Friday, January 11, 2013

An Open Letter to the Ownership of the New York Jets:



 Dear Woody Johnson,
                 

First off, congrats on the baby product empire. Really top notch work on the ‘no tear shampoo’ especially (maybe it's time to bring the 'no tear' mentality to your other endeavors??). And sorry about Mitt Romney. I know you were really hoping that he would win, but chin up; he seems to really enjoy being a disheveled regular guy. Come to think of it, the bizarrely unkempt pictures of him pumping gas, trying to pay with pure gold bullion, remind me of how I look most Sundays after the Jets lose, wandering through my local bodega, trying to pay for 40s of Colt 45 with my tears.

                
Speaking of Sundays, I think it’s time for a new approach. I know PSL sales aren’t where they need to be, and Tebow mania seemed like a great way to put asses in the seats. But I’ve got to be honest with you Woody, all Tebowmania did was put assholes in the seats…you know, like the guy who sat in front of me in section 307, wearing a camo Florida Gators hat, a Tebow t-shirt with the sleeves meticulously ripped off, shouting racial epithets at the fans around us who unreasonably believed that Tebow was not, as this gentleman proclaimed, “the shit.” Now I’m not saying I blame you, the CEO of a national corporation with no experience in scouting or athletic talent assessment, for misjudging Tebow’s value to the Jets as a football field. I’m merely wondering if it’s time to stop treating the franchise like its Barnum and Bailey Circus—clowns, it turns out, don’t perform all that well when 300 pound defensive linemen sit on their heads—and to start treating like it’s, well, you know, a football team. 

      Before you jump down my throat and say, “of course I know the Jets are a football team,” let me make a few suggestions. Just a handful. After all, since the team’s salary cap situation is so unmanageable general manager candidates are literally turning down the job before you can even bring them in to interview, it seems like there is currently a noticeable dearth of sensible consultation inside the Jets organization at the moment. 
  
      So here’s what I’ve got:

      1) Sign Chad Pennington as QBs coach. Actually, you shouldn’t make the approach, since you were the one who summarily screwed him, kicking him to the curb for Brett “have you seen my weiner” Favre. But Chad is still, according to the NFL record books, the most accurate QB in NFL history. Mark Sanchez, the incumbent QB, turned the ball over, himself, more times than 18 entire teams did (yes, Woody, that means he did turn the ball over more than half of the teams in the NFL). So maybe, while you didn’t value Chad as a QB, he might be able to provide some insight as to why Mark prefers to complete so many passes to players in colors other than green and/or white. Coaches around the league always said that Chad was one of the smartest QBs in the game…he may be the last man on the earth who could possibly save the Sanchize’s career, and maybe adding a smart guy to average out some of the dumb things Rex says would even benefit the team’s woeful PR apparatus.
      
      2)      Trade DOWN—the opposite of up—in the draft, and then select Chance Warmack in the first round. Under Mike Tanenbaum, the Jets had an affinity for either mortgaging the future or  taking “sexy” draft picks. Sexy, by the way, could mean physically attractive—see Mark Sanchez—could mean attractive in a football sense—see Darrelle Revis—and apparently could even mean utter disaster—see Vernon Gholston. Instead, the Jets should trade down, pick up a few extra draft picks (build for this crazy thing called the future), and take the ultimate combination of unsexiness—a 300 pound interior offensive linemen whose dominance of the Notre Dame front 7 in the BCS championship should prove to the Jets that, while they may no longer have God on their side after the Tebow fiasco, Warmack has the ability to smite even the most pious of football players. 

      3)      Don’t sign other team’s castaways. The Jets have, over recent  years, somehow become the NFL version of the Island of Misfit Toys. When a player's luck is out in another city—Santonio Holmes “blazing” his way out of Pittsburgh, Braylon Edwards talking his way out of both Cleveland and Seattle, LaRon Landry tearing every muscle in his body in Washington—they somehow seem to end up on the Jets roster, disrupting what little zen the team might have had from the year prior. Whether the individual performs well—like Landry—or not—like Holmes—it doesn’t matter, because the good ones forsake the Jets in favor of lots of money after proving themselves and the bad ones’ contracts hang around the Jets’ neck like a multimillion dollar albatross. 

      4)      Stop worrying about PSLs. Listen Woody, I get that the Jets are a business, and that, unlike Jay-Z, you are a business man and  not a business, man. So you’re in this to make money. Sure. But here’s the deal. People pay to see good football teams. People buy stock in the Packers—i.e. pieces of paper that say "Go Packers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and "no monetary value" in not all that small print—just because the franchise is so revered not only in Wisconsin but across the country. If you built a reputable dynasty here, not only would your PSLs sell, but so would Jets Jerseys, and beer, and even little Woody Johnson action figures, complete with pose-able arms and blank checks. The business end of football is still football. Product is secondary to results. So stop trying to trick Jets fans into coming to games with gimmicks, and start selling me something that’s so good I can’t say no to it. 


In summation, the Jets are not doomed to failure. They need help. Lots of help. Like help of biblical, Noah’s flood-sized, proportions. But if you take my four pieces of advice, and maybe hire me as GM, the Jets can win games again. You want to make money; well you’re doing it wrong. Right now the Jets are like meth, a really horrible drug that a few people are miserably addicted to but no one new is begging to try. Stop dealing meth Woody Johnson. It’s bad.  

Your Benevolent, and Thoroughly Displeased, Servant,

John Hill

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