I am done with this team. Absolutely done. Finished. Kaput. Ceased. Ended. Drawn to a close. Terminated. I'm so angry, I bought a thesaurus just so's I could find new ways of sayin "done," which is what I am.
You give so much to a team. You wear all their gear that your buddy who works at Modell's threw in the backa your pickup. You go to every damn game, through thick and thin, good weather and bad, so long as your other buddy can sneak you into the Meadowlands through one of the service entrances. You go through the trouble of splittin your neighbor's cable line so's you can get Sunday Ticket.
And for what? Just so's they can rip your heart again and again, and one or two further times. The time has come for me to say, enough. No more. That is all. I'm through...Sorry, but ever since I got this thesaurus, I can't put it down. It's quite riveting.
I ain't no fair-weather fan, neither. Me and this team go way back. Me and my old man used to drive out to Shea every Sunday and whip empty airliners of Stoli at the opposing QB, and if necessary the Jets' QB. Dad was never prouder of me than the day I brained Don Maynard with a D cell. And If dad couldn't get a ticket, he'd fake a limp and say he was a wounded vet, and the ushers would just wave him in. That's where I learned the value of hard work.
I know I said I was done in 1983, when the Jets couldn't do a damn thing against those pretty boy Dolphins. I know I said I was done in 1986, when that pretty boy Gastineau roughed up Bernie Kosar. I know I said I was done in 1998, with all those damn turnovers in Denver givin pretty boy Elway his last hurrah. And I know I said I was done last year, when that pretty boy Peyton Manning took down that pretty boy Sanchez.
This ain't like when I said I was done with the Mets after 2006, and 2007, and 2008, and 2009, and 2010, and how I plan on sayin I'm done with em after 2011. This is gonna stick, brother. The Jets bring me nothin but pain, and I don't need that in my life no more. I can't walk back into work and face my loudmouth Giants fan supervisor. Thinks he's so high and mighty. God damn choir boy only got caught fakin a workman's comp injury twice
On second thought, I bet I could claim Jets fandom as a crippling condition and get some time off for that. Or at least some scrips.
No! I'm stickin to my guns. I'm done and that's that. And if the Jets don't draft a big time receiver this April, I'm gonna beat Mike Tannenbaum with a shovel on fire.