New York Jets #20

Number 20 has sixteen entries. For the sake of sanity, I cannot possibly mention something brilliant, pithy, erudite, droll, witty, and prescient about them all. I have limits, and the number 20 has shown me how deep mine go. I will try, though. I will try.

First, let’s begin with Leon Washington’s precursor, Richie Anderson, who delighted us in #20. In truth, Richie was wildly versatile and likable, although occasionally susceptible to fumbles. He had more receptions than Wayne Chrebet in 2000, and spent ten seasons with the Jets, which is saying something, considering he endured seasons with Coslet, Kotite, Parcells, Groh, and Edwards. He is one of those fellows that Parcells himself pulled from team to team. However, a recent job as receivers coach with the Arizona Cardinals ended when he was caught soliciting a prostitute, a criminal violation to which football players seem particularly susceptible.

Michael Bates was #81 and #82 with Seattle, Cleveland, Carolina, the Redskins and the Cowboys, but when he came to the New York Jets he became #20 for one (his last) season. It could happen to anybody. But neither you nor I was selected to the NFL’s All-1990’s team, and Michael Bates was. I don’t mean to offend you. Don’t be sad. He also won the bronze in the 200 metres in Barcelona in 1992. Now I know that didn’t happen to you. How do I know? I know because I was sitting in a horrible apartment, paying more than I was originally assigned for campus housing in graduate school, wondering what in hell I was doing in North Philadelphia, sharing space with a morbidly depressed roommate who punched holes in the walls of our place every time there was a wrong number, all the while ignoring the scurrying rodents and roaches by watching – God help me – the Summer Olympics. I remember. Now why can’t I forget?

With an excellent afro and, later, a juicy fu manchu, Delles Howell played cornerback in #20 for the Jets from 1973 to 1975. Delles Howell was a part of a famous trade that brought Richard Neal to the Jets in lieu of several key draft prospects. This did not prove to be a good idea; however, as the Jets’ yearbook pointed out, he was certainly one of the tallest cornerbacks of his time at six foot two.

The Jets’ All-Time Roster lists Don Herndon as the first #20 in the organization’s history. Nothing beside remains, except for the fact that he played in only one season for the Titans (somebody had to be a halfback) and he was originally drafted by the Giants. That was his career. Damn.

Thomas Jones is probably why the Jets should consider drafting Darren McFadden, but then the team seems to be rethinking Vernon Gholston (that may not be a bad thing) so #20 Thomas Jones may have some company after all. Simply put, when Thomas Jones was asked about the lack of handoffs he was getting early last year, his reply was that he was, above all, a team player, and that more yardage was to come. He was correct. Hopefully he will gain 1,000 more next year.

“Leander” is one of the lovers in Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Leander Knight played 13 games in 1989 for the Jets at cornerback in #20. He wins the Booth Lustig Award for Funny Name, but is it fair to call someone’s name funny just because it doesn’t sound like a football name? You’re free to disagree as you please.

Obviously we are mostly in the secondary with #20. Does the constant grind of the game ever get to these guys? A few punt returns, some kickoffs, one interception in one year. Three interceptions the next, maybe. Then, no more. Other than that, there is the constant repetition of coverage, play after play, where the ball doesn’t even really get thrown in your direction. You constantly feel out of the play’s control. You’re not a mind reader. Davlin Mullen played four seasons in the NFL, all in #20 with the Jets, drafted as he was in the fateful year of 1983, finishing his career in 1986. He had three interceptions – his season-high – in 1985.

There are very few things that I knew by the time I was a third grader on Long Island, but it’s interesting to think about the range of my limited knowledge. I knew that the statue of Christ outside our local church signaled a touchdown, I knew that Richard Nixon ate cereal without milk (or so my mother said), and I knew that Steve O’Neal held the record for the longest punt in NFL history at 98 yards. He played from 1969-73 at punter for the Jets and wore #20.

