In honor of the Jets’ Wild Card victory over the Indianapolis Colts, I am posting, verbatim, the victorious rant of celebrated Jets fan and friend of The Saratogian, Nicholas “Nicky Boy” Bochelli, roughly an hour after the game ended.
In order to keep within the high standards of The Saratogian and keep in accordance with the AP Stylebook, all curse words have been replaced with names of various vegetables. Imagine he is yelling this whole thing, so that I don’t have to burn through my exclamation point allowance for the year. Also, imagine his speech is a little slurred:
Hey, hey! J-E-T-S Jets-Jets-Jets amirite?! Did you see that pumpkin beauty of a game? Nicky Folk hero. You know it’s the shared first name, right? I just know Old Rex was kissing that foot two minutes after the cameras left.
I’d have made the same kick too, only I’d have invited the whole Colts team out to try and block it. Then, I’d have slammed it at Dwight Freeney so that it bounced off his would-be-concussed head and straight through the uprights.
Man, those onion Colts and that brussels sprout Manning didn’t stand a chance. He’s a chump. You know why he’s No. 18? Because that’s what I figured his completion percentage would be for the game. He’s slow. He plays like he’s underwater in a suit of armor. Forget that guy. Indianapolis Colts: never a threat.
From what I saw he had a good outing. He led that drive that put the Colts up with under a minute to play.
No man. That was the Jets giving them a glimmer of hope. False sense of security. KnowwhatI’msayin? That was the plan the whole time. I was there on the sideline, using Alosi’s field pass since I knew he wouldn’t need it. Old Rex was like, "Give it to them so that they know what it tastes like, then snatch it back and beat ‘em over the head with it like the celery they are."
Yeah, but that kick for the win was pretty close to the right upright for a chip shot. Plus, it was a little wobbly.
Never in doubt, my man. There are some people who might try to tell you that I leaked a bit just after the snap, and then tried to cover it up by rubbing hot dog condiments on my pants, but that’s not true. I tried to finish my dog quick before the inevitable celebration, and I spilled a ton of mustard. Heat of the moment, man. Fog of war. Things get sloppy.
Why would anybody try to give me the first account of that story?
I dunno. Don’t worry about it. That kick was true all the way through, though.
So will you be this confident next week going into Gillette?
Of course, man. We have a hit list for this playoffs. We put a fresh beating on the Colts because it was personal with Old Rex. Next, we abscond that throwaway loss against the Pats. You remember that false hope we laid on Manning I was talking about before. Yeah, that’s what that Week 13 loss was.
Let them feel good about themselves…get overconfident, then BAM! After that, we’ll get vengeance on Baltimore for Week 1, and finally, meet either the Bears—those carrots—or the Packers to kick their asparagus in the Super Bowl. The one that doesn’t make it would not be worthy of our beating. That covers all the teams that wronged us. We’ll be like a crazy mix of the Punisher and the Highlander.
For the playoffs, we are going to be like the final scene of The Godfather, going to the mattresses of those enemies we have not yet vanquished. You wait. That’s the playoffs in a nutshell. Mark “Corleone” Sanchez going nuts. The city of Dallas will probably be destroyed in the process with his power.
Will you be at the next game too?
Beans yes! I’ll be sitting so close that I’ll be able to hear the Pats cheerleaders talking themselves into the courage to talk to me. They’ll be all "Oh, Nicky. I have seen the error of my ways. I want you to take me home so I can shed this blue and silver and"—(graphic imagery removed for the sake of the reader).