Between Chad Pennington's fragility in the pocket, Patrick Ramsey's inability to throw to the right uniform, and the eventual humility of watching a 35-year-old rookie coach managing the biggest reconstruction project in New York not named Yankee Stadium, I'm not sure how much joy there'll be in J-E-T-S land this season.
But Kevan Barlow ... this kid's going to be fun.
Not necessarily on the field, where he'll join a crummy committee trying to replace Curtis Martin, or at least hold the fort if he miraculously returns from injury. Four running backs, trying to fill in for the fourth-leading rusher of all time. Yeah, that'll work.
Barlow took one on the chin from the Associated Press when his trade to the Jets from the 49ers was announced: "He became the full-time starter after [Garrison] Hearst's departure in 2004, but seemed unsuited for the pressure and workload." The same article claimed he ran "skittishly" behind the San Francisco line, which makes sense when you consider that line offered about as much protection as a chain-link condom. But say "running skittishly behind an offensive line" to a Jets fan, and visions of Blair Thomas gaining 1,000 yards behind the line of scrimmage come dancing through their damaged brains.
But even if he flops as a featured back, Barlow's going to be a blast. Because he's clearly insane, and that can really spice up the party, even on an awful football team — witness Mark Gastineau and Bryan Cox, Exhibits Alpha and Beta.
I'm no clinical psychologist, but I think Barlow's somewhere between egomaniacal and flat-out loony tunes. (Hey, if Bill Frist can diagnose a comatose woman by watching clips of her on television, I can diagnose an NFL running back by reading press clips on my Internet Explorer. The only difference is that I'm not a lying douchebag who'll never be president ... I mean, I could be president one day, right?)
Barlow has been accused of mental instability throughout his career, although the NFL prefers if we say something innocuous like "his temperament has been questioned." The greatest example of this was a feud he had with 49ers fullback Fred Beasley, which nearly came to blows in a team meeting because he was convinced Beasley was a Garrison Hearst fan. Barlow even had his locker moved across the room and away from Beasley, like a third-grader scurrying away from the school bully in homeroom. Like bad marriages and wicked bosses, a locker room grudge is a Petri dish for psychosis — Barlow allegedly buried the hatchet, but the damage was done.
This preseason, Barlow went from crazy angry to just plain delusional. He refused to confirm that he was indeed going to lose his starting job to Frank Gore, who led the 49ers in rushing last season and was destroying the incumbent in the exhibition competition. In fact, when word leaked that the he was on the Jets' shopping list, Barlow steadfastly claimed the starting job was still his ... while singing along to "New York, New York" on his iPod.
After his trade to the Jets — following the team's deal for the physically-unable-to-play-for-a-4-and-12-club Lee Suggs — Barlow continued to make with the crazy. In an interview with the Contra Costa Times, he compared San Francisco coach Mike Nolan to Marge Schott's favorite world leader: "He walks around with a chip on his shoulder like he's a dictator, like he's Hitler. People are scared of him. If it ain't Nolan's way, it's the highway."
First off all, Barlow's comments were completely condemnable and outrageous. Hitler had a much better winning percentage than Nolan does.
But even with an apology this week, Barlow comes off as a brash, unstable, and ultimately bitter individual, completely consumed with his own accomplishments and ignorant of the concept of team.
You know, just the kind of guy you want around for a rebuilding year.
My concern is that the controversial levity Barlow could unleash before, during and after every loss might be muted by first-time head coach Eric Mangini, whose death-grip on team news and information dissemination should earn him a job with the Bush White House by season's end — the guy's even hesitant to give the media a depth chart before a preseason game. Mangini is truly the product of his football mentors: he's got Bill Belichick's unwavering paranoia, and Bill Parcells's man boobs.
Still, what if Mangini works some magic? As a Jets fan, this is the part of the preseason I dread — the part with the optimism, where blind hope and callous logic wage an exhausting war. We're like Cubs fans, only a lot less adorable.
I want to believe that Barlow will slide in for Curtis and run for 1,000 yards. I want to believe that Mangini's closed-door policies will result in the creation of a Patriots-like season in which the team's sum will be much greater than its parts. I want to believe that Pennington stays healthy, the defense stays consistent, and that our best shot at a Pro Bowl player isn't just our punter.
I want to believe, and for at least the first few games I will. But then it'll all go to hell. I'll turn my attention to which draft pick to boo next spring, while Kevan Barlow compares our offensive line coach to Pol Pot.
God, I love football season.
Programming Note
Earlier this year, I taped a few segments for ESPN Classic's "Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame" program, a brilliant little piece of revisionist history that always makes me think while it's also making me angry.
My first appearance will be on Tuesday, Aug. 29 at 10:30 PM for the "Top 5 Reasons You Can't Blame Steroids for the Home Run Explosion," and interesting look at some hidden factors beyond the usual performance-enhancing drugs argument. I was especially proud to revisit the juiced ball controversy, which was my first cover story for SportsFan Magazine here in DC.
Check it out, and witness the miraculous way editing can make a moron from the Jersey suburbs sound positively scholarly.
Random Thoughts
Michael Wilbon of the Washington Post — you know, the paper that stabs its sports columnists in the back when they debut as football commentators — had the most idiotic line of the week in a column about the overblown Bryant Gumbel flap with the NFL: "When the NFL Network announced that Gumbel and Cris Collinsworth were going to call games this season, it was a boon for the league. The fledgling network needs Gumbel a lot more than he needs it."
Please. There are exactly two broadcasts in which the men in the booth matter: "Monday Night Football," because of the prestige, and the Super Bowl, because of the pressure. In every other instance, the voices doing the game are secondary to the voices in the studio. That's what made Orlando Sentinel columnist Jemele Hill's flaccid critique of Tony Kornheiser on "MNF" even more useless: her claim that the ESPN booth was "unsuccessfully trying to copy TNT's studio team" on its NBA coverage. It's not comparing apples to oranges — it's comparing apples to moon rocks.
Wilbon's contention that Gumbel will somehow attract viewers to an otherwise ostracized football broadcast is at best unfounded, at worst a blatant attempt to elevate one of his self-professed media heroes into something more than a washed-up morning host piloting a little-watched cable news magazine. "How many play-by-play guys have interviewed Fidel Castro in Cuba and come into your living room live from Saigon?" Wilbon asks. I don't know, I answer, but if that had anything to do with football fans tuning into a broadcast then Morley Safer should have gotten the "Monday Night" gig instead of Wilbon's "PTI"-mate...
So the new season of "Survivor" will feature four teams segregated by race.
You know, in the past, if I wanted to see different ethnic tribes waging war in athletic competitions, I'd have to wait for the next Olympiad.
I think producer Mark Burnett missed the boat here. If you're going to base a TV reality show on battling groups of blacks, whites, and Hispanics, why not populate the teams with NBA, NHL, and MLB all-stars? There's your ratings spike, right there...
Finally, astronomers have downgraded Pluto from a planet to a dwarf, which should make the next re-release of Disney's "Snow White" very interesting...
Greg Wyshynski is the Features Editor for SportsFan Magazine in Washington, DC, and the Senior Sports Editor for The Connection Newspapers of Northern Virginia. His book is "Glow Pucks and 10-Cent Beer: The 101 Worst Ideas in Sports History." His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].
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