Rex Ryan can run with the bulls with the best of them, but he is trampling on his once-beloved quarterback and his own career as well.
For four years, Ryan coddled Mark Sanchez, inked a tattoo of his wife wearing a green 6 jersey on his right arm, was all in on former general manager Mike Tannenbaum giving his Sanchise that paralyzing $8.25 million guarantee for this season.
And then, in a decision that will may very well live in infamy alongside Joe Pisarcik and The Fumble at Giants Stadium, Ryan gave us The Bumble. Or, if you prefer, the coaching version of the Buttfumble.
In a move devoid of all reason and common sense, he threw Sanchez to the wolves in Garbage Time, threw him under the bus, behind Hall of Fame offensive linemen named Aboushi, Winters, Peterman, Schlauderaff and Shugarts. This, after it had become obvious to everyone else that Geno Smith had surrendered the Opening Day job with a three-interception, one-safety fiasco.
After 52 turnovers these past two seasons, we know Sanchez is Dead Quarterback Walking.
Ryan, inherited and mummified by rookie general manager John Idzik, has likely sealed his fate as Dead Coach Walking.
The Fall of Rex Ryan has been a swift and stunning one.
Remember when he was the talk of the town and the toast of Jets Town when he took Gang Green to back-to-back AFC Championship games his first two seasons?
Remember when most every Jets fan wanted to belly up to the bar with him for a beer or two?
Remember when his bluster and braggadoccio was a howling breath of fresh air that blew away the paranoia of the Eric Mangini Era?
Remember when he told us he didn’t come here to kiss Bill Belichick’s rings? Remember when he called out Tom Brady?
Remember when he wrote a book and brilliantly played a cheesy lawyer who was a Patriots fan in the Adam Sandler movie “That’s My Boy?” That’s our Rex!
Remember when he was the star of “Hard Knocks,” when he concluded a blistering of his Jets with, “Let’s go eat a goddamn snack?”
When you get your owner the back page of the tabloids and as much space on the web as the Kardashians, and you become the franchise’s most compelling figure since Broadway Joe Namath, you build up enough equity to survive flipping the bird to a taunting Dolphins fan and cursing out another fan who volunteered that Belichick is a better coach, and only a minority chide you as a buffoon.
But when you lose 13 of your last 19 games, when you admit that you didn’t have your finger on the pulse of the locker room, when you have three offensive coordinators in three years, when your trusted defensive coordinator abandons your sinking ship for Buffalo, when there are no more scapegoats left and you avoid the guillotine that lopped off the head of the former GM because the owner has great affection for you, when you lose your cool at a bizarre postgame press conference, gone are the days when you are viewed as a lovable character.
It is one thing to treat opposing quarterbacks with scorn as defensive coordinator/head coach, quite another to treat your own quarterback with gross neglect.
No quarterback — be it Brady or Sanchez — deserves the kind of shabby treatment that Sanchez received Saturday night against the Giants.
The irony of it all is this endless quarterback competition doesn’t unfold the way it has unless you have a general manager with a longer-term vision riding roughshod over a lame duck coach with a win-now mandate.
Further exacerbating Ryan’s predicament is Jets Idzik will now be asking himself how he can trust his inherited head coach with the nurturing of Smith, or any other young quarterback. It will undoubtedly be one reason why Idzik will look to bring in his own head coach to rebuild and repair. The team Ryan is certain to field this season will be the other.
You do hope Ryan isn’t cracking under the strain of Big Brother watching his every move with a team that has no chance. He’s a good guy. His lap band surgery probably saved his life, and kudos to him for that.
Maybe it’s only a coincidence that since he lost the weight, he lost the way.
