The Jets Setter

For a franchise with the pedigree, market size and financial muscle of the New York Jets, the bar should be far higher than “maybe we’ll be interesting this year.” Yet under owner Woody Johnson, that has become the unofficial mission statement. Two decades into his stewardship, the Jets remain a team forever promising a new era, only to circle back to the same place: searching for direction, stability and an identity that isn’t built on dysfunction.

Johnson isn’t a hands-off owner, nor is he a villain. He spends money. He invests in facilities. He desperately wants to win. But wanting to win and knowing how to build a winning culture are very different skill sets—and the gap between the two has defined the NY Jets of the modern era.

The failures aren’t subtle. Since Johnson bought the team in 2000, the Jets have made the playoffs six times—and not once since 2010. That drought is now the longest in the NFL. Coaches and general managers come and go like tenants in a rental property. Promising seasons collapse under the weight of bad roster construction, poor quarterback development, and a carousel of “quick fixes” meant to shortcut the rebuild process.

Johnson’s fingerprints have been on almost all of it. He was central in hiring Adam Gase, a move so baffling that many fans still treat it like a fever dream. He green-lit the rush to chase Aaron Rodgers, a splashy, expensive gamble that fits the Johnson era perfectly: big headline, big hope, and big risk with no contingency plan.

To be fair, Johnson’s passion is genuine. His willingness to spend separates him from truly negligent owners. But the pattern under him is unmistakable—he tends to be attracted to star power, flash and the illusion of momentum rather than the slow, sometimes boring work of organizational patience. Where franchises like the Ravens or Steelers thrive through continuity and trust in long-term philosophy, the Jets repeatedly chase the next shiny solution.

This season, that tension is clearer than ever. The roster is talented. The defense is elite. Garrett Wilson and Breece Hall are foundation-level players any franchise would envy. Yet the Jets enter each offseason carrying the same Achilles’ heel: no consistent plan at quarterback, no clear direction in the front office, and no alignment from ownership down to the field.

That’s where Johnson’s stewardship matters most. Culture starts at the top. Stability comes from the top. And accountability—true accountability—has to begin with the owner recognizing his own role in the cycle.

The Jets don’t need Woody Johnson to sell the team. They need him to evolve. To hire the right football minds and actually let them work. To resist the splashy shortcut and commit to an identity built on development and continuity. To understand that long-term success isn’t a headline—it’s a foundation.

Until that happens, Jets fans will keep doing what they’ve always done under Johnson: hoping for a breakthrough, bracing for the inevitable, and wondering when the owner will realize that the biggest fix the franchise needs might start with him.