Not all of Jets quarterback Mark Sanchez’s 31 passes were perfect in his debut against the Texans. But that didn’t stop Phil Sims from erecting — literally — four quarters of pro-Sanchez analysis.
Wearing my green-colored contacts, I, too, was forced to employ my very own version of the “tuck rule.”
Now, here’s your chance to get Dirty with all 31 of those passes.
In honor of FJM’s reunion on Deadspin, I’m going to offer two acute observations and provide absolutely no empirical evidence to support either:
- Sanchez (was/is/always will) be better than Matthew Stafford.
- Sanchez (already is/always will) be better than Eli Manning.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to call Rex Ryan back and give him a few hints to rile up the crowd for Sunday’s matchup against the Pats.
Here’s the short list:
- A never ending loop of Girls Gone Wild (Dirty Jerzey: Labah Day On Da Shore Vol. XVI) to be played on the video board at the far end of the stadium.
- A never ending loop of Bernard Pollard’s kamikaze plunge into Cindy’s knee to be played on the opposite video board.
- Sombreros and maracas for all upon entrance.
- Clip on ties to replace parking passes.
- Free samples of Jose Cuervo instead of half-melted dog shit ice cream served in Dixie cups.
- Create a bullshit “honorary fan” ceremony prior to kickoff. Then bring out Vincent Shenocca, hand him a mic, turn up the speakers and give him free reign to cleanse his thoughts.
- Since the Jets Flight Crew already got enough face time via the Girls Gone Wild video, they can wear masks of the following charactures: droopy face Bruschi, leaky brain Ted Johnson and bug eye Reche Caldwell.
- At halftime, run a highlight reel of ALL Wayne Chrebet’s third-down catches. Following the video, Wayne — if his brain is still capable of firing off synapses — will be escorted onto the field and given a box of matches, lighter fluid and a Keyshawn Johnson jersey.
- The drunkest fan will recite a pregame speech with Rex, focusing on the fact Tom Brady’s never lost at the Meadowlands.
- Video cameras for the entire section behind the Pats’ bench. (With the Coaches Club seats — which will afford you the right to smell the stench wafting from Rex’s ass — selling for more than Leon Washington’s 2009 salary, I think Woody Johnson can bite the bullet with this expense).
- Hoist a gigantic portrait of a menacing Steve Belichick’s atop the stadium, as Billy Boy’s mind is undoubtedly a cesspool of daddy issues.
- Joe Namath, who, in all honesty, is looking more and more like an aging lesbian, will toast the crowd with a pregame drink-up. He will then declare sobriety the Devil and detail the “the things” he (would/could/will attempt after a few more drinks) do to Giselle.
- Pregame crucifixion of New England spy Larry Izzo, who stole a roster spot from The Adorable One.
- Tony Soprano as the honorary announcer.
That’s probably more than enough, right?
Well, here’s a little secret: None of it matters. The Jets would destroy New England in a meadow of dyslexic dandelions.
And here’s where I followup that baseless statement with an arrogant prediction: Jets 24-Pats 14
