| | **OnlineHost**
It was two thousand eleven. I had just turned 25 years old, and was in my third year as a Jet. But we'll get to that.
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| | **OnlineHost**
There's no pretty way to put this... I played in the suburbs. East Rutherford, in fact. Too far away to ride my bike to anywhere that mattered. |
| **OnlineHost**
I guess most people think of the suburbs as a place with all the disadvantages of the city, and none of the advantages of the country. And vice versa. But, in a way, those really were the wonder years for us there in the suburbs. It was kind of a golden age for talented, flawed quarterbacks. |
| Mark_Sanchez: Quit it, butthead!
|
| Wayne: eh heh heh heh /flings spoonful of mashed potatoes |
| **OnlineHost**
Unfortunately, it was also a golden age for annoying older brothers. |
| Mark_Sanchez: WAYNE!
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| Wayne: hey, don't worry scrote! i'm sure you can just go whine about it to... your girlfriend! ahaha! eh heh heh! |
| Mark_Sanchez: Hey! Winning is not my girlfriend! All right?
|
| | **OnlineHost**
Well. Not really, anyway.
|
| Wayne: oh, so is that why you've been hanging out with winning every two to three weeks? |
| Mark_Sanchez: Cut it out. S'not a big deal!
|
| | **OnlineHost** Dad has entered the chat room.
|
 | Dad: sigh /sets headset on kitchen counter |
| Mark_Sanchez: Um. Hey dad! How was work?
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Dad: work's work |
| | **OnlineHost** If my old man were a poet... well, let's just say he would save a lot of paper.
|
| Mark_Sanchez: So, uh, Dad.
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| Dad: Eh? |
| | **OnlineHost** It was finally time to state my case. A third-year man like myself needed a bigger allowance, and it was finally time to lobby to the man himself. I needed to be tactful. Charismatic. Thoughtful. |
| Mark_Sanchez: Dad, can I have a raise? On-- on my allowance.
|
| | **OnlineHost** Oops. |
| Dad: ask ya mother
|
| Mark_Sanchez: Mom? Can I get a raise? I mean, I'm 25 now, and I do all kinds of stuff around the team.
|
 | Mom: Well... maybe we can talk about this after dinner, honey.
|
| | **OnlineHost** But I was a man on a quest. I was not to be deterred. I broke the cardinal rule of kid-dom.
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| Mark_Sanchez: Wull-- |
| Mark_Sanchez: Wull listen, how come Wayne gets a higher allowance than I do?
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| Dad: Because Wayne played for the Jets for 11 years. You play for 11 years, we'll talk.
|
| | **OnlineHost** I was stonewalled.
|
| Wayne: /idly sticks stalks of celery up nose
|
| | **OnlineHost** I got to thinking that night. About money. About making a living. What was work all about?
|
| | **OnlineHost** So later, when Dad was in his easy chair, watching TV, I ignored the "do not disturb" rule and asked him something I'd never asked him before.
|
| Mark_Sanchez: Um. Dad?
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| Dad: Eh?
|
| Mark_Sanchez: What do you... do all day? You know... like, for your job.
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| Dad: I work in the AFC East. You know that.
|
| Mark_Sanchez: Wull... yeah, but...
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| Mom: /squeezes Dad's arm Honey. He wants to know what you do all day. |
| Dad: Well... tell ya what. Tomorrow, you're coming to work with me. You'll see what work's all about.
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| | **OnlineHost**
And then next day, I went to work with my old man. I knew he worked at the AFC East, we all did. But to me, that was just a fancy acronym. I wanted to know what it meant. What having a job meant. |
| Dad: Well, here it is.
|
| | **OnlineHost**
I sat next to Dad on the sideline as he went about his day. Calling plays. Checking in on his offensive coordinator. Debating with officials.
|
| Mark_Sanchez: /beams |
| | **OnlineHost**
Yep, my old man was some kind of big-shot. He looked so important. Like nothing could stop him.
|
 | Boss: RYAN! What the hell is going on here? |
| Dad: Oh, hello Mr. Belichick. What's the matter?
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| Boss: The matter? You've been here for an hour and you don't know what the matter is?
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| Boss: I have a safety, that's the problem! The score is 9 to 6!
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| Mark_Sanchez: /puzzled look |
| | **OnlineHost**
I thought my old man only worked 9 to 5.
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| Dad: Yes. Well, Mr. Belichick, I put nine points on the board because I--
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| Boss: Fix this, Ryan. NOW. My passing attack can't penetrate the secondary. This office is NOT going to settle for field goals, you hear me? You want us to try to compete for playoff contracts with the AFC North with field goals? Switch up your defensive scheme, or else I'm going to...
|
| **OnlineHost**
I didn't understand what Mr. Belichick was saying. It all sounded important. I took a long look at my dad as he sat there, taking the sort of lecture gave me whenever I left my bicycle in the driveway. It was horrible. |
| **OnlineHost**
We didn't say much on the drive home. I finally understood why he came home in the shape he did. And I wondered whether that would ever be me. |
| Dad: /parks in driveway, turns in seat Don't grow old, kid. Don't you ever grow old. |
