Anyone here who’s ever been a Jets fan was surely convinced the team would lose to Cincinnati last night.

After all, that’s what the Jets do better than any team in the history of professional sports—break hearts.

I knew—knew—the Jets would lose, because they always lose. To the Dolphins and A.J. Duhie in the mud. To the Broncos and John Elway at Mile High. To the Steelers behind blown kicks. The Jets lose and lose and lose and lose, and fans accept it as reality.

Last night, however, something seemed to snap. The Jets didn’t lose. They won—big. 37-0 big. No, the Bengals didn’t have much to play for. And no, Carson Palmer only appeared for a limited time. And no, that wasn’t Cedric Benson starting at halfback. But it was still a game with everything on the line, and New York came through in a huge way. Hell, I actually think the Jets might win next Saturday, when they again face Cinci in the playoffs.

Earlier this year, I ripped Rex Ryan for slinging so much yang, and I now take it back. For the first time in eons, the Jets have a coach with a pulse. I dig the swagger, because it seems authentic, and players buy into his approach. The Jets aren’t the most talented team in the NFL, and they’re certainly not a realistic Super Bowl threat this season. But they play extremely hard, and I love they way their offensive line grinds defenders into mince. Cris Collinsworth said it repeatedly last night, and I agree—the Jets boast the best offensive line in football, with two high-level running backs (Thomas Jones and Shonn Greene) to match. The defense is not amazing, but it’s relentless.

So … bravo for an overall excellent season.

Now if only the Braylon Edwards trade could be reversed …