So, this Sunday, the Colts come to town. 1-4, wounded, and off of a 10-day rest. This is the trap game. This is the game the Jets are supposed to win, going in, but everything is set against them. A long rested opponent. A huge blowout style win, where they rolled the other team like a rube in a county fair clip joint. The Jets need to demonstrate that they have much to prove. I’ll start with one simple object.
Sustain drives on offense. The Jets need to become a competent first down machine. Listen to Brett Favre. ‘Just keep making first downs’. For all of the criticism I’ve given Mickey Macc, all justifiable, Darnold has weapons, except at the Tight End position. If Master Bates would simply step outside the box and use Pryor as an HBack, as a nightmare inside matchup, they’d be unstoppable. On that note, ironically enough from my game notes, about Pryor sealing the block at the end of Crowells long run, Turd Ferguson actually complimented that in the Press this week, so maybe The Bowles is looking for a little more T.P. One can only hope.
The Jets catch a break, Andrew Luck will be without T.Y. Hilton. But It’s still Andrew Luck. The Colts may be the only team in the NFL that has been worse at drafting than the Jets. Should the Jets actually succeed this week, Mickey Macc should look long and hard, about how the Colts after their ‘Suck for Luck’ campaign wound up at 1-4. Piss poor Drafting, Mike. Let’s hope the season suffering ‘Suck for Sam’ stupidity doesn’t take us down the same road.
A game that shows the .14 Caliber Killer and his Killing Krew can add painful slow moving sustained offense to the explosive offense we’ve seen, and thereby give the defense a leg up by putting teams at a scoring AND time disadvantage, will give way to larger dreams.
Like the ones we had the Tuesday after opening day.
We shall see.
I am reminded of a poem by Edward Thomas, about the yin and yang of it all.
The Sun Used to Shine
The sun used to shine while we two walkedSlowly together, paused and startedAgain, and sometimes mused, sometimes talkedAs either pleased, and cheerfully partedEach night. We never disagreedWhich gate to rest on. The to beAnd the late past we gave small heed.We turned from men or poetryTo rumours of the war remoteOnly till both stood disinclinedFor aught but the yellow flavorous coatOf an apple wasps had undermined;Or a sentry of dark betonies,The stateliest of small flowers on earth,At the forest verge; or crocusesPale purple as if they had their birthIn sunless Hades fields. The warCame back to mind with the moonriseWhich soldiers in the east afarBeheld then. Nevertheless, our eyesCould as well imagine the CrusadesOr Caesar’s battles. EverythingTo faintness like those rumours fade—Like the brook’s water glitteringUnder the moonlight—like those walksNow—like us two that took them, andThe fallen apples, all the talksAnd silence—like memory’s sandWhen the tide covers it late or soon,And other men through other flowers
In those fields under the same moonGo talking and have easy hours.
Easy Hours…Let’s hope for 3 and a half good ones this Sunday,
(It just looks like the Fan hat, really)
I wan;t to know what you think,
C’mon, enter the Tiger’s Den.