My father must be smiling down on his Jets

For those of you who are regular readers of this space or who know me well, you know last year my dad lost his fight against a number of illnesses and passed away in August. 

That obviously leaves a massive hole in the lives of those left behind.  As I have posted, Mel was a business mentor having run a very successful local furniture store in Jersey City, New Jersey from a very early age until his 60’s when he retired, then splitting his time between upstate New York and “Boca.” 

Since my dad worked retail  he worked retail hours, for many years working six days a week, 12 hours a day.  As a young child there was not a lot of time to “connect” but at an early age we connected through sports and the teams we followed.  

At the top of that list, was the New York Jets. 

Dad became a Jets fan in the mid-60’s shortly after Rutgers alum, Sonny Werblin bought the team and changed the name from the Titans.  My father, went to Rutgers for a short period of time before having to give up his college dream to run the store after my grandfather’s heart attack.  He and Werblin shared the same fraternity at Rutgers, so my father wrote Sonny and letter.  Sonny sent my father two tickets to a game and the love affair began. 

That love was cemented when the Jets drafted Namath and my father bought season tickets to Shea.  He was in the “green seats” in the end zone mezzanine for just about all the games in the mid-to-late 60’s and watched Namath’s meteoric rise.  I remember going to a few of those games as a young child, and my dad and his friend taking our families to Florida.  We stayed at the Fontainebleau, they went to the game and stood proud among the throng of Baltimore Colts fans, watching Namath’s guarantee come true. 

As the seventies moved along and Namath’s knees buckled, my dad and uncles and family friends and I watched the parade of quarterbacks and awful teams lead by coaches like Lou Holtz, Charley Winner and others easy to forget.  We survived bitter cold temperatures drinking a concoction of Southern Comfort and Blackberry brandy out of a flask and dixie cups.  To this day I’m not sure whether that made the cold better or worse. 

We parked on the streets of Queens and walked over the Grand Central to Shea, only to find our battery stolen with my dad and uncle scouring the neighborhoods for an open gas station in the era where no gas station was open on Sundays. 

We survived the Richard Todd-“We want Matt” era and witnessed one of the greatest almost comebacks in NFL playoffs history as the Jets almost came back from a 20-plus point deficit to lose close to the Bills.  If a stadium ever literally rocked back and forth, Shea did that day.     

He even witnessed O.J. Simpson breaking the all-time rushing record in person at Shea on a terrible snowy day when no Jets fans should have been in the stands, as the game meant nothing to the home team. 

Dad moved with the team to Giants Stadium as I got older, went to school and then moved south.  There was the AFC championship game in the strike year, but somehow that felt a little cheap.  Our trips to the games together became less frequent.  I did make it make for a rare home playoff game against Jacksonville, but our Jets connection became more of a long distance phone connection. 

We’d talk before, at half time and at the end, in most cases lamenting “what might have beens” and “wait till next years.” 

 The last possibility for the return to glory ending in the second half in Denver as Parcells’ Jets led at half, only to have the Broncos score 23 unanswered points. 

And now we find our team on the brink again.  

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost picked up the phone this year to call, stopping myself.  I know he’s up there smiling though.  Dad was a big Buddy Ryan fan from way back and he’s up there loving Rex’s bravado. 

The parallels to 1969 are sort of frightening.  Big game, the Colts, Miami, etc.  Knowing dad, he’s trying to use all the salesman’s skills to sell the man upstairs on the poetic justice of it all. 

If they win two things are sure.  I will be online checking out the latest Super Bowl ticket prices (I have to admit I already have) since that will be a pilgrimage fate dictates that I will likely take.  Call it a “circle of life” thing. 

And second, I’ll have to stop myself from picking up the phone.