"The Jets are a family," he says.
He knows better. Family is blood, the ones you would die for. His daughters are in the audience. Olivia is 12. She has big, bright eyes, and braces on her teeth. Jessica is slim, 17 Joe doesn't always approve of her taste in music—the lyrics these days. "I can hear that kind of stuff in the locker room," says Joe. The sportswriters laugh.
"Daddy," says Jessica. "Daddy." She is attentive, practiced at reading her father's body language. She hands him a soft drink. He's been talking for so long. He's still twinkling, though. Joe Namath is happy. He now spends more days with his daughters than away from them. Soon, they will come back to Florida for good.
It has rained steadily for almost a month. But today sunlight washes over everything. One imagines the father and his daughters strolling down Broadway, the distant fabled land now cleansed of all shadow, every trace of nocturnal life.