Rex Ryan announcing Monday that jawbreaker IK Enemkpali will be a coin-toss captain before Jets-Bills is vintage Ryan mischief, perhaps even an attempt to remind his former players how he always had their backs over the course of six roller-coaster years.

Fortunately, Todd Bowles doesn’t have the same penchant for blunt-force drama and won’t be sending jawbreakee Geno Smith to midfield (although that might be the perfect time for The Kayoed Kid to hand Enemkpali that much-ballyhooed $600 check and settle his alleged debt).

Brace yourself for Thursday Night Fever at MetLife Stadium.

When Rex first barged into our lives, he was the biggest, baddest, boldest guy in the room, and he stole the back page like some football Donald Trump and got the Jets 60 minutes from back-to-back Super Bowls, the most compelling face of the franchise since Joe Namath and Bill Parcells.

He’s resurrected his act in Buffalo, where he assured the loyalists who have endured 15 seasons without a playoff berth that he is building them a bully no one will want to play. Have no fear, Sexy Rexy is here. If Old Man Winter takes a swipe at one of ours, we’ll take a swipe at two of his.

He loved coaching here, loved coaching the Jets, his father’s team, loved the perks that came with being brash and outrageous and even quirky and freaky. He made himself the celebrity coach, landed a part in an Adam Sandler movie, and a book deal where he jabbed the Giants as Little Brothers, and somehow never stopped being Everyman. And when he was the talk of the town, tweaking and annoying and sometimes amusing the Giants along the way with his foibles, you could understand why so many Jets fans wanted to have a beer with him.

Even at the end, after four consecutive seasons missing the playoffs, he was nowhere near the villain that John Idzik had become, and he will not be greeted by MetLife Stadium the way the Garden greeted Pat (The Rat) Riley when he returned as the enemy. Ryan cared. He made his share of mistakes, on the sidelines and off, and the owner sabotaged him with a general manager whose blurry vision of the future did not include spending money to make the Jets better on his inherited coach’s watch. He was beaten down when it was time to go.

He was one of a kind, this irreverent, trash-talking, finger-saluting, expletive-spewing Eighth Wonder of the NFL World who made a mockery of Coachspeak and Body by Fisher. It was easier Keeping Up with the Kardashians than it was Keeping Up with Rex, and he is remembered for all that jazz as much as he is for the Buttfumbled years that ensued. You either loved him or you hated him. More loved him.

But come Thursday night, Sexy Rexy might as well show up wearing a hoody, because he is The Other Coach now, trying to beat the new Jets coach, Todd Bowles, and his Jets. Who isn’t here to kiss Rex’s AFC Championship game runner-up rings.

Bowles came here to shut down the last traces of Animal House, and get the Jets back in the playoffs.

So far, so good.

Thanks for the memories, Rex.

But you are Ex Ryan around here now.

Rex shows up as the front man for a franchise in the midst of a 15-year playoff drought, as the resurrected carnival barker/cult leader who delivered on his introductory blizzard of bluster to western New York, a guarantee that he is the man for the job, and this is the year.

He is speaking loudly again and carrying a big shtick, masterfully whipping the masses into a frenzy at the drop of a dog biscuit. His problem once again has on any given Sunday been the three hours on the sideline, when his “Play like a Bill” exhortations haven’t always resonated any more than his “Play like a Jet” mantras of the previous four seasons.

He believes in Tyrod Taylor, but his dual-threat young quarterback isn’t quite ready to overcome any penalty epidemic or a loaded defense that has been an underachieving embarrassment and blow to his genius reputation and proclamations. The grumbling from the likes of Mario Williams and Sammy Watkins — prior to Sunday’s destruction of the Dolphins — told you that the bond between the personification of players coach and the players had yet to be fully cemented.

A victory over the Jets would help immensely in a game that has wild-card implications for both teams.

Of course beating the Jets would mean more to Ex Ryan than beating the Bills would mean to Bowles, because it’s personal to Ryan. Woody Johnson fired him and hired Bowles to replace him.

“This is strictly about us against another opponent that both teams are battling to try and get to the playoffs quite honestly,” Ryan said Monday. “That is really what this thing is about. … It has nothing to do with, you know, with me or anybody else. That is the reality of this, it has nothing to do with me.”

Of course, prior to his 2011 divisional playoff upset over Belichick in Foxborough, the coach of the New York Jets announced:

“This is about Bill Belichick vs. Rex Ryan. There’s no question. It’s personal. It’s about him versus myself, and that’s what it’s going to come down to.”

The last thing Ex Ryan wants is to be out coached by his rookie successor with a nation watching.

“We were in a lot of games that we probably shouldn’t have been in last year, just because of his brilliance on defense and stuff like that, man,” Calvin Pace told The Post in June. “He’s a guy who was passionate but he could rub people the wrong way. And you could probably either love him or hate him, on the outside looking in. But if you really know him, you know what he’s about, you play for him for a few years, you love him, you love him to death.”

Pace is one of the many Jets’ defenders who pledged to run through a brick wall for Rex. The brick wall wasn’t impressed, and Rex’s reign ended unceremoniously.

It was fun while it lasted … Tebow Time and Tone Time and Shut Up Fat Boy and the Mark Sanchez tattoo and the Snoopy Bowl fiasco and the outrageous and the outlandish and the circus that seemed as if it never wanted to leave Florham Park. Never a dull moment. Just not enough winning moments after 2010.

Again: Thanks for the memories, Rex.

But the Jets are no longer your team.

This is no longer your town.

These are no longer your fans, and you joked Monday how some of them will greet you: “With one finger and all that stuff.”

This is no longer your house.

You are the enemy now.

Let’s see what kind of bully you’ve built in Buffalo.