Let me start off by saying, I'm a Jets fan for the girliest reasons ever.
First, I come from a family who reps the jerseys hard (you can say I was sort of born into it) and my favorite color is green. Plus, every season, there is always one solid piece of man candy to get me through.
I am not going to claim to be an NFL encyclopedia. I don't claim to know the stats of the teams or remember specific plays from big games in the 80s, either.
I simply enjoy football season for the ambiance of a good tailgate, Sunday booze and deep fried apps. It's an excuse to pretend I'm invested in something I have no control over.
Although, if it isn't a Jets game I'm watching, I'm perfectly content sipping wine in the kitchen, chatting up the other girls and refilling the dip if need be. My day remains unaffected, win or lose.
The only dating rule I've implemented is, for every hour of a non-Jets game I watch, I get an hour of mindless Bravo. Fair trade, if you ask me. (Perhaps that contributes to my single status.)
Anyway, Monday Night Football provided me with one of my very first "aha" moments. As I watched my Jets experience an early, yet all-too-familiar triumph, I realized this felt like Groundhog Day.
Living life as a Jets fan completely mirrored my dating life. Had I been doomed from the start and never realized?
Overall, the Jets were like every guy I've ever dated: They always begin the season or start of the relationship strong, and then, a completely unexpected shift of letdowns occurs.
Everyone tells you they have a "pretty good team" this year, or this guy seems "great," but they never quite make it to the Super Bowl.
Mid-season becomes a series of disappointments. Then, the excuses follow: an unanticipated injury, a rookie player, poor coaching, PR stunts or whatever you feel like blaming. But the bottom line is, it's over.
You should move on, but you don't. Deep down, you know they are really good and have all the potential to be boyfriend material. Sorry, I mean "playoff worthy."
As a lady committed to her team, I always give more chances.
Enter the Jets heartthrobs: playboy Joe Namath, Mark Sanchez and now, Eric Decker (hubba, hubba). The Jets definitely know how to keep a healthy, stacked variety of tasty treats for the crowd to ogle the goods.
They get away with a lot more because there is always a front man, a stallion leading the pack who is get-away-with-anything hot.
He can drop a pass, fumble or throw to no one, and all is forgiven. This is a pattern I must have developed at a young age, and carried into my relationships.
I'm a sucker for really good-looking guys who turn out to be nothing but epic dating flops. But the promising, redeeming qualities are all still there, just like for my green titans.
This makes it extremely confusing not only to be a Jets fan, but also to be in a relationship.
For decades, rumors have swirled about a curse on the Jets, as they never go the distance. My friends and I have discussed the same curse on my dating life.
Either way, sticking out every season is a challenge and a learning experience about myself. It shows me what I am willing to withstand, in order to remain passionate and become stronger than before.
The happy ending may not be a championship ring, but I never give up hope.
