NY Jets #40 - Part 1

I did not play organized football beyond the fourth grade, and like a lot fans, I compensate for my limited experiences in sports with an almost childlike obsession as a spectator. I did play a sport in high school during my freshman year, and I was pretty good at it. I was a varsity letter cross-country runner. It did not pull the honeys.

The point of mentioning this, though, is that while trudging back from yet another five-mile practice run with the team, I would spy the high school football squad going through the motions. Their football coach was a towering, lugubrious looking figure with a cold, sneering, cruel face, yet with an accent just short of sounding like one of the Three Stooges. To add to it, he had a fu manchu mustache more appropriate to Ming the Merciless than Joseph William Namath. His team did not like him.

Let them hate; so long as they fear. This is the essence of Machiavelli's rule of leadership, I suppose. We have not evolved far enough as a species to really produce leaders of a pure moral essence, so Jean-Luc Picard wasn't exactly my high school's football coach. Neither was he particularly self-conscious. I find that tyrants are often not. A very talented player on his team went to the trouble of producing a very good likeness of the coach dressed as Darth Vader, wielding a light saber, and hung it outside his office. When I asked the coach - callow kid of 14 that I was - why he didn't take the picture down, he replied, "Because I want the bastard who did this to feel ashamed of himself for what he did." Somehow, even so young, I knew that coach's plan wasn't going to work. Displaying his work under any pretext will only embolden your average artist, and so I had my first real taste of dramatic irony.

The real point of mentioning this, though, was that (as I began earlier before Truth broke in with all her matter-of-fact) as I fumbled back into the locker room at high school, I passed by football practice one day and saw the coach blistering three players on the sidelines for sitting on their helmets. "I told you idiots once, I told you a million times I don't want to see that."

But why? If it was OK for John Riggins, then why not for the chubby boys of my high school? Did they seriously weigh that much? Was the coach worried about replacing equipment that would go cracked under a lineman's buttocks? Could he actually have been worried for their brains' fragile cages? Was this just a peeve? A peeve, probably. One that #40 James Hasty evidently would have had no problem deflecting. Hasty and Russell Carter are two secondary players I was sorely unhappy to the Jets let go.

Sometimes I play a little game with myself in which I imagine what if.... There's so much in Jets history from which to choose. There are too many examples. Suffice: what if James Hasty had not left the Jets secondary to join the Chiefs in 1994? If he had stayed a Jet, he would have endured Kotite and then Parcells' grinding mill. How would a high profile defensive player have been received by the Tuna Overlord? I mean, Otis Smith, Ray Mickens, and Aaron Glenn all played for the '96 squad and then for Parcells, so maybe Hasty would have been able to play for the Great Manipulator. He might not immediately have been painted as a prima donna. For the Chiefs, Hasty earned Pro Bowl seasons from 1997 to 1999. Had he been on the Jets during that time, would Parcells have told him to get up off his hemlet? I believe not, though it might still be a good idea for my old high school coach and Parcells to be in group therapy.

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According to Mark Kriegal's biography of Namath, the Franchise's best pal, Ray Abruzzese #25, was cut in 1967 to make room for a defensive back rookie who lead the nation with 11 interceptions the year before at Utah State. This meant nothing to Namath, whose bodyguard, manservant, pal and general wing man was now sent off to play actual football somewhere else. Namath bemoans this move in the book, noting that Henry King #40, Ray's replacement, was just "some rich rookie," which two years before was how people described Joe Willie. Irony abounds in this entry, I guess. Even when he was nearsighted on such issues, Namath appears prescient. Randy Beverly #42 eventually took King's place by the end of 1967 and was instrumental in nailing down the Jets Super Bowl Championship with some key defensive plays. Henry King left football at the end of '67 and was never heard from in the NFL again. I still say that you cut Ray Abruzzese, though.

It certainly looks as though Dainard Paulson #40 wants us to say something about him, doesn't it? And why not. There's a little surprise here for some of you unfamiliar with the early history of your beloved club. King replaced Dainard Paulson in #40 in 1967. Originally a New York Titan, Paulson came out of Oregon State and eventually caught 12 interceptions in 1964 as a Jet, a statistic placing him not only in the AFL All-Star Game but in the all-time annals of the game itself - tied at #5 for all-time single season interception records. Paul Krause did the same in the NFL for the Redskins in '64. The only person afterwards to approach this single-season record was Lester Hayes in 1980 for the Oakland Raiders, but remember that Hayes did it in a 16-game season. Dainard Paulson was just two seasons away from having the same distinction as Bill Mathis, Larry Grantham, Curley Johnson and Don Maynard - as both Titans and Jets in Super Bowl III - but Paulson's career ends without statistical distinction at the end of 1966. The rest is silence.

If Dainard Paulson was that good - and he was - where did he go? To vanish irrevocably from the game must have been traumatic for him. Or was it, all the same, just a boy's game and not a man's endeavor to him? Maybe it was just time to return to his childhood home in California, to begin his life as a surfer, to discover bliss in the warm ocean and under God's sunshine. These are the mysteries that keep me awake at night.

