Rasputin Is Alive And Well And Advising The NY Jets

Rasputin, often called “The Mad Monk” was a mystic, a healer and/or a prophet depending on who you asked in Russia at the turn of the 20^th century. Rasputin had the ear (and some say many more body parts) of Alexandra, the wife of Russian Emperor Nicholas II as well as the Tsar and his only son, Alexei who was a hemophiliac.

The Tsar considered Rasputin to be a holy man and a friend. But things got ugly for the Mad Monk during the later stages of World War I. The Russians were literally losing millions of soldiers and the war was obliterating what little wealth was left minus what the Royals drained for themselves. When the Tsar went on a trip to the front to see his troops, Rasputin used this as an opportunity to get in some sack time with the Tsarina – after all she believed that God spoke to her through Rasputin.

Well good 'ol Rasputin used his “mystic powers” over Alexandra to convince her to fill some government posts with some buddies of his. This ended up turning out badly. He ended up pissing off the wrong people at the wrong time and the whole soap opera ended up in one helluva shooting match.

Not So Merry Christmas

On December 16, 1916 Rasputin was lured into a basement by some noblemen evil-doers, much like Joe Pecsi was in “Goodfellas,” and whacked. Poisoned, shot, beaten senseless, rolled into a carpet and dumped into a river. Did he die? My theory? Rasputin didn't die-he lived and is advising the New York Jets.

“Hey, Welcome To The Big Apple Monk”

One of the first of the many tragic calls Rasputin made for the Jets happened oddly enough during the year they won their only Super Bowl. I guess Rasputin was just getting settled in.

It happened on November 17, 1968. Jets and the hated Raiders played in Oakland. Jets up 32-29 with 1:05 left. The suits at NBC were going to begin airing “Heidi” at 7:00 pm eastern standard time come hell or high water. Both came and there was plenty of both. The problem was that the game wasn't over. But it was for tv viewers in the eastern half of the nation.

Rasputin to NBC program switching geeks: “Time for Heidi. The game is over, the Jets won, time for Heidi.”

So instead of seeing two Raiders touchdowns in a span of nine seconds in the final minute, Jets fans saw a little girl on top of a Swiss mountain. In black and white no less. We were better off not seeing it, but at least we should've been able to see it. Final – Raiders 43 Jets 32.

Rasputin continued his black magic in August of 1971 during a Jets pre season game against the Lions. Jets running back Lee White fumbled at the Jets 29.

Rasputin, invisible to the rest of us, sitting on Joe Namath's shoulder whispered to him, “Go for the tackle Joe, go for the tackle...”

Namath heard him loud and clear but missed nailing Lions linebacker Mike Lucci and instead had his left knee crushed by Lions linebacker Paul Naumoff. End result – two torn ligaments, wrecked cartilage and a ruined Jets season.

Rasputin has also been highly active in helping the Jets during the draft. His most notable piece of work happened in 1983:

Rasputin to Jets brass: “Screw Dan Marino, go for the sure guy – Ken O'Brien out of Cal-Davis...”

That wasn't all. He continued his strong influence during the 1990 draft:

Rasputin to Jets brass: “Don't be a putz - you need a franchise running back and Blair Thomas out of Penn State is a sure thing. You gotta trust Joe Paterno...Cortez Kennedy is just a fatso and Junior Seau? Who knows how to play football in Samoa???...”

Rasputin had also maintained a mystical influence over the Jets late owner, Leon Hess. He told Hess to fire the up-and-coming Pete Carroll after his only season in 1994 when they went 6-10.

Rasputin to Hess: “Leon, you're not a spring chicken anymore, you need to win now. Who better to replace that young Carroll punk than with a respected former player and coach Rich Kotite?”

So at Kotite's press conference with Rasputin a shadowy figure in the background Hess came clean: “I'm 80 years-old and I want results now.”

Well Hess sure got results in a hurry. In Kotite's first game and the Jets' lone national appearance of the season, the Raiders opened a can of steaming hot boo-yah trashing them 47-10. That was the highlight of the season and they finished 3-13. Instead of firing Kotite after one season like they did Carroll, Hess stuck with him.

“Good thing,” Rasputin told him. “He deserves another chance.”

So a year later following a 1-15 white-out, Rich Kotite stepped down. And as he walked off the field at Giants Stadium for the final time, Kotite was drenched with a full cup of beer. No doubt poured by the Mad Monk himself.

And let us not forget the Bill Belichick fiasco. Before Bill Parcells resigned in 1999, he arranged for Belichick to take over as head coach. He kept the job one day. As Belichick approached the podium for his I'm-the-new-Jets-head-coach press conference, Rasputin struck again.

