I Hate the Jets

Categories: Flotsam

Christmas day started out well. I watched D-Wade drop 40 points on the Lakers and my buddy Norman invited me to the Dolphins-Jets game. Sorry futbol fans, but growing up in Miami, you kind of get sucked into the Fins euphoria. After all, we boast the only team to go undefeated during one season, not to mention the greatest quarterback never to win a Super Bowl. As a true Dolfan, I can say with authority that no division rival sucks more than those lousy, stinkin' New York Jets and their ugly fans.

So when Norm offered me the opportunity to join him in section 454, where nosebleeds come courtesy of the rowdiest, beer guzzling Dolfans in Miami, I could not resist.
Unfortunately, the weather wrecked our plan. We made it to the stadium just when it appeared the skies might clear up. We were looking forward to seeing Jason Taylor wrap up defensive player of the years honors by eating up Jets quarterback Chad Pennington. But by the time we reached the fourth level of the stadium formerly known as Joe Robbie, the rain was a steady deluge. We didn't even bother going to our seats. We watched the first half on a closed circuit television near a beer stand while chugging sweet, tasty draft.

Then Norm suggests we catch the second half in the warm confines of — where else? — Tootsie's Cabaret, the Costco of Miami strip clubs. It was a $6 cover charge. But we decided to pay the extra $20 to sit in the behemoth bar's second floor VIP where we watch the Dolphins fail miserably on two giant plasma screens. On fourth and inches, with under three minutes left in the fourth quarter, down three points, the offense finally clicking, just yards away from a touchdown, and a chance to deflate the Jets' playoff chances, Nick Saban went for the field goal instead of the win. A touchdown would have put us up by four points. On the ensuing possession, Jets marched down for the winning field goal with eleven seconds left.

I drowned myself in Coronas and a couple of lap dances with a lovely Nubian performer named "Paradise." Fortunately, I successfully navigated away from the champagne room and sure financial disaster. I hate the Jets. -Francisco Alvarado



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