I was texting with BitterWhiteGuy during the Tech game. He'd interpreted my recent absence from hoops commentary as RBIBD. Rick Barnes Induced Basketball Depression. Symptoms include despondence, Tourette's-style cursing (my basketball cursing takes on a distinctly incoherent bent - my football cursing is smart, analytical and on-point, but my hoops cursing is just a bunch of bad words spewed in random order - whore! shit! orangutan! fuck! pooltoy!). I experience brief blackouts when I see the team attempting to RUN CLOCK with a four point lead and nine minutes left in a game. Sometimes I self-harm (my money move is to tap the remote off of my forehead rhythmically when I see bad floor spacing). If you're experiencing RBIBD, call your new athletic director. He'll write you a placebo, sell nine UT coozies in Guangzhou, make a synergy finger tent and hike your ticket prices by 27%.
I was not suffering from RBIBD.
I'm suffering from my gift. The special sight. I told Bitter that we would beat Tech and then the team would drag me back in against ISU by playing spirited basketball. I predicted that game would be a 3 point ballgame with 4 minutes left. Then we'd lose. Spectacularly. Heart wrenchingly.
This is what happened.
Am I not a genius. I possess a gift. I begin to get the vapors, then the shakes, then I transmit myself to an Astral Plane and envision airballs and Rick Barnes screaming,"RELAX OUT THERE BASKETBALL IS FUN WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO UPTIGHT" while riding a unicycle and holding a chainsaw. Then I come back and I know things. The first thing I know is that I've peed myself. Stupid special sight! I never know anything useful. Like which Chinese dry cleaner has my white button down shirt. Or stock tips.
Just what's going to happen in Texas basketball.
We will get into the tournament. 11 seed. Last four in. We will lose a competitive, heart-breaking game. Played in the 60s. We will shoot 39.7% from the floor. Nine blocked shots. And I'll still be watching. Even though I've seen it before.