My wife doesn't understand how I watch football. She doesn't get the therapeutic value of going over every possible bad and worse scenario that could transpire for your team over the course of a game. She doesn't see that a blow to the gut isn't as bad if you see it coming. And if your envisioned bad scenario doesn't play out, and your team is victorious...it's like you've won twice over.
So I watch. And I bite my nails, and I assume the worse. All to soften the ultimate blow of defeat, and to enhance the elation of victory. That is why I die a thousand deaths during the course of a game, and thousands upon thousands of deaths in the course of a season.
But when my beloved Irish lose 38-34 in the Big House, after erasing an 11 point deficit, and taking a 3 point lead on the Statue of Liberty play, only to give up the winning TD with 11 seconds left, against a freshman QB well...Well you just feel dead inside.
Go Giants.
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Or, you know, you could lose a Super Bowl because a destined-for-obscurity wideout caught a pass with his helmet. I'm just sayin'.
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