In the hazy aftermath of a comically good AFC wild-card game Saturday night, San Diego Chargers coach Marty Schottenheimer was apparently in no mood for reflection, particularly regarding the recurring and nettlesome why-me thing.

"All these things are in the hands of the Lord," Marty told writers just minutes after the Lord had worked (overtime) in mysterious ways to send the Jets toward Pittsburgh. "Ultimately, you prepare the very, very best you can, but in the final analysis, there is an outcome. I don't ever ask, 'Why me?' "

Uh-huh. But as they say in the National Football League, or if they don't, they should, "The hands of the Lord are one thing, but the right foot of Nate Kaeding is quite another."

Kaeding missed a 40-yard field goal 10 minutes into sudden death, but let's not pretend that Schottenheimer again was forced to use the first exit on the road to the Super Bowl because Kaeding had to go to the bathroom. No, this classic choker was Marty's production, and to appreciate the depths of its vapidity, you had to see the Jets spend the first 60 minutes trying to get out of their own way.

On consecutive plays in the second half, the Jets deployed a defense featuring 10 men.

"The old 4-2-4" John Madden called it on the ABC telecast. Did San Diego take advantage either time? No.

At one point in the second half, Jets coach Herm Edwards and assistant coach Bishop Harris had to be separated from each other on the New York sideline, and not because they had become entangled in each other's headsets, although I wouldn't have put it past them.

Just as New York was winning the game in regulation, celebrating an incomplete Drew Brees pass in the end zone in the final seconds, Jets linebacker Eric Barton was seen trying to split Brees' helmet like a walnut with his forearm. Roughing the passer. New play. Tie score. Overtime.

All that, and a blown 10-point lead, was the general comportment of the Jets Saturday. That's the team Marty lost to. Ladies and gentleman, your NFL Coach of the Year.

Oh yeah, with perfect pie-in-the-face timing, The Associated Press had named Schottenheimer the league's best earlier in the day, bypassing Bill Cowher, who had not only engineered a greater turnaround with the Steelers, but against greater adversity. If Cowher figures out a way to lose to the Jets at home Saturday, maybe this will look only half as ridiculous.

For Saturday's wild-card comedy, the coach of the year first lost his composure when he thought his punter had been roughed in the first half. Schottenheimer ran onto the field as though he had just left an extended tailgating session, far enough to draw a penalty, helping to set up New York's first touchdown.

Marty's passion was singular. It was shared by just about no one in bolt-and-blue. The Chargers, who had thundered into the playoffs having won nine of their final 10, played as if they had no more interest in the Jets than in the particulars of the coach of the year balloting. Brees was ordinary, LaDainian Tomlinson strikingly indifferent, and sensational tight end Antonio Gates virtually invisible. Why? Well, I don't think it was Kaeding's fault.

It wasn't until Marty looked up and saw a 17-10 Jets lead flashing at him through the Southern California rain that Gates was suddenly rediscovered. Brees found him three times for 66 yards and a touchdown on the tying drive after throwing to him only twice all game.

On the Chargers' second overtime possession, they put together a drive that consumed nearly eight minutes. The Jets' defenders, having to spend the final 4:35 of regulation on the field as well, were breathing from the mouths and bent over at their waists as Brees brought San Diego to a first down at the Jets' 23.

But with his offense finally re-connected with its fuel injectors and the Jets practically about to pass out, Schottenheimer decided to throw it in park and foist the fate of his club onto the narrow shoulders of a rookie kicker. Tomlinson ran three plays into the pile, netting 1 yard. Kaeding pushed the 40-yard attempt wide right, and the Jets got the winning field goal less than four minutes later.

Of course, the whole mess wasn't without its redeeming aspects. For one thing, Marty retained the highest winning percentage of anyone in the NFL, the NBA, or Major League Baseball never to have taken his team to a championship round. For another, and this is far more tangible, by avoiding victory even at the urging of the Jets, Marty saved us all from a week of mentor-pupil stories featuring himself as teacher and Cowher as his eager protege.

We would have been forced to compare them, and there is no comparison.