We pulled into the Blue Lot at the stadium a little before 9:30 on Saturday morning, tailgated until 3:00, and then went in. When we were on defense, I yelled so loudly that the 9-year-old kid in front of me in the Brady jersey first covered his ears with his hands, then switched seats with his dad. Then his dad covered his own ears with his hands. When Oregon made it 25-7, I was in agony. When they made it 32-7, though, it stopped hurting. The game's importance just dropped away from me and I fell into the bitter sarcasm familiar to all Lions fans.
I came to the realization that I just can't put the same emotional investment into this team that I usually do. The Year of Infinite Pain is still fresh in my mind, and I know that I wasn't always pleasant to be around then. I don't want to know what I'd be like when faced with this season's Year of Impossible Torment if I took every loss as hard as I did then.
I'm not abandoning the team. I'm going to show up to nine games this season where I'll cheer loudly enough to distress small children, but I can't put as much of myself into this as I usually do. I still care, and care deeply, but I'd rather not be an alcoholic by December and I don't need the little black raincloud of despair following me every day. I probably won't be as vigilant in keeping up with all of my blogroll, and there's no way I'm reading the collective rending of garments in the game day open threads. Perpective is what I'll be striving for.
Of course, all of this detachment is going out the window as soon as the team shows some signs of life, only to kick me to the curb the next week.
I went up to Wazoo Records for the first time in a while on Saturday and bought The Sunset Tree, which has a line I like in it, even if applied under very different circumstances.
There will be feasting
in Jerusalem next year.
I am gonna make it
through this year
if it kills me.
Step back off the ledge, people.