronto had a brief slumber after expending much energy to dispatch the New York Yankees from the playoffs in the ALDS. Seattle’s two wins on the road have been matched by the Blue Jays bombarding the Mariners in Seattle. It is now a best 2 of 3 series; I think the Jays have the edge. 

Finally, two New York Yankees went under the knife right after the team was eliminated by Toronto. Shortstop Anthony Volpe had his labrum tear from May fixed and star pitcher Carlos Rodon needed arthroscopic surgery to his left elbow to clean up some debris and a bone spur. 

Both will be unavailable early in the 2026 season. That will stretch the NYY infield and starting pitching in March, April and May. 

One might never have known that there was something wrong with Rodon. However, we became aware of Volpe’s injury and saw how it affected his hitting and fielding even after one, then two and then a third cortisone injection. One has to wonder what was discussed with Volpe, the Yankees brass, medical staff to keep him playing rather than opt earlier for surgery which would have placed him in line for a timely return in 2026. Moreover, with Volpe’s parents both doctors, one wonders what their thoughts and input might have been—if any. It seems like something was wrong from the outset. 

Speaking of that, I am going once more to Met Life Stadium this Sunday to see the 0-6 New York Jets either reach 0-7 versus Carolina or record the team’s first win of the season. Call me a glutton for punishment. Especially after the dud in London where the team could not win a winnable game because the pass offense was horrendous. 

James Franklin. PSU. Tom Segura. Baseball. Yet I am going to see NYJ play. 

Hope For The Yankees; Taking A Friend To Her First NFL Game; And There Was Tim Cowlishaw

  This is a two-themed story. The two sports I avidly follow have resulted in resounding disappointments. Yet there is a silver lining in each one. 

Fist, let’s start with the greatest disappointment. That would be the elimination from the playoffs of the New York Yankees by AL East foe Toronto. 

Mercifully for me and perhaps for other ardent Yankees rooters like me, the series ended abruptly in the fourth game of the best of five. Because clinging to hope against a better team one hungrier than yours and with a different philosophy on how to play the game, is no way to cheer. 

The fact that the Yankees won Game 3 with a display of power baseball after showing the Blue Jays that even in a losing cause in Game 2 the Yankees’ bats could still be potent, was a mirage at best. A mirage that covered up the glaring weaknesses which persisted throughout the season and contributed to why the Blue Jays had the home field advantage, convincingly winning the season series between the teams. 

What shined in the first series against the Red Sox did not continue against the Blue Jays. The clutch starting pitching from the New York starters largely failed to stop the Blue Jays. Even rookie Cam Schlittler, with his record-setting performance in the winner-take-all Game 3 versus Boston, could not duplicate his mastery against a potent Toronto lineup which touched him for two earned runs in just over seven innings on Wednesday night; Toronto batters repeatedly fouled off pitches and hardly struck out. 

Moreover, left-handers Max Fried and Carlos Rodon were torched by the Toronto hitters. It was no better with the bullpen, rebuilt for the playoffs with some bold moves by General Manager Brian Cashman at the trade deadline. 

The only Yankee who shined throughout the playoffs was Aaron Judge. The reigning M.V.P. batted .500 and swatted a majestic, game-tying home run off the left field foul pole in the one contest the Yankees won, despite facing a 6-1 deficit. And his health for next season is in jeopardy, as Judge contemplates the need for surgery to his throwing arm elbow which he never fully recovered from injury. 

So how do the Yankees pick up the pieces once more, with no World Series win #29 to add to the team’s illustrious portfolio? The fan base is adamant about letting Manager Aaron Boone walk. His 25-27 post-season record isn’t acceptable to a rabid, unreasonable group which expects nothing more than a championship every year. 

Let’s remember that while Boone lost too many games with questionable pitching changes, his team, absent ace starting pitcher Gerrit Cole, managed to win 94 games, tying Toronto for the most wins in the American League. Had they not suffered through that horrendous streak of playing well below .500 in July and August, this team obituary may not have been written. 

Expect Boone to return for 2026. He’ll have Cole around May. Fried, Rodon, Schlittler and Luis Gil are a formidable rotation. The bullpen needs revamping; Luke Weaver, the closer in 2024, became a mere shadow of his dominating form. Devin Williams could not sustain his career brilliance once he arrived from Milwaukee. Rolling with these two as two of the top bullpen arms is dicey. Current closer David Bednar proved to be very reliable, but remember his fragility—Bednar was actually sent to the minors earlier this season by woeful Pittsburgh.

As to the lineup, Judge remains the centerpiece—as long as he is healthy. After that, there are major issues. Should Ben Rice become the everyday first baseman with his powerful and improving bat, or should he remain a hybrid catcher and infielder? Jazz Chisholm, Jr. shows some bad tendencies in the playoffs regarding his hitting and fielding; if he stops trying to hit everything into the stands, he has a real shot at stardom. Shortstop Anthony Volpe is an enigma; his fielding improved to his previous Gold Glove  caliber level, but his hitting regressed. Third baseman Ryan Mc Mahon is a magician in the field and his bat will come around. And Austin Wells may not hit for average but he still is among the best catchers in baseball, both offensively and defensively.