Rasputin to Belichick: “Shmuck, what are you getting yourself into? These guys haven't won squat since LBJ was wearing bell bottoms!”

Belichick, wasting no time, scrawled on a piece of loose leaf paper the following: "I resign as HC of the NYJ."

Rasputin took some time off and it showed. The Jets went to the AFC title game two years in a row but he returned just in time for the 8-8 season that followed. In fact he had this advice for general manager Mike Tannenbaum...

Rasputin to Tannenbaum: “Look, you need big help at right tackle – Wayne Hunter has earned the spot...”

Jets fans can only hope management stops listening to this madman once and for all. But it doesn't look like that's the case. Just when we thought Mark Sanchez was their man for the next couple of years after signing an extension, we find out that's not the case.

Rasputin to Woody Johnson, Mike Tannenbaum and Rex Ryan: “Do I have a quarterback for you! Tim Tebow is going to turn this franchise upside down! Can't throw? So he can't throw. He wins! And he'll push this lazy bum you got so maybe you won't need him except for an occassional wildcat formation. And the best part? He'll pray at the drop of a hat. Just like me!”

Lenny Dykstra Alias “Nails” Finally Gets Nailed. Way To Go “Dude”

Lenny Dykstra and Art Schlichter have to be the top train wrecks in sports. The former Ohio State and Baltimore Colts quarterback was in the top six of Heisman Trophy balloting in his final three seasons and almost led the Buckeyes to the national title in 1979. As it turned out his game-losing pick by Clemson's Charlie Bauman in the 1978 Gator Bowl which led to Woody Hayes assault and next-day firing was a sign of things to come.

The fourth overall pick in 1982, Schlichter had some serious gambling issues. He ran up at least $700,000 in gambling debts in his rookie year alone. The NFL later suspended him for gambling and his career was snake eyes five years later. No, blowing a career millions would happily give their left testicle for wasn't enough. Schlichter later said he committed more than 20 felonies. He spent the equivalent of 10 years in 44 prisons.

Last September Schlichter was sentenced to 10 years in prison for his involvement in a million-dollar ticket scam. He tested positive for cocaine while serving a house arrest sentence on his fraud charges on January 19, 2012. This story sure ain't over and will no doubt end up with quotes like, “If only we knew...”

My second choice is former Mets and Phillies outfielder Lenny Dykstra. He played 12 years in the majors and was a three-time All-Star. How this guy got away with what he did for so long without really being nailed is beyond me.

Dykstra, nickednamed “nails” and “dude” was the Mets leadoff hitter during their 1986 championship season. You really had to love the Mets to like this guy. He looked like your best friend's little runt brother who with his dirty face, mouthful of gum and holes in his tee shirt always wanted to tag along and get in the way. A human mosquito buzzing in the ear of a cool guy at the bar at the Plaza.

Dykstra became the heir apparent to Mr. Met with his walkoff home run in Game 3 of the '86 NLCS against the Houston Astros. He even became a poster boy posing topless in a “beefcake” shot under the “Nails” nickname.

But Dykstra's greasy ways eventually caught up with him. He was traded to the Phillies in 1989 and former teammate Keith Hernandez later said in his book Pure Baseball that one of the reasons Dykstra was dealt was because he was "on the wild and crazy side." Kinda like Titanic Captain Smith putting on an extra sweater just in case it got chilly.

Like gooey slime oozing through the walls in a horror flick, Dykstra's craziness began to come through the cracks in 1991. He took the wad of chew out of his mouth long enough to get drunk and crash his car into a tree suffering broken ribs and a broken cheekbone. And he began to look different too. All of a sudden this little runt, who would normally be good for five or six homers a year, morphed into a mini- Arnold Schwarzenegger. He hit 19 during the 1993 season as the Phillies went on to win the Series. Dykstra later admitted using steroids. In fact he boasted about it. According to Randall Lane of the Daily Beast, Dykstra said that he and Jose Canseco were “steroid pioneers.”

After retiring in 1996, Dykstra got into the stock market and ran a string of car washes. Interesting combination. Money and washing. Hmm. Anyway he managed a stock portfolio and I remember seeing articles about him in some of the most respected business publications. “Nails a respected stock picker?” I thought. Count me out. But the real fun was yet to come. A brief rundown via Wikipedia: Dykstra bought Wayne Gretzky's $17 million estate with the hopes of flipping it, but was unsuccessful. At one point, Dykstra owed more than $13 million on the house, and Lake Sherwood security guards were eventually told to keep Dykstra away from the property due to Dykstra stripping the house of over $51,000 worth of items (counter-tops, an oven, and hardwood flooring) and Dykstra allowing the homeowners' insurance to lapse on the property.

