Chrebet was always one of the coolest players in the AFC east. he was never the biggest or fastest guy, but he always showed up to play, got the job done, and did it with class. I always liked Chrebet. (This, coming from a Pats fan). He and Martin may be the only two Jets I ever genuinely liked. he reminds of the Pats own #80, actually.
Chrebet deserves this. He is going to be remember for many years to come. Is this going to be aired on CBS during halftime, or will we have to hope for highlights on SNY later after the game?
Long Live 80! Doubt it will be aired on TV. Will definately be aired on post game or something though.
The last article that was posted in this thread paints a very bright picture of Waynes health. Unfortunately, this one I believe is much more realistic. From someone who has battled emotional problems in the past, I know what it is like to be playing with your kids and wondering why the hell ain't I happy?? It sucks, and I wish him well. I'll be standing proud giving him an ovation with 70,000 others this Sunday. Thanks Wayne !!!! http://www.nj.com/jets/ledger/index.ssf?/base/sports-1/1190263240307460.xml&coll=1 Catching good days amid bad Thursday, September 20, 2007 BY KEVIN MANAHAN Star-Ledger Staff HEMPSTEAD, N.Y. -- It's halftime on Sunday, and the microphone stand has been positioned near midfield on the naked acre of artificial turf at Giants Stadium. More than 70,000 Jets fans are eager to cheer a brave hero who has come to receive, finally, the thanks of a franchise, but also to say the misty-eyed goodbye his cruel exit from the brutal game never allowed. Two years after his retirement, hundreds in the stands still wear his No. 80 jersey, and Wayne Chrebet -- surrounded by his wife and children, his parents, team officials and former players -- hears his name and walks slowly toward the mike. He is bear-hugged by the thunderous applause given to one of the most popular players of this era. A million things and nothing are racing through his mind at the same time. He looks around the stadium: The three packed decks are now eerily still. The fans wait and listen. And wait. And wait. But Chrebet, in a cold-sweat panic, can't remember what he wants to say... Standing behind the downstairs bar at the Hempstead restaurant that bears his name, Chrebet, in a baseball cap and T-shirt, takes a deep breath, refocuses and leaps back into the present. It was just a cruel daydream. "That's my biggest fear," he says. "I know what I want to say, but I'm afraid I won't be able to remember it. My memory isn't very good. I could write it down, but I don't want to go up there and just read something. I want it to be from the heart, but I want to remember it, too. "How would you feel, talking in front of 70,000 people and everybody hanging on your words, especially with my memory?" Six documented concussions -- in all probability, he suffered twice as many in his career -- forced Chrebet, the sure-handed and fearless wide receiver, into retirement after the 2005 season. Today, the migraines and darkness still stalk him, sneaking up from behind like a cheap-shotting cornerback. And Sunday, when the Jets honor him at halftime of their game against the Miami Dolphins, Chrebet hopes the temporarily unshakable sadness won't hold him hostage. He wants the fans to see him, if not as he was, at least at his postcareer best. But he won't be sure until Sunday morning. "I have good days and bad days," Chrebet says. "A bad day is when you can't get out of bed and there's this dark cloud hanging over your head. A good day is anything else. But you know right away. I know as soon as I wake up what kind of day it'll be. "Sometimes the bad days and good days go back and forth. Sometimes you get a bunch of them in a row. It's not an exact science. The bad days happen. You just try to make the best of it. But when it's bad, it's really bad. It's not the kind of thing you can talk yourself out of. If it was, I would do it." After all, the Garfield native talked himself into the NFL, then talked himself into the Jets' starting lineup as an undersized, undrafted free agent from across the Hofstra University parking lot. And when the 11-year career, which went from a storybook to a medical journal, was over -- after all of the crossing patterns and crushing hits -- Chrebet had the second-most catches in the franchise's history, with 580 for 7,365 yards. Forty-one receptions went for touchdowns, 379 for first downs. But, like many others, he paid a price. A 2005 study by the Center for the Study of Retired Athletes said former NFL players who suffered three or more concussions are five times more likely to have cognitive problems and three times more likely to have serious memory lapses than players without a history of concussions. Another study revealed that players with three or more concussions