Those outside the New York area, or who do not watch gossip shows or read Huffington Post, may not know that New York Jets owner "Woody" Johnson lost his 30-year-old daughter last week. That Casey Johnson was associated with noted famewhore Tila Tequila
is immaterial. If you've ever known someone who lost a child, even an adult one, you know how this affects a parent -- and a family. I have a friend who recently observed the fourth anniversary of her daughter's death at the age of 24, and she noted, "It almost gets worse the more time passes."
Here at Casa la Brilliant
, we did the football thing yesterday by ordering bar food from our local dive bar and barbecue joint and watching the game. Now, I've never been one for football, but I've found it to be a lot more interesting since we got the flatscreen hi-def TV, because now I can actually see what's happening on the field and understand the game a bit more. I've been partial to the Jets this year, I have to confess, because as I noted earlier in the season
, the Jets have a quarterback who if he could only learn how to stop throwing the ball to guys on the other team, has the potential for Derek Jeter-level stardom in New York; a town that's been longing for a new Namath for thirty years. I mean, he's cute as a button and he listens to James Taylor before games so he delivers female eyeballs to television advertisers, and he's Latino in an increasingly Latino city. What's not to like?
So yesterday, Mark Sanchez played like the bonus baby he's supposed to be, and the Jets sent the Bengals packing. Already, WFAN morning drive guy, misogynist, and overall asshole Craig Carton, he of the disgusting remarks about New Jersey state Senator Richard Codey's wife's postpartum depression
that got him kicked out of his last job, had to live up to a promise to cross the George Washington Bridge in a Speedo if the Jets made the playoffs. So right now, following the Jets is sort of like being a Mets fan in a year that isn't fraught with futility. I'm sure it would be even sweeter for the owner of this misbegotten franchise, were it not for the raw and gaping wound in his family left by the loss of his daughter.
So you'd think that sportswriters would have the decency to leave the team owner alone, or at the very least offer condolence, no matter how many visions they may have had in the past about hot Tila-on-Casey action. But no....in the sports business, The Question just had to be asked
Eventually, attention turned to Woody Johnson, the Jets’ owner, whose daughter Casey died earlier this week. Johnson accepted the game ball with red eyes, overcome with emotion. When a reporter asked if victory had eased the pain, he answered quickly, “No, nothing helps,” and he walked into the night.
What kind of fuckwit do you have to be to ask a man if a FUCKING FOOTBALL GAME helped ease the pain of LOSING A CHILD? What kind of fuckwit do you have to be to even THINK that a football game would make a difference?
Labels: American Idiots, football, sports