The outfield is the question mark for this team. Judge in right field is a mainstay, provided he is not headed to the Injured List. Trent Grisham had a career season with his 33 homers, but he showed his underachieving form in the playoffs. Cody Bellinger would like to remain a Yankee; his play became inconsistent as the year and playoffs progressed. Jason Dominguez needs time to play—center field beckons. And what about Spencer Jones at AAA? Does he get his chance? Are more trades or free agents signings in the offing?

So many questions remain. Don’t fret, Yankees Nation. How your team fares in the off-season compared to its rivals won’t be as bad as you think. You remain better than the Mets. 

On Sunday, I took a close female friend who I have known for over 45 years to see the New York Jets host the Dallas Cowboys. She had never been to a pro football game, may have gone to a high school game and a Rutgers game while in college. Certainly they weren’t memorable. At least not like this past Sunday. 

Watching her take in all of the sights and sounds of the day, from the time I picked her up at Newark Penn Station until I deposited her back there 6 hours later, was rewarding and beautiful. Unlike the game, which was another Jets disaster, lowering their 2025 record to 0-5. 

The drive up Highway 21 to Route 3 opened her eyes to parts of Newark neither she nor I could remember. There is actually a beautiful river running south through Belleville which looks almost picturesque among the urban setting. 

When we approached Met Life Stadium on this cloudless Sunday just before 11:00 am with temperatures in the 80’s, the traffic from the highway to the stadium was backed up as if this was a sellout and the patrons were actually coming to the game. That confused me, as the Jets were not favored to win this game. But I figured that the legion of Cowboys fans would be there in full throat, having purchased tickets from Jets season ticket holders who had seen enough and felt they could get something back on a bad investment while not spending their time roasting in the heat through another unbearable loss. 

I knew that this wasn’t going to be a Jets victory when the parking lot attendants gave me a bit of grief on which lot I could go to. I found plenty of spaces where I wanted to be. 

So what did a neophyte think about the tailgating surrounding us? She was truly amazed at the sights and sounds surrounding us. The undeniable smells of barbecue, sausage and peppers made her think how her husband would love this scene. Kids tossing footballs. People clad in team colors parading around the lot or just taking it all in from a chair comfortably positioned. She sąw what a pre-game was like for a NFL Sunday. And its hordes of fans. 

I was surprised how well she threw and caught the wiffle football which always accompanies us to the games, to be tossed by those who join us. Then again, she does have two male grandchildren and she is most capable of holding her own with them—for now. 

She endured the ugliness of Porta Potties like regular fans have for so many years. On our march to the stadium gates, she was amazed at the complexity of some tailgates, some catered, with huge vans to lug patrons and food, refreshments and even big screen TV’s. 

We made it into the stadium without any hassle, hauling our clear bags. Our food from the Millburn Deli safely was ensconced within, ready to be eaten once seated (For the record, she loved her salad with some added tuna while I devoured a sub rather quickly). 

She enjoyed the in stadium pre-game activities. We were treated to fireworks with the Star-Spangled Banner, sung beautifully by a Broadway actress. There was even a helicopter flyover by the New Jersey Forest Service.

Then the game began and it became a rout. The Jets have never played well versus Dallas and this trend continued. The team displayed no cohesion on either side of the ball. The disparity between the two squads was evident—and Dallas is far from a powerhouse like Buffalo, which I saw take down the Jets in September. 

My friend asked a bevy of questions in her attempt to understand a game which was foreign to her. She was amazed about the strategy from both sides. Some of the rules I tried to explain would actually trouble some veteran fans in their complexity. 

The poetry in motion on the field along with the highly physical nature of the sport impressed her. She loved that from our seats in the third tier she was able to see everything evolve, almost in slow motion. 

We stayed late into the game even as the outcome was a foregone conclusion. I remained with her because I wanted her to see an onside kick attempt by the Jets in a belated attempt at a comeback. 

The seats that were filled (Met Life was maybe 65% full at one point) had nearly emptied. My legs cramped a bit from not drinking enough water and age. It was time to leave. 

After a routine bathroom stop for people our age, I hobbled to the elevator for those who needed to avoid the escalators or stairs to exit the building. 

That’s where I had my biggest surprise of the day. We entered the car at level 7. At the next level, the doors opened. In strode three nicely dressed gentlemen with press credentials. 

One of them was Tim Cowlishaw, a veteran sportswriter for the Dallas Morning News. I knew of him as a guest on ESPN’s now defunct Around The Horn program. I was standing next to a media giant (that was me in the white #13 NYJ jersey, Tim, a gift in 1993 when I became a bar mitzvah 30 years late) whom I followed from afar and even read his columns periodically (the next day he wrote a report card for the Cowboys, skewered as it was from playing the mediocre Jets). Wow. 

So there you have it. I am resigned to the Yankees trying once again to win it all. As much as the Jets, in my 49th season as a season ticket holder, are showing no more promise as I finish another lost season and probably have the losing extend into my 50th season when I will make a decision if I want to continue this bad investment for another luckless season). 

At least there is hope for the Yankees. I was thrilled how my friend, who also edits this blog, went outside of her NYC comfort zone to see a real NFL game and understand what the heck I am writing about. And there was Tim Cowlishaw. In the flesh.