Hate restores us. Hate focuses us. Hate keeps us warm at night and spoons us if we so desire it. And no time is hate more powerful – more necessary – than the postseason, when those we despise are so close to getting what they want. I don’t get what I want, so f*ck those guys. There are countless reasons to hate anyone. Some of which you might not be aware. Or been made to realize that they are worthy of scorn. Well, you came to the right place. Allow us to guide you to the darkest recesses of the soul, where the streets run dark green with bile and everyone knows your embarrassing nickname.

What have the Jets been up to this season? I feel like I haven’t heard anything out of them since they were on Hard Knocks and then sexually harassed Ines Sainz and then Braylon Edwards got arrested for a DWI and then Jenn Sterger told Deadspin about Favre’s cell phone dick pics while he was with the team and then Sal Alosi tripped a Dolphins player on the sidelines and then Rex Ryan’s foot fetish videos were released into the public domain.

What a quiet fucking year out of this unassuming band of workman-like professionals. I bet they roll through the playoffs since no one will have seen them coming.

/Rex Ryan talks loads of shit

/Jets lose to the Patriots by 8,000 points

In my experience, there are two types of Jets fans: the far more populous Bro-Magnon mouthbreathers who are just pissed that there’s no Gate D atmosphere at the New Meadowlands and the heavily outnumbered segment which acts halfway civilized but maintains that Jets fans are really perpetually pessimistic and downtrodden and always believe that they will be let down by their team in the end.

Maybe it’s just me, but I’d take the loudmouth greaseball Jersey retards any day over the bored NYC assholes who are looking for something to whine about when the Mets aren’t underachieving. You hear the “Same Old Jets” mantra come out as soon as these shitheads lose a single game. Fine, the franchise has gone a good 40 years or so since its last championship. Here’s the world’s tiniest IROC stereo system blasting violin music for you. Unless you’re a Lions (or maybe a Browns or Bills) fan you don’t get to play the “woe is our tortured fan base” card. Especially when your team has been in the playoffs now six times in the last decade.

But, okay, you want pessimism: date rapey Sanchez sucks and always will. Surround him with as much incredible talent as you like. It won’t matter. Even if that weren’t the case, you still have a Schottenheimer running the offense. Revis is a smug dickhole who likes to call receivers slouches even after they beat him for a touchdown. Bart Scott is the worst type of dirty player: one who turns around and complains when he thinks other teams are playing dirty, too.

For all his entertaining quotes and bluster, Rex manages the gameclock and challenges like Andy Reid. The Jets wanted to go deeper into the playoffs, so they have made their feature back LaDainian Tomlinson, who couldn’t be more useless in the postseason. Your kicker is Nick Folk. Yikes. Woody Johnson will eventually give up and fullfill his lifelong dream of professional lacrosse team ownership.

I hope your team is doomed to failure. Namath is the perfect representation of the Jets: an overrated sideshow who wasn’t worth on the field half what he was television. But he’s responsible for your franchise’s one moment of glory, so he’ll never go away. It’s completely fitting. What a 24 hours it must have been to have Bill Belichick as your head coach, except he scrawled his resignation on a loose sheet of paper, fucked you over, and proceeded to mumblerape you for a decade and counting. Anything to serve as an everlasting indictment for continuing to allow Fireman Ed be the public face of your fan base.

Players

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