The New York Jets have transformed into one of sports media’s favorite punching bags, and after the Super Bowl success of their Gotham brethren, their mediocrity has been magnified.
They’re a team with seemingly no faith in their starting quarterback, and they have a back-up quarterback who’s more famous for his grilled cheese poses and shirtless jaunts in the rain, than for his ability to hit a receiver in the hands from more than 15 yards away (re: he can’t throw).
The Jets have become the laughingstock of New York, not because they’re the worst team in the NFL, but because they’re painfully average. In a world of 32 flavors, the Jets are vanilla. No, scratch that, the Jets are the cone, essentially empty on the inside.
