A Brief Dispatch From Las Vegas On The Occasion Of The Jets Beating The Cowboys On 9/11S

LAS VEGAS—The scene: Caesars Palace. A quiet corner of a quiet bar, DAL-NYJ on the TV. A handful of exceedingly pleasant Cowboys fans sitting in a half-circle. A lone Jets fan sitting in front—a desiccated New Yorker given to periodic bursts of yelping and fist-pumping. You know the type. All coiled violence and tracksuits. A real New Yorker. He's the guy calling in to WFAN at midnight. Vinnie from Howard Beach. Thinks Fireman Ed is King Henry walking the pikes at Agincourt. Thinks King Henry is a linebacker on the taxi squad.

Nick Folk's 50-yarder rises into the East Rutherford evening, then drops through the uprights. Jets fan yelps and pumps his fist and turns to the exceedingly pleasant Cowboys fans, and this is what he says:

"September 11, baby!"

Fin.