Yesterday, while I was in the shower - soaping down my scrotum with my customary amount of vigor - I had That Moment. Not the moment you have as a tween when strange sensations of friction suddenly make a lot more sense, but the moment when you start to irrationally believe your team might defy the odds and pull a massive upset. It's the moment when your brain decides to suspend all notions of reality & probability and consider the scenario in which Texas rallies against history and makes some sort of iconic stand against the tidal waves of talent mismanagement, coaching ineptitude, and Mack Brown's perenially-puckered anus, and wins a game they have no business winning. Daje Johnson gets loose for a long TD run, Steve Edmond goes into a fugue state & channels the ghost of Dick Butkus, and Case McCoy smuggles his brother Colt into the stadium wearing #6. The safeties don't let Trey Millard treat them like a pinball machine, Mike Davis cut blocks Mike Stoops into the Red River, and DKR's corpse rises out of the grave to drown Barry Switzer in a bathtub of his own piss-flavored wine(and can we talk about a Sooner making wine? What's next, Vince Young's asset management firm?). That Moment. It only lasts for a moment; reality comes crashing back in and you remember that Mack Brown is still in charge, DKR is still dead, and Barry Switzer has spent the entire week grinning like he just nailed your mom in the back of his Bigfoot monster truck. But you still had That Moment, just for a fleeting instant. When was your moment?