Normally bruises are black and blue, but this one—it’s orange and blue.
I wasn’t prepared for this blow. After the Broncos beat the Patriots I tried to be superstitious, but I started remembering their two Super Bowl wins. I began to believe that this year was going to bring number three.
I almost had to kill my roommate's girlfriend yesterday because with about 5 minutes left to play, she yelled upstairs, "Angie, I don't think your team is going to win." Yes, please go ahead and rub salt in the wound.
The game ended and all I could think was, “It wasn’t supposed to end this way. We weren’t supposed to lose at home. Our season wasn’t meant to end this way!”
Dragging myself out of the fetal position I had assumed on the couch, I slunk upstairs—determined to start the first step of healing: denial.
The rest of Sunday passed by as I lay on my bed in a haze of books and my favorite Christmas gift.
Today I saw a glimpse of the second step of healing: hope. This morning a coworker sighed, “Maybe next year…” I replied in the affirmative.
But I’m not completely out of the first stage yet: football? What is this thing you call football? ;-)