Strange things are happening. The New York Jets won a playoff game. A week later they won another playoff game. For those of you who aren’t football fans, the Jets winning playoff games is like the nerdiest boy in high school—sporting a face full of zits and a pocket protector—suddenly dating the prom queen. It just doesn’t happen.
But somehow, someway, it’s happening.
As a long-suffering Jets fan, I’m not complaining. I enjoy dating the prom queen for a change. However, part of me wonders if there will be some sort of payback for this unlikely sequence of events. We get to date the prom queen now, and a year from now, she’s gained 100 pounds and is now our stalker.
In fact, maybe payback for all the good Jets karma has already started. For example, the other day I was at a party and had to go to the men’s room. However, when I arrived at the men’s room, there was a line of men outside the bathroom confused and anxiously waiting to relieve their bladders. Meanwhile, women were walking in and out of the ladies room smiling and basking in the irony. I fully expected two women to walk out of the ladies room, belch and ask each other, “How’s it hanging, bro?”
A couple of days later, the next weird thing happened. I wound up sleeping in my daughter’s bed (surrounded by High School Musical sheets and about 20 dolls) two nights in a row. Was it retribution for the football Gods allowing Jets fans their moment in the sun? Probably not; more likely, it was my daughter being sick and having to sleep next to Mom. Still, I can’t help but think this is somehow connected to the sports world being turned upside down.
A few days later, my son was still confused.
“Dad, when are you coming back to our room?”
I was confused, too. After the second night, I didn’t mind sleeping in Lexy’s bed. Maybe I was growing comfortable sleeping with dolls (and the potential years of therapy that goes along with it).
Since strange things generally happen in threes, I was not surprised when I suddenly found myself begging my son to watch professional wrestling.
“No, I don’t watch to watch it.”
“Just for a little while…”
“I said no!” His angry stare told me not to ask again.
Six months prior, the roles would have been reversed as you would have had to pay me to watch wrestling. But that wasn’t the case this day.
However, as I was completing this column, the Jets magical season ended in defeat. The football gods will torture me no more. As one friend aptly put it, “how the hell did the Jets win two playoff games?”
No idea, but it was sure a fun, crazy ride. Strange days indeed.
Copyright © 2010, Brad Manzo