This record still stands. It happened in 1969, and one wonders if it will ever be broken. In the thin air of Denver’s Mile High, on the same day that the Denver front line reduced Joe Namath to a quivering mass in a 21-19 loss, Steve O’Neal’s punt was estimated to have gone at least 70 yards through the air and then took an endless Jet bounce, culminating in a slow roll. A generous bounce is a nice surprise but not that extraordinary of an event on a punt, so the kick itself must have beyond category. There are no films of the event, no remaining evidence other than the awe that Denver’s returner Billy Thompsen says he felt when he saw it sail way, way over his head and eventually stop at Denver’s own 1. To this date, no one knows where Steve O’Neal actually is, if in fact he still is. One senses that if a record-holder does not even try to cash in on his moment of glory, then he must not have come to a good end. I dunno. Via cum dios, Steve O’Neal.

Then there’s Dennis Price, Darnell Powell, Bill Perkins, Derek Pagel, Derrick Strait, Bob Schwieckert, Lowe Wren, Ted Wegert. And no offense to Leander Knight, but I think the third- and second-to-last on this list might also qualify for the Booth Lustig. Yet aside from that, my capacity for pith has reached its temporary limit. I really don’t remember any of their names. They all wore 20.

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New York Jets #19 (Rated R)

If the Gods of Wiki are to be believed, when the Baltimore Orioles offered Chris Farasopoulos a baseball contract, they asked that he shorten his name. He refused. So he chose football. Can you imagine a team trying to pull that today? Ask Troy Polamalu. While he hasn’t been asked to change his (uncharacteristically short) South Pacific name, the NFL has only just tabled a rule on whether or not a player’s name on a uniform should be permitted to be covered by a mane of hair that flows from his helmet. This was a smart rule given that the league might have been seen as racist in doing so, a concern not so profound when Chris Farasopoulos was a defensive back from 1971-1973. Luckily, the New York Jets were a team that welcomed eccentrics and individualists, as they already had one for a quarterback. Chris wore #19 for the Jets.

Once while riding Amtrak from Philadelphia to NYC in the spring of 2000, a man of Caribbean origin was in the seat directly behind me, insisting to the person on the other end of his cell phone that “Dat bitch has tayken all ma fahkin money, mon. All of eet. Shit, mon. What da fuck am ah ganna do?” The whole way. He was upset. The bitch took his money.

As he and I egressed at Pennsylvania Station, he caught sight of my Jets t-shirt and addressed me in the same distressed tone, as if it were part of his ongoing troubles:

“Oh mon! Ha could dey let Key-shahn go like dat, mon! What da fuck day gonna do now, mon?!?”

Well, we know what Keyshawn Johnson did. He won a Super Bowl that the Eagles should have been in. I still resent him for it the way that I resented John Riggins for leaving the Jets for more money, more respect, more chances at a ring (and got all of them). And then #19 Keyshawn went and got kicked off the Bucs. He was the first player of this era to whom I had ever heard of that happening. But then Keyshawn was always special. First, he was tall as hell, and the Jets have not had a receiver of his caliber and height since then, so indeed, my friend on the train was not off the mark with his rhetorical question. He also made a mark by being a petulantly difficult author/rookie on a 1-15 team. That takes something special. The only thing he really did wrong was to slam Wayne Chrebet in his book, which was both a tasteless and a poor call. But then no one will retire his #19 anywhere because he played in too many different places.

Bobby Riley was a replacement wide receiver with the #19 for the scab New York Jets of 1987. I wonder if the squad has reunions.

Well, if we are going to be profane, then what better way than to celebrate the legacy of the Jets’ first regularly starting quarterback, #19 Malcolm “Dick” Wood. Yes, among Dicks he may be a lesser figure, maybe a little less important than Dick Trickle, though certainly only in stock car racing. Then there was Dick Pole of the Red Sox and Mariners in the 1970’s. Interestingly, after quarterbacking throughout the AFL, Wood coached his way back to the Jets, where he was running backs coach. Sadly for him, this was in the Kotite era. Sort of like being the Education Secretary in the Bush Administration.

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