"What happens when people stop being polite and start getting real?"

While watching MTV's The Real World the other night, the show's signature question caught my attention. It struck me as odd because I've always thought being polite was being real.

Since this year's installment of The Real World takes place in New York, I immediately thought of new Jets coach Herman Edwards. In New York, the words polite and real are held as mutually exclusive traits. And because of that, I seriously doubt this city will ever fully embrace Edwards as "our guy." Edwards is nothing if not polite. (At a recent photo shoot, before the photographer could get started, Edwards went inside to get the guy some Gatorade.) He's also a fit, clean-cut, sincere, God-fearing man who maintains a pit bull-like grip on the positive aspects of any situation.

I visited Edwards' office earlier this summer. It had been 12 years since I'd met him at the Senior Bowl. As we shook hands, he summed up my playing career. "You were good at coming out of your backpedal," he said. The fact that he dwelled on my backpedal, and not my sloppy tackling, told me optimism functions as some kind of muse for the man.

But even if the Jets have some success this year, I just don't think a positive attitude goes over well in the Big Apple. For most New Yorkers, the only thing more fashionable than a closet full of black clothing is an unyielding cynicism for your "favorite" sports team.

I asked Edwards how he would react to the wave of negativity that will surely cascade upon him this season. His response was what I'd expect from any of the NFL's three black head coaches, or from any other successful black man in a mostly-white corporate structure. His tone suddenly defiant, and his eyes fixed in a steely stare, he replied: "Look, I didn't get to where I am by listening to people. Don't expect to change me."

I hope that's true. I hope he doesn't change. Because if he doesn't give in to the dark side, he'll take a giant leap toward changing the outdated view of football coaches -- especially here in New York. From '97-'99, the view of the modern coach was eclipsed by the ill-tempered, pear-shaped shadow cast by Bill Parcells.

But the curmudgeon is Old School. New School coaches like Edwards and his mentor, Tony Dungy, are more teacher than coach, more man than martinet. "People have a misconception of Tony," Edwards says. "They say he's too soft, or too nice. A lot of coaches want to take his approach, but they don't have the guts to do it."

Edwards has the guts to be polite to his new city. He believes it's not impossible to succeed with his approach. But unless the Jets get to the Super Bowl this season -- and they won't -- he will be judged a failure.

That's New York's loss, not his.

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, writes football for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.