Goodness I abhor sports cliches. But occasionally, they are virtually unavoidable. Or so I rationalize, as I pen these words. The Jets game against Houston tonight is the epitome of a “gut check” contest.
We often throw out the relative “importance” of every other game on the calendar. Critical as it relates to the division. Monumental turning point game. Must-win. Sure. Whatever. There are some axioms though that are rather universal even beyond sport.
Cue more cliches…the chips are down for the Jets. They’ve been knocked down in brutal fashion with the world watching. Nobody is expecting anything. They’ve been written off.
Well, let’s now see how they get up. I’m no dummy. This team, as sad as it is to admit in week five, is not going anywhere. They’ve at times looked like possibly the worst team in the League. Heck, they may be just that. But tonight…tonight is one of the most sterling examples of a “we’ll see what this team is really about” games.
Yes, we will see what this coaching staff is about following poor game plans and a team that appeared to all-but-quit in the fourth quarter against San Francisco. Yes, we will see what these players are about after embarrassing themselves and continuing to operate without some of their most talented teammates. Yes, we will see what Mark Sanchez is about after again failing to complete even half of his passes and unsuccessfully managing to get his offense out of neutral.
Yes, it’s gut-check time in Gang Green Nation. This Jets team isn’t making a postseason journey in 2012. Tonight will reveal whether they can continue to earn fans’ respect and commitment to continue the journey this season.
About the Author: Cecilio's Scribe is the founder of The Legend of Cecilio Guante and a generally pessimistic fan of the Mets, Jets, Knicks and Rangers. A fine NYC-based gentlemen who hones his marketing skills as his primary trade by day. Husband, chef, father of a newborn and after-hours blogger by night. Proud alum of the mighty Big Red of Cornell. University. Hot sauce devotee. Staunch protester of the continued wussifcation of American sports. Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick.