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Kübler, Meet Ross

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I am still crippled with depression over the MNC. So this is my attempt at catharsis;

if you've moved on and/or can't bear to look at or read another word about the game, then feel free to lash me forty times with a wet noodle (I just looked that up and realized that I stole that lame joke from Ann Landers...now I'm even more depressed and questioning my manhood).

Since flicking off the television after watching Alabama celebrate, I haven't read a post or an article about the game. Barkingcarnival's hit rate has dropped by approximately 1,000 from the week preceding the game.

In honor of the 5 stages of grief, I offer the following thoughts:

- Denial: Have you ever had the pleasure of visiting the fine Fonda San Miguel restroom facilities in recent times? As in, you're slowly humming to a groovy Spanish woman singing lyrics that you can't understand over the excellent speaker system as you're doing your business? And then, all of a sudden...

THUMP
[pause]
THUMP
[pause]
THUMP

It's like Juan Atkins has entered the room with his portable DJ studio, and the 12" woofers from Custom Sounds are kicking in, leading to the walls thumping as you're wrapping up your bio break. Just freaking bizarre since this is supposed to be the premiere upscale tex mex joint in town where every rich turtleneck-wearing thirty-something white person who would say "Juan who?" goes to convince themselves that they are better than the riff-raff that frequents Chuy's.

So my expression when the music switched gears was exactly the same as when I saw Colt go down; it could best be described as a mixture of confusion and disbelief (insert your own jokes about things getting a little messy if you like).

- Anger: I have Fedexed some sticky glue to Bobby Kennedy and a custom set of "even Brent Musburger woke up from his nap at the Sunny Valley Retirement Center long enough to agree with Herbstreit that John Chiles just gave up on the only ball thrown his way" fine china.

- Bargaining: I made no bargains, or at least none that I'm willing to admit to that might affect my place in the afterlife.

- Depression: When I look at a running back like Richardson and think about our last recruiting class, I become even more depressed than sizzlechest being denied a free pass at the CES porn expo 3d extravaganza.

- Acceptance: I wasn't as unhappy as I usually am with the game plan (after GD decided to unpucker and let loose). The play actions with GG were so well executed and timed that I can forgive the option call that killed Colt and the 5 wide set deep in our own territory that murdered our shot at coming back. I think.

Some other random thoughts:

- I don't feel that bad about the final sequence right before the end of the first half. I don't agree that the play was low risk (good one, Mack), but if you cut and run and pull your tail between your legs, you don't come out gunning in the second half and close the gap to 3. Doesn't happen.

- Our boys didn't give up. It's been a staple dating back to the '04 season, and I'm glad to see that it hasn't gone away. Plenty of Texas teams have pulled their collective tails between their legs and given up. Shock the Nation, meet irony!

- I'm surprised that all camera shots of our upstairs booth with GD weren't removed prior to the game. Just look at GD. Just. Look.


Why don't you move it a little to the left and up? That's right. Great.

- The second half D was tremendous and lights out. In fact, for the whole game, they made McElroy look like McHogeboom. Not that he already wasn't, but still.

- I'm betting that Saban had a conversation with him that went something like:

[scene: a dimly lit coaches office with a Santeria altar in the corner which has a freshly killed heifer]

[Saban]: So Greggy, you know when you drop back to pass?

[McElroy]: Yeah.

Saban's eyes narrow into evil and dark slits.

[Saban]: Don't actually throw the ball.

Usual befuddled look on McElroy's face.

[McElroy]: Got it, coach.

- Our schedule next year is manageable, but I don't think it's going to be the cakewalk that this year's was. When I looked at the 2009 schedule prior to the start of the season, I thought it was going to be our best opportunity to win another championship. We've got some difficult games ahead of us in the coming year, and our early and mid-season looks to be the toughest that it has been in recent years assuming that OU doesn't completely implode.

- At the end of the first half, I was worried that GG's confidence was gone, never to return. I was actively searching Ebay for Shea Morenz jerseys in order to commemorate the moment. Looking back though, this to me was a pivotal moment for GG, even though I dismissed it at the time:

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Teams give up on their leaders all the time. A good example would be if their Vice President is a confused Alsatian who seemingly fights a war with himself on a daily basis as his German half continually conquers his French half. Not that that would have happened in real life or anything.

Only after the game did I realize that Gideon encouraging Gilbert after the shovel pick was a harbinger of a team that would not give up, and a team that would fight until that all too familiar and debilitating sack of Gilbert with 3:00 minutes remaining (5 wide deep in own territory AGHHHH). I also look forward to seeing something similar to this sequence with Gilbert, and a talented crop of wide receivers:

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We line up in a 5 wide in what is likely the only scenario where its use can be justified in any sane universe--two and a half yards to the target. This forces the defense to choose whom they want to double cover, and in this instance, his eminence McClain decides to double cover Shipley.

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Smart choice, but not so smart, because the middle of the field is now wide open, and Gilbert recognizes this, throwing a dart to Buckner for his last catch in the Burnt Orange.

I shall now begin to read all of the analysis and wade my way through everything that was written about the game in order to continue my masochistic journey to recovery. If I only could then burn after reading to exorcise the demons.