Yes, I’m wearing a Jermaine Allensworth jersey

var addthis_product = 'wpp-252'; var addthis_config = {"data_track_clickback":true};So? You got a problem with Jermaine Allensworth? The truth is, I used to love sports jerseys. My closet was filled with them—Barry Sanders and Erik Kramer and J.R. Richard and Ottis Anderson and Jim Kelly. Back in the late 1990s, when Russ Bengtson and I were roommates, we surely led New York City in athletic apparel. He was a fanatical collector of sneakers—game-worn and otherwise. I was mainly into jerseys, though Russ surely had more of those, too. To point is, I loved everything about jerseys. The colors. The bagginess. Everything. Then, one day, jerseys became trandy. Mitchell and Ness started pumping the damn things out, and every rapper and rock star could be found wearing Larry Bowa Phillie duds and Phil Simms Giant duds and on and on. Which was fine—until the phenomenon died and, suddenly, Marshall’s was filled with them. That’s the ultimate bad sign. Actually, ...