I found this on a website I post at. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can't. Hopefully, the guy won't find out I'm copying it because it's too funny. This also goes well with my funeralized fantasy football team. I could have thrown another "f" in there, but that's not necessary. I lost the championship by ONE DAMN POINT 91-90!
Anyway, I spent 10 minutes just formatting the text so it would look right. And, I think this is a little too rough on Coach Herman Edwards, but here goes. This is to the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie."
A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that ballclub used to make me smile.
And I knew if Herm just took a chance
That we could make it to the Big Dance
And, maybe, we’d be happy for a while.
But January made me shiver
With every kick Doug Brien didn’t deliver.
Bad news on the big screen;
I didn’t even give a scream.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I watch that last kick sail too wide,
But something crushed me deep inside
The day the season died.
So bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
Did you have a team you love,
And do you have faith in Weeb above,
If the old-timers tell you so?
Do you believe we won it all,
And that this franchise once stood real tall,
And can you tell me all you know?
Well, I know that we’re in love with them
`cause we watch despite all the mayhem.
We all kicked down some brews.
Cause it’s the only way to kill the blu-uuuuues. ( I added the extra u's there).
I am a miserable middle-aged dumb-ass schmuck
Whose heart is always run-over by a big green truck,
And have never even heard of luck
The day the season died.
I started singin’,“bye-bye,
to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
Now for thirty-six years we could only dream
And Moss grows phat on another team,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When Broadway threw to win the game,
In pantyhose, we loved him just the same
And an arm that earned him a Super Bowl trophy,
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
Two bad knees stole his chance at second crown.
His legend is truly earned;
But the magic never returned.
And while the Sack Exchange led the attack,
Richard Todd almost got us back,
But AJ and mud gave a fade-to-black
The day the season died.
We were singing,“bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
Kotite, what a fright, but the Tuna came to set it right.
The turnaround was an amazing sight,
Winning games and rising fast
At the Meadowlands they added grass.
Leon Johnson tried for a forward pass,
And same-old-Jets came back from the past.
Now the ninety-eight team brought a collective roar
As we finished the season twelve and four.
We all got up for the dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
As Curtis and KJ tried to take the field;
The Broncos D refused to yield.
Do you recall how Vinny was revealed
The day the season died?
We started singing,“bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
Oh, here we all are in a strange new place
With a head coach who is lost in space
With no time left on the clock again.
So come on: Herm be nimble, Herm be quick!
Herm probably has a story about a candlestick
Cause BS is the Hermster’s only friend.
Oh, and as I watched him on the screen
My hands were clenched and I gave a scream.
No coordinator who gives ‘em hell
Could break old Herman’s spell.
And as the scores climbed high into the night
I knew that something wasn’t right,
I heard Herman saying “we’ll be alright”
The day the season died
He was singing,“bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
We started a QB who gave us hope
Was he the savior….sorry…. nope,
He tore his shoulder and then turned away.
I went down to theganggreen.com board
I searched for answers, but my faith wasn’t restored,
And the men there said it was tough to watch them play.
And in the threads: the darksiders screamed,
The faithful cried, and the sunshiners dreamed.
A million words were spoken;
All of our hearts were broken.
And the three things I abhor the most:
The Fake Spike, the shovel pass and the SOJ ghost,
They all have made our beloved team toast
The day the season died.
We were singing,“bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
We were singing,“bye-bye, to my Jet fan high.”
Smashed my remote as I emote,
And let the swears fly.
I feel like I could drink some arsenic and lye
Singin’, "this’ll be the Sunday I die."
this’ll be the Sunday I die."
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