are three times more likely to suffer from depression. The NFL, which refutes the findings, says it will spend $2 million to conduct its own study. Whatever those results, it will be too late for Chrebet, just 34 years old. Five minutes into an interview this week, he admits that he can't remember the reporter's name. "I remember the faces, not the names," he says. He loses his car keys like anyone else, "but it just happens to me more than other people." He'd like to meditate or read, but he can't concentrate enough. He can't make the drive from his home in Colts Neck, N.J., to Hempstead, or anywhere, without a navigational system. He remembers the time, after one of his final games, when he drove from the stadium to a house where he no longer lived. His wife directed him home. "If it wasn't for the GPS in my car, I'd be in trouble," Chrebet says. "If I have one of those, I'm usually fine. If not, I panic." But football is different. Sit him in front of a game with a team running the West Coast offense, and Chrebet can call out the plays before the snap. Names are a problem. Dates are a problem. Highways are a Sudoku puzzle. But offenses and defenses are a breeze. "It's like riding a bike," he says. "After hundreds of hours of watching tape, I'll never forget that. It's in my blood." The Monday night football crowd has filled Chrebet's restaurant across the street from the entrance to Hofstra University and the Jets' practice facility. The waitresses hustle from kitchen to table with plates of Chrebet's Famous Wings, the most popular item on the menu. Tonight, they're 10 cents each. With an off-day Tuesday, Jets wide receiver Laveranues Coles sits with his buddy in the first booth, just inside the front door. "He's the only reason I'm here," Coles says. Fans, on their way to the tables and flat-screen televisions in the back, stop, introduce themselves and collect an occasional autograph. They mention games and plays -- highlights, usually -- of Chrebet's career. Some he remembers, some he doesn't. But he doesn't tell them. He nods and smiles, thanks them for coming, and signs whatever they place on the table. He enjoys the interaction, because "someday they won't want my autograph. Somebody once told me that," he says. The greeting, however, is always the same: Wayne, how are you doing? "I say, 'Fine. How are you doing?'" Chrebet says. "They're happy to see me, but it's like they don't expect to see me here. They read all of the stuff about how badly I was hurt and they think the worst. But I'm okay." He is a Hail Mary pass from the college stadium and NFL practice field where he starred, but he refuses to cross Hempstead Turnpike and visit. "I don't want to be like the kid who was afraid to leave high school," Chrebet says. "They've moved on. I've moved on. Besides, who wants to see what they're missing? It still hurts. If someone said I could play again, I'd be back out there tomorrow." Instead, he spends his days with his trotters -- Southwind Tempo won six races in a row this summer -- his restaurant and his family. While his wife Amy knows to leave him alone on a bad day, his two young children, Lukas and Cade, don't always understand Daddy's funk. "They jump on you," he says. "They want to lay with you. But the whole time I'm with them, I'm thinking what a crappy day I'm having. I'm pushing them on the swing, thinking, 'Today stinks.' It's a shame.'" He can't believe the Jets are honoring him, and he won't speculate on having his jersey retired. (The Jets won't say.) He's just glad to have the chance to say goodbye: "I'm grateful for what I get," Chrebet says. He isn't bitter. "It's my own fault," he says. "I could have gone out of bounds more. I could've ducked under tackles. They told me, 'Be careful. One more concussion and you're done.' I played the same way. Whose fault is that?" As the interview ends, he wonders: "So, is this going to be a good piece or a bad piece?" What would be a bad piece? "One that makes people feel sorry for me," he says. "I'm happy. Who wouldn't trade for the career I've had? Tell them I'm happy, because I really am." Kevin Manahan may be reached at kmanahan@starledger.com
Everyone needs a reason to believe...and Wayne was the reason for a decade, the brightest light in some of the darkest times, a fighter for the underdogs, who proved that where there is the will you can still be humble and find a way to make all of us believe...that better times are a pass away... I will be there Sunday in Section 332 Row 22 in my tattered Jets cap wearing the number 80 that I retired, it's hard to find a player to believe in at 44 years old. Wayne Chrebet is one of the greatest ever to wear the uniform... Thanks for all of the memories. Peace.
the green lantern, mr. third down, he will be missed, and god i hope they retire his number. he meant so much to the fans.