NY Jets #39

Thirty-nine is thirteen three times. Does this explain its general absence from the annals of the greatest? I conjure Larry Csonka's bruised spirit, one so dedicated to life's coexistence with pain that he actually made a teammate vomit in the huddle when the unfortunate glanced at Zonk's gruesomely bloody nose. In the modern era, Laurence Mulroney and Steven Jackson have some claim on the number's voodoo, such as it is. But number 39 will not be joining football's House of Extravaganza. He will not be opening any cologne lines. He will not be changing his name to "Tres Nueve."

So we begin with Roderick Bryant #39. It's become a kind of a cliche on these pages to talk about the short-lived career of the average player in the NFL secondary. He comes and goes with the success of the receivers he covers. At the beginning of his rookie season in 2004, in his first play as a pro, Bryant broke up a crucial pass thrown by Peyton Manning. It was an auspicious start. He played 13 games that year, but then he was never heard from in the professional game again. He's out there, somewhere. "Roderick Bryant" is the kind of name you might find on the marquee of a late 40's studio film: Roderick Bryant, as you've never seen him before. The next thing you know, he's lucky to make a guest appearance on The Love Boat while Fred Astaire gets the handoff (of a cat) from O.J Simpson at the end of The Towering Inferno.

Jehuu Caulcrick #39 is somewhere out there, maybe even still on the squad. But among Thomas Jones, Leon Washington and Shonn Greene, is there any place on Rex Ryan's Jets for the Winner of the Booth Lustig Award for #39? Born in Liberia, a child of that nation's civil war, his father was a member of the 1992 government there and was murdered. Jehuu Caulcrick was something like a folk hero and embodiment of the American Dream at Michigan State, but will he be with the Jets in September? His first name means "Yahweh is he." Caulcrick isn't He, but if Yahweh could come back as anything he wanted, why wouldn't he come back as a short but powerful running back? Does that mean Leon Washington is God?

If your name is Saladin Martin, who played in #39 in 1980 for the Jets, are you more likely to be like your namesake, one who apparently vanquished his Crusader enemies in the 12th century with a sense of chivalry for which Medieval Crusaders were supposed to have been known? Please, I don't know.

Regardless, Andrew Davidson played part of the 2002 season at cornerback for the Jets in #39. Perhaps if he had an interesting name, we could say more. We, meaning I, can't.


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Fred Julian is at least one player in the history of the franchise whose career was interrupted by the Cold War. At 5'9", he lead the New York Titans with six interceptions in 1961, even when competing with Dick Felt and Roger Donahoo, each of whom clearly has a funnier name than does Fred Julian. He remembers Harry Wismer fondly - checks arriving on time, first class travel - and he remains not at all bitter that the Titans cut him when they anticipated that Julian would be called up by selective service to face down the Soviets over the Berlin Wall. Call him a happy revisionist. Call him content. He appears in his photograph as exactly the kind of square-jawed member of the generation that did not identify themselves as casual free spirits. Though Michael Vick may be trying to return to the NFL, Fred Julian never did. For better or for worse, he is an object example of the difference between the past and the present.

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Three times an unlucky number makes 39. Three men who wore #39 for the Jets have one particular nominal trait in common - alliterative names:

First, Harry Hamilton #39 for the Jets from 1984-87 at safety. He was memorable, hard-working, tough player and among the smartest of Jets to have ever played, which means that he had to be cut by the team. As this 1988 George Vescey article from the Times points out, "Any way you look at it, the way the Jets lopped off this solid citizen and solid tackler demonstrates the transient and anonymous nature of pro football." Sounds like something I'd say, George. He also points out that it's easiest to blame and shortchange the secondary for giving up a touchdown instead of going after the defensive linemen for giving the QB the time to find his man. Harry Hamilton's dad infers that the color of this scapegoat in general cannot be ignored. This is all starting to sound familiar. There have been several unhappy stories among former Jets players in the #30's.

Then, another Harry. Safety Harry Howard, #39, who played for us in 1976. There are intangibles here, as they say. Intangibles can be items about a player that are not statistically quantifiable, like a locker room presence, an intimidation factor on the line, or an ability to distract your opponent. But what if your identity itself is an intangible. In the Jets' own online All-Time Roster, Harry Howard is literally "an intangible without a name," which is also how Lou Holtz in 1976 described a player named "Louis" in Harry Howard's write-up. This means that the Jets organization is currently mistaking Harry Howard for Louie Giammona, a running back drafted out of Utah State, whom we will meet when we cover #45. All we know about Harry Howard is that he was drafted out of Ohio State in 1972 by the Rams but played only one NFL season as Giammona's teammate four years later on the dreadful 1976 Jets squad.

