"Step Away From the Ledge, Mr. Collier."

Wow. That really sucked. To be honest, I am not all that surprised that Tech lost. I am surprised by the margin, however. I really thought our boys would give a better accounting of themselves. But hey, anything worth doing is worth doing all the way—if you are going to drop a stink bomb like that, you might as well do it before a nationwide audience on Saturday night. Yep, that was great.

Why was I not all that surprised? Because I am a pessimist by nature. This tendency doesn't serve me well most of the time, but, when things go bad, I am usually less taken aback than the people who always walk around on happy feet. But I must admit, this one hit me hard.

I had really started to buy into the hype, feeling like Tech had a legitimate shot at the Big XII title, and who knows, maybe more. I know a Big XII title shot is still theoretically possible, but c’mon: who really believes Okie State will beat the unofficial NFL franchise of Oklahoma?

Because of my pessimistic nature, I prepared for this loss by deciding to avoid watching the game in the company of others, and instead, opted to go it alone. I could tell by the end of the first quarter that it was not going to go well. By the middle of the second quarter, I became so distraught, I turned the TV off and retreated outside, where I cracked open a bottle of wine.

I dispensed with the fancy glass and, in a scene reminiscent of a 1950s western, where the bad guys trade whiskey with the Indians, began chugging it straight out of the bottle. But this was a pretty good cabernet, not rotgut. “Hmmm… An amusing little firewater. Presumptuous, yet eminently palatable.” I drank myself into a stupor and quickly fell asleep.

I awoke the next morning with a sense of dread and a terrible hangover. People around me acted as if somebody had died. All the sharp objects had been removed from their usual places of storage. My firearms were hidden away. People kept their distance. I avoided watching any sports-related reporting on television. I didn’t look at the newspaper. I went to the office and logged into the computer, and in a blurb on the MSN web browser, I saw the score. Holy shit.

My mind sort of went haywire. This couldn’t be. How could they blow it that badly? I ran into some doofus later, one of those “zippiddy do dah” sunshine pumpers. He is the type who, even under normal circumstances, makes me want to kick the stuffing out of him. He wanted to talk with me about the game. He tried to convince me that it wasn’t all that bad. He is now buried beneath the floor in my onion cellar.

However, time does heal all wounds. Well, at least it helps abate the hangover from drinking a full bottle of Franciscan. Discussions with people much better adjusted than I am (that covers pretty much everybody), including my fellow scribes on this blog, have helped me see that it’s not the end of the world. I’ve managed to cobble together a few seemingly healthy rationalizations why:

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