NY Times Article: Jenkins For Jenkins, Scary Moment Leaves Career At CrossroadsBy GREG BISHOP Published: September 25, 2010 WEST ORANGE, N.J. — On the sixth play of his 10th N.F.L. season, Jets defensive tackle Kris Jenkins toppled like a giant oak tree toward the ground. He knew instantly what happened, knew right then his life had changed. He felt the anterior cruciate ligament in his left knee detach from the bone. He also heard a pop, the result of a torn meniscus. Dozens of words flashed through his mind, most consisting of four letters, far from family friendly. Behind the full force of his 360 pounds, Jenkins, 31, tried to scream. But when he opened his mouth, out came something atypical of the loquacious lineman — silence. “I’ve had some pretty scary moments in life, but this is at the top of the list,” he said. “When certain things happen, you just know your life is not going to be the same. This was one of those times.” As the Jets prepared for their Sunday night game at Miami, Jenkins’s locker looked untouched. His green No. 77 practice jersey hung from a hook. Packages of the Cookie Diet he endorsed after it helped him shed pounds this off-season lined the shelves. Gone was the oversize man with the oversize presence who until recently occupied that space. At the adjacent locker, punter Steve Weatherford played Metallica to break the silence Jenkins once filled with wisecracks delivered in that charming falsetto that always seemed odd for a man his size. “It’s a lot quieter,” Weatherford said. “But it’s not a relieving quiet. It’s not the same without Big Jenks.” Earlier in the week, Jenkins sat at his kitchen table here leaning on his background in kinesiology, which he studied at Maryland, to detail the anatomy of his fall. That tumble produced his fourth serious injury and his third A.C.L. tear, including the second time he tore that ligament in his left knee in the past 11 months. The corresponding procedure, set for Wednesday in New Jersey, will be his fourth major operation. Yet Jenkins has not ruled out a return. First, he said, he must grapple with one of the most emotional scenes of his life, matched only by the times he found out he would become a father. “Have you ever had a moment where everything in your life just stopped?” Jenkins said. “Well, this was the first time my life ever flashed before my eyes. It went so fast, but in slow motion. Like all your senses shut down. Like you’re watching yourself.” Jenkins missed most of the 2009 season with the same injury. He entered this campaign at less than full health, with a left knee that felt about 70 percent healed and a right knee perhaps at 90 percent. When the Jets hosted Baltimore in the season opener, Jenkins worried about his ability to go left. He found himself pushed that way on the defense’s second series, and he tangled with two Ravens and his teammate Bart Scott, four large men who collectively weighed more than 1,000 pounds. Jenkins’s left knee bore the brunt of that pileup, twisting awkwardly behind him. Jenkins views his football career, and by extension his life, as a struggle toward manhood. As such, he refused a cart and limped off the field with assistance, his face twisted, part scowl, part frown, part grimace. It said what he could not scream. As he limped, Jenkins said his life flashed through his mind like a dramatic movie sequence. He thought about the single father, Darome, who raised him in dangerous neighborhoods outside Detroit. He thought about his wife, Tashia, and his three children. He thought about his career, the Pro Bowls, the All-Pro honors, the three other seasons cut short by injuries, including the right A.C.L. he tore in the first quarter of his first game in 2005. He thought of four seasons essentially wasted, the thousands of hours of rehabilitation he endured. Fifteen seconds seemed like 15 years, and when it ended, Jenkins wondered, Was this the end? That week ranked among the worst of Jenkins’s life. Last Saturday, he said, “This is our locker room,” when one reporter consoled another who was said to be the subject of inappropriate behavior by the Jets. Jenkins said he was trying to defuse the situation but instead exacerbated it. That Monday, he left the stadium injured, uncertain of his future. On Tuesday, doctors confirmed the diagnosis of a torn A.C.L. On Wednesday, the N.F.L. interviewed him for its investigation of the Jets’ behavior toward the reporter. So Jenkins disappeared from public view, trying to sort through his emotions and determine his next step. He sought teammates, notably cornerback Darrelle Revis, for advice. He tried to reconcile the excitement he felt this training camp with his latest pain. “I feel like the first chapter of my life is coming to a close,” Jenkins said. “What’s the scripture? Time to put your childish ways aside and become a man. That’s where I’m at.” Last Wednesday, Jenkins spent the morning in prayer, and when he finished, he said he felt a strong urge to attempt another comeback. He elected to have surgery sooner to better gauge his chances of recovery. Thus Jenkins has entered the trials of transition familiar to many athletes near the end of their careers. Family members have urged him to retire, to consider his children, his health, the effect the physical nature of his position has on a man his size. Still, the words of Eric Mangini, his former coach, continued to echo in Jenkins’s head. Mangini often told the Jets there were two kinds of pain: that of discipline and that of regret. They could control the pain of discipline, Mangini told them, but not the pain of regret. With that, all they could do was cope. Jenkins promised his father he would complete his degree at Maryland. He hopes to enter television as an analyst, or with his own show. He has myriad options for life after football, but, he reasoned last week, only one opportunity to play again, however slim the odds. He wants to walk away from football on his terms, not limp off the field into another lost season. But he also wants to walk, period, body and brain intact. “That’s the thing,” he said. “You can leave. You can retire. You can do that. Or, and this is the really insane part, you can take another shot at greatness. That’s nuts. I know that.” As he said this, Jenkins broke into his trademark cackle. He either really did not consider another comeback crazy, or he remains just crazy enough to attempt it.
He's done. Stop day dreaming about any comeback. The guy is a fat, injury-prone, average player. No big loss.
1 post and the guy got bounced? Holy Shitz, is that a record? Retract that as I just read some other bullshit this kid posted in other threads. I'm surprised that the bosses let him hang around that long..
I'm torn. Obviously I'd want the big guy back in his most dominant state, but that's probably unlikely. What I don't want is to plan our defensive line around him being there, only to have him get hurt again.
a DE sin't worth a 1st rounder. only if we can get a massive NT use a 1st if not look for a DE in the 3rdis round. we do need to drafted a DT and DE though. would love to see a WR in the 1st, been a long time since
I wouldnt mind spending our 1st on a DE or NT if theres one that will fit and impact our defense immediately. Your right though I think even if we spend a 1st on our DLine a 3rd or 4th (if we have one?) on a DE.
I don't know how Kris Jenkins would be able to come back and continue playing at a high level. 2 knee injuries in consecutive season and being as old as he is. If he does choose to retire, I suspect the Jets would look for a NT at some point in the draft.