There aren't many players who get the NFL in-action figure - the kind that Dad picks up at Kennedy Airport when he realizes he still hasn't bought anything for the kids on his business trip to New York - but #39 Johnny Johnson did before the 1995 season. The only trouble was Johnny Johnson wasn't there by the start of '95. He had enjoyed five successful seasons as a tailback in the NFL, first with the Phoenix Cardinals, then with the Jets from 1993-94. In that deranged 6-10 season in '94 with Pete Carroll, Johnny Johnson ran for 953 yards on the ground. Then, while the Jets fell deeply into the mire of Rich Kotite's uniquely depressing leadership, Johnny Johnson vanished from pro football as quickly as an ambitious government minister in Stalin's inner circle. And in the midst of the gloom that followed, we fell under losing's ponderous spell. History was rewritten. Adrian Murrell kept us amused, but our memories became unreliable. Did we ever have a Johnny Johnson? Didn't we used to have a big, powerful backfielder once? Where did he go? The Cardinals? Wasn't that where he started? Was his name Jimmy Johnson? No, that's the Cowboys' old coach. Oh, never mind. Just end the season. Where have you gone, Johnny Johnson?

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Maurice Tyler had four interceptions in his first season at defensive back for the Bills in 1972, but then after that his career was a long succession of packing and unpacking, town to town, up and down the dial. Who will ever speak for the traveling secondary player who's only as good as the imagination of the the coach will allow? Look, the game has changed a great deal, and defenses have evolved, but it didn't change quickly enough for Maurice Tyler. He was marked by that most anonymous of distinctions in his career - he changed his number each time he moved to a new city: #42 in Buffalo, #23 in Denver, #25 in San Diego, #27 in Detroit, back to #25 for the Giants after playing in #39 for the Jets in 1977. Nary a winning season the whole way. I'm not sure if that's the way he looked that particular season the Jets went 3-11, but the combination of the afro and hearty mustache is, by definition, unbeatable - even if Maurice Tyler's career was not.

NY Jets #38 - Part 2

Mike Zordich played for Penn State at cornerback, and now his son plays linebacker for Penn State, which makes me feel pretty old. Zordich played in #38 as a rookie for the Jets during the "lost" years - a time where I became disenchanted with the lusterless play of my football team because I was busy trying to pick up women at hopelessly crowded house parties or maybe trying to understand Roland Barthes' S/Z. It was not to be.

For himself, Mike Zordich came to the Jets in the strike year of 1987, and he played all 16 games the following year. In 1988 he scored on his first pro interception, a long return against the Houston Oilers to top off 45-3 win. If I had been paying attention during this one year in the lost ones, I might have thought of Zordich's interception as part of a big win in what would be a big season in a big career for Mike Zordich as a Jet. None of it was to be.

I knew Mike Zordich more by his play in #36 for Philadelphia, where he became a popular Eagles player in a city that loves its highly physical defensive backs. But obviously he most important thing here is Mike Zordich's faint mustache at left, which I too possessed in and around the time that Mike Zordich first became a professional in the game he loves. It's just a hint of hair under the nose. Like the mullet, these mustaches were regarded without irony or critical abstraction. These was intended to attract females which, as I mentioned earlier, it did not in my particular case. Nor did it help me understand French poststructuralist theory.

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During my junior year of college, I was given an opportunity to study at Blackfriars College, Oxford for entire school year. This may be news to you, but 20 years later, it's apparently not news to my students, one of whom inferred that I mentioned decades-old experience a little too often today. The following exchange took place recently:

"Mr. Roche?"

"Yes?"

"I ran into one of your former students the other day. Do you remember (name omitted)?"

"Why yes, I do. Does he remember me?"

"Yes, he did. In fact, he asked me, Does Roche still talk all the time about the fact that he went to Oxford for a year of college?"

"Ah. And what did you say?"

"I said yes, he does."

It took a couple of days for me to silently, quietly and humbly recover from that one.

Safety Todd Scott wore #38 for the Jets in 10 games during the bleak 1995 season. Three seasons before, he had gone to the Pro Bowl as a Viking for the first and only time in his career. He was also named to the All-Madden team that same year. Does he mention the season 1995 as often as, apparently, I do my year in the sun? Well, I know I won't mention Oxford anymore - except in my blogs, which no one reads anyway.

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A simple search online for former 1996 Jets safety, #38 Kwame Ellis produces an interesting result. It was bad enough that Ellis did not even play all the way through the New York Jets' worst season in record, and while he would play in NFL Europe, he would never play for anyone else in NFL United States. But he was also arrested in Mexico last November for stiffing a cab driver the equivalent of $26! The age of immediate worldwide access to information should encourage all of us to behave better, if only to save us from the worldwide embarrassment that a reported misadventure might bring us. Even a non-celebrity former athlete like Kwame Ellis is that much more likely to be humiliated online by a site like YouBeenBlinded, which suggests that Ellis may have stiffed the driver in order to save his money for a pickup with a lady of the evening on the strip. The site seems to specialize in reporting on athletes breaking the law. It's a rich ground to till.

And finally...Jon McGraw #38. No, he never sang with Elmo, but I remember when McGraw was drafted out of Kansas State as a walk-on turned college starter turned pro. Stories like that resonate, of course. Now that he's with the Kansas City Chiefs, he has his own web site. Why? Dunno. But enter the site and hover over the headings at the top, and you'll find that it makes this sort of weird sound, like what a bumble bee makes when it brushes against a screen door.