I pretty much never get cocky whilst watching my teams play sports. I'm rarely even confident. Despite the rash of championships my teams have won over the last decade, I still have trouble forgetting the first part of my rooting career, when my teams lost everything in heartbreaking fashion. I'm still pretty much always waiting for the guillotine to drop. My friends mostly make fun of me for this, which is pretty understandable, especially when I'm standing on a barstool in a packed bar with 100% KU fans, trying to single-handedly calm the pandemonium of a 40-12 lead in a Final Four game. (In my defense, North Carolina DID make a run, and eventually cut it to four before KU blew it open again. Let's just say we were both right.)
There have been two notable exceptions to this gloom-and-doom policy of mine:
The 2003 Final Four, when KU beat Dwyane Wade and Marquette by like 160 points. We happened to have a kegger at Culligan Manor that night, and when I wasn't taking pictures of the passed out Minneapolis girls that Paul, Fundy, and Russell had met in Cancun a few weeks earlier, I was telling anyone who would listen that they could come over and watch the game Monday night if they "felt like watching a banner get hung." We all know how that ended: a barrage of Gerry McNamara threes, a barrage of KU missed free throws, and a barrage of missed homework assignments from me, since I skipped all my classes and didn't talk to anybody for like three days.
The 2011 Sweet 16, when KU steamrolled Richmond by like 135 points, my boy Brady Morningstar was player of the game, and VCU upset everyone in the bottom half of the bracket, to set up what I thought was a favorable Elite 8 matchup. Gangel was in town that weekend, and I told him to stick around if he wanted to see what a Final Four parade was all about, cause we were "gonna hang a banner that weekend." (I LOVE using the phrase "hang a banner" when I'm housed.) Once again, we know how that ended.
And last night was exception #3. Early in the game, it was typical pessimistic Jum, "I feel like every time Longoria steps in the box he's going yard. Don't know why, I just get that feel- oh, yup, three-run homer. AWESOME." But after the Sox tied it up in the 9th, I started feeling emboldened (and also a lil' drunk from all the Mich Golden pounders.) I started chirping, knowing that Koji was coming in for the bottom half of the inning, and he just had one of the best seasons for a relief pitcher OF ALL TIME.
I was explaining to Teens how unhittable Koji is (read: she asked one simple question, and I went into a rant that lasted the entire commercial break and first two outs of the inning-- I hope Teens realizes how lucky she is to be able to watch games with a know-it-all), when, mid-sentence, Jose Lobaton went yammies. Just absolutely crushed it. Walk-off. Game over. Talk about shutting me up.
So once again, I got cocky during a sporting event, and Walter Sobchak came over and smashed up the neighbor's car. I'd like to say I learned my lesson fo' reals this time....but give it a couple of years, and I'm sure I'll be drunk texting my buddies during the ALCS, stuff like "Get ready for the BoSox to hang a banner, you homos! Hey, remember those broads from Cancun that drove up and partied with us at Culligan? Were they sluts, or what!"
Just a heads up if you're watching this at work, this is not the TV version, so good ol' Walter will NOT be saying "This is what happens, Larry, when you find a stranger in the Alps!"
