New Yorkers have a reputation as a tough, scrappy lot who've been weaned on violence. You pick a fight with one of them? They smile. You pull a knife on them? They yawn. You put a gun to their head? They laugh. Then they cut your balls off. New Yorkers are so fucking tough that they can take anything…except an ouchy shoulder.

With news breaking that the Jets' already weak-armed quarterback was going to be lost for the entire season with a torn rotator cuff, half of New York burst into girlie-man tears. As I took the subway into work today I couldn't believe my eyes. Husky, grown men wearing green armbands were hugging other husky, grown men wearing green face paint. Tears were streaming down cheeks sporting 10 A.M. shadow. It was a sad sight to see. To show you just how bad things are in Jets nation, here's a few things overheard on the B train in Manhattan this morning:

"Oh God. Oh no. Please no. Please no. God, God, God, God, God. I swear, I'll never throw anyone off the Brooklyn Bridge again if you please fix his shoulder. Please God, I'm being reasonable here."

[Sung to "That's Amore"] "When he can't move his shoulder enough to be place-kick holder, that's no more Chad."

"So I says to Herm Edwards, I says…Oh who am I kidding? I never says nothing to Herm Edwards."

"I guess we can watch the Giants. Hmmm, I just barfed a little when I said that."

"No more Pennington? Fuggedaboutit! No, really, forget about the whole season."

"You know what's going to make me feel better about this? Committing a homicide. And possibly some spaghetti marinara."

"It's times like these that we need to rally around this city, pick ourselves up off the ground, and make fun of Newark to get our confidence back."

"Fiedler's hurt, too? Who gives a crap?"

"Brooks Bollinger? What the hell is a Brooks Bollinger?"