My wife, two daughters, and I were among the fans milling around the expensive seats near the 50-yard line of MetLife Stadium shortly before the start of the New England Patriots-New York Jets Thanksgiving night game in 2012. Kathy and Jean did not have tickets for that section, which was filled with die-hard Jets season-ticket holders.
Worse still, my younger daughter, Carole, insisted on dressing head to toe in Patriots gear. She stood out in that sea of green more conspicuously than a shark at Nauset Beach. I suspected she was just as welcome.
That was when I locked eyes with the burly middle-aged man in the emerald-green New York Jets security jacket 15 feet away. He pointed his finger and beckoned me toward him.
“Hey, pal,” he shouted gruffly. “Come here.”
“Uh oh,” I said to myself. “Here we go.”
It had been a long journey that got me to this point. East Rutherford, N.J., surrounded by Jets fans, was the last place in the world I wanted to be on a Thanksgiving night. (A note regarding Jets fans: my ranking of unruly, obnoxious, profane fans had them near the top, behind only Philly fans, who once infamously booed Santa Claus.) Our presence in the middle of this group is explained by the phrase, “Things we do for our kids.”
My odyssey had started in August when Carole, who was 15, learned that her football heartthrob, Tom Brady, the New England quarterback, would be playing against the Jets at MetLife Stadium on Thanksgiving. When she first broached the idea of going to the game, purchasing four nosebleed tickets at $50 each seemed in the realm of possibility. It was exactly $200 more than I wanted to spend, but I was willing to make the sacrifice.
When this solution was presented to Carole — normally a pretty grounded teenager — she informed me that cheap seats were not what she had in mind. She had to be close to Tom. She further informed me that the least expensive seats she could tolerate — on the 45-yard line about 15 rows back — were $250 each. I told her she was delusional.
Negotiations ensued, and we eventually agreed to the following: The entire family would (reluctantly) forgo our traditional Thanksgiving meal and attend the game. We would buy two tickets in the Tom Brady section. Carole would put skin in the game by paying for hers ($250 was a significant sum for a teenager making minimum wage at a local running store), and I would pay for mine. We would buy two tickets in the cheap seats for Kathy and Jean. We would have a “fun” tailgate before the game in what I knew would be lousy weather and then have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner the next day. My wife and I would pretend not to dread the entire thing.
On the day of the game, something inexplicable happened — everything seemed to go right. We made the 25-mile trip from our house to the stadium with no traffic and rolled up to the parking lot several hours before kickoff. The temperature was in the high 40s with no wind — banana-belt weather for North Jersey in November. There was plenty of space to spread out, have a tailgate, and mingle with other early arrivals. There was a little heckling of my Patriots-clad daughter, but it was all good-natured. No way was our luck going to last, I thought to myself as we entered the stadium when the gates opened so Carole could watch Brady warm up.
Soon after that, I was summoned by the security guard. Given my less-than-glowing record with authority, I was not optimistic. I warily approached the guy, fully prepared to apologize for the un-ticketed presence of two family members and hoping to keep the verbal beating to a minimum. Before I could start pandering, he held out his hand and asked for my phone. In a kindly tone, he said, “Let me take a couple of pictures of you and your family.”
Knock me over with a feather.
It got even better. After getting our picture taken by the friendliest security guard ever, we headed to our assigned seats to watch a 49-19 Patriots drubbing of the Jets. Carole was in Tom Brady Heaven. And, to give credit where credit is due, those were some of the best seats I have ever enjoyed at a sporting event. They afforded an excellent view of the field and of Brady when he was on the bench. For weeks after the game, Carole told anyone who would listen that “it was the best $250 I have ever spent.”
The icing on the cake was that the Patriots scored 35 points in the second quarter in what has become known as the Butt Fumble Game, so the outcome was decided by halftime. The Jets season-ticket holders, who were all unfailingly cordial and kind, flooded the exits before the second half and, on the way out, told us that Kathy and Jean should take their choice of seats. We quickly called them and they needed no encouragement to join us from cheap-seat exile for one of the best Thanksgivings our family has ever had. Go figure.