My boy Ethan Brooks (’96) has been a free agent for the past few months, having had the best run of his career as a Baltimore Raven, for whom he started many games at right tackle and where he also served in the vital capacity of swing tackle. He has signed with the New York Jets, which causes me a little bit of pain.

I have always said that I will only own one sort of hat for all of the major professional sports leagues — those of the Pats, Sox, Celtics, and Bruins — with one caveat: I will also wear whatever team Ethan plays. So I have an Atlanta Falcons cap that Big E wore in his first game as an Atlanta Falcon; I own a St. Louis Rams hat. I never got a Broncos hat (he was only there briefly), and I do not own a Ravens hat, but the larger point stands. But now that Ethan is a Jet, I am torn. Oh, wait — no I am not. I hope Ethan plays well for the Jets. I hope he crushes whoever lines up against him. I wish him well and will watch every Jets game that I can. But I hope the Pats wax his Jets every time they play. And I will never own a Jets hat, which literally and figuratiively makes its wearer look like a peahead.

I am happy for him. I know that given age and injuries he was only willing to accept the right situation, and this is a good one for him. He is from Connecticut, he went to Williams, which is not far away (and his brother coaches for the Ephs), and who wouldn’t want a shot at playing in the Big Apple? So congrats, Big Man, even if the Jets suck.

(Crossposted on Rebunk)

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