In July 2009, Dykstra, whose net worth was estimated at $58 million in 2008, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy listing less than $50,000 in assets against $10 million to $50 million in liabilities.

Among other things, Dykstra was later accused of sexual assault by his housekeeper, bounced a $1,000 check for a female escort, charged with bankruptcy fraud, and the final nail - a three year jail term for grand theft auto and filing a false financial statement. According to prosecutors, Dykstra and two others tried to lease and then sell cars from several dealerships by claiming credit through a nonexistent business.

After a dozen or so foul balls, Lenny Dykstra has finally struck out.

Put Me Down Already. Jeremy Lin Just Isn't Enough

I saw that last week in a loss in Miami when Lin looked like a shell shocked tourist after getting his wallet picked on the F Line to 34^th street. Don't get me wrong. I like his game but I can't shake the feeling that this franchise is like the coma patient who comes back to life, does a few great things and then goes back to the land of nod.

I've been a Knicks fan from the moment I saw a pass bounce off Bill Hosket's head and go into the basket during a game in Cincinnati during the early part of the 1969-70 season. I think I was changing channels looking for Emma Peel in her great tights on the Avengers. I knew nothing about the Knicks, but a header right into the hoop caught my eye. Turns out it was their 18th straight win which set an NBA record. I continued to watch and got hooked.

The season came to a glorious end when the Knicks beat the Lakers to win their first title. Willis Reed, who lived right across from me in Queens, limped onto the court with a serious hip injury and hit his first two shots to the roar of the sell out Madison Square Garden crowd.

Walt Frazier went wild on both ends of the court. Man, what a season. I got so hooked I played full court almost every day, no matter how cold or hot it was outside. After school I shot hoops at “The Lost Battalion,” a gym off Queens Boulevard where the Knicks worked out. Ahh, a new exciting sport to play and watch in a city starved for a winter-time winner.

Life was finally good for Knicks fans who has nothing to root for since they had a bunch of short hairy-backed white guys running around throwing up goofy hook shots in the mid '50s.

But the good life turned out to be a short one. Hey, would you rather have a short, exciting life or a long dull one? The Knicks chose the former. Reed, DeBusschere, Bradley, Frazier and Monroe (all Hall of Famer's) had the Big Apple by the shorties for the next three years winning their second and last championship in '72-73, once again against big bad Wilt Chamberlain (he actually had time to get out of the sack and play basketball?) and the ever-humble great Jerry West. Little did we know it would be the last one they'd win for – well, for maybe ever.

The storm clouds began to hover after the '73-74 season. Both Reed and DeBusschere retired after a disgusting playoff loss against Dave Cowens and Celtics. We were told Howard Porter would be the new “Dave D.” Man were they wrong.

Then in '75 they were about to sign ABA power forward George McGuinnis, but the deal was ruled to be illegal and not only did they not get McGuiniss (who later had his number retired by the Indiana Pacers), but they lost their number one draft pick. High scoring but volatile forward Spencer Haywood was acquired, but even when later teamed with Bob McAdoo was all gun and no fun. In fact Haywood, who was on the Lakers 1979-80 championship team was so pissed after being suspended by coach Paul Westhead in the finals that he said he "left the Forum and drove off in his Rolls that night thinking one thought — that Westhead must die.” Haywood hired a Detroit mobster to kill Westhead, but later reconsidered. The Knicks ended the season out of the playoffs for the first time in nine years.

Coach Red Holtzman, the defensive genius behind their two runs was fired after the '76-77 season and replaced by Reed. Willis was an awesome Hall of Famer but a crappy head coach.

Meanwhile their remaining greats began to disappear. Walt Frazier, who was sent to Cleveland for God knows what, came back to haunt them with a monster night in his return to the Garden. Bill Bradley gave up hit corner shot, finger tip passing and strong defense for a career in politics. Earl the Pearl's spin moves went into super slo-mo.

Yeah, Patrick Ewing gave us some real hope. He brought us to within inches of a championship in '94 if only John Starks would’ve hit a corner three-pointer in the final moments of game six.

They made a surprise run to the Finals in the lockout shortened '99 season but with Ewing and Larry Johnson hurt were exposed by the Spurs in five.

So now we have Jeremy Lin, who until a few weeks ago was used as ballast on the end of the bench running the offense. I, like most fans love the underdog. Especially when he actually does good stuff. But is this group a serious challenge to The Boyz From South Beach? We'll find out soon but it'll certainly take more than a pass off one of their heads into the basket to earn a parade down Broadway.