When Missouri's Dream Becomes a Nightmare

This is my weekly column for the Bolivar Herald-Free Press. It is scheduled to run on Oct. 17. Your loyalty earns you an advance viewing.

People have told me I take sports too seriously. I usually argue with them about that. Sure, sports are my passion. But I’m usually able to keep a level head about things whether my team wins or loses. I’ll be disappointed after a big loss and in a fantastic mood after a huge win, but for the most part I’m able to keep things in perspective.

But every once in a while a game comes along that causes even me to admit that yeah, OK, maybe I do care about sports a little too much. That’s what happened last Saturday.

I don’t know how to analyze what happened. I’m still not sure if this was more a product of the Tigers shooting themselves in the foot (which they did) or Oklahoma State simply outplaying them (which they did). Everything about the game was just weird, from the always reliable Jeff Wolfert missing two field goals to Chase Daniel sporting a ridiculous looking fauxhawk.

Despite all the various miscues—the turnovers, the defensive breakdowns, the mental errors—it was all there for the taking. Down five with our offense driving down the field. Memorial Stadium ready to erupt. These are the moments Heisman quarterbacks live for, right?

Not quite. The final interception Daniel threw on that fateful drive gave me a feeling I never want to feel again. The seconds immediately following the interception were filled with the eeriest of silences I’ve ever heard. We all saw it happen and yet none of us had any idea what happened.

A friend turned to me and calmly said without a hint of emotion, “He picked it. It’s an interception. And that’s the game. The game’s over. That’s it.”

That’s when it sunk in. That’s it.

But the worst of the disappointment doesn’t come from the initial shock but the hours and days following. When you wake up in the morning, you’re initially not really aware of what’s going on around you or what’s happened the past few days, but then you come to your senses and are forced to feel that sinking feeling all over again.

In the minutes following the end of the game I sat on the bleachers of Memorial Stadium in complete shock—a shell-shocked look on my face, I’m sure. Someone walked up to me and told me the season isn’t over, that we could bounce right back into the National Championship hunt within a week.

It’s true. This season is a long ways from over. By the time you read this I’ll be as jacked up as ever for the Tigers game against Texas on Saturday—a game that’s shaping up to be the biggest game of the Gary Pinkel era.

But right now I need a good 24 hours to wallow in self-pity and feel sorry for myself.

I’m writing this column the morning after the disaster that was Oct. 11. At least five other Mizzou fans I’ve talked to have described feeling physically sick this afternoon. I’m suffering from that same illness.

I guess all you can say about a game like this is jfdsklajadf

Oops, sorry. I just threw up on my keyboard.