Great game. Went into overtime. The electricity in the crowd was overwhelming. Barely a person in their seat, club-type music thumping the arena, kiss cams in mass numbers.
Like so many anticipated occasions, overtime was over in a blink. And we were left with the thrill of.... a second overtime?
Wow. Sportscenter would be loving this.
We cheered and screamed and high fived...
Um. Still a tie? A third overtime?
Life is a lot like basketball. In that first quarter, we are fresh, shiny, and new. Ready to take on the world. Motivation high. Invincible.
Second quarter. Reflection time and we still feel pretty good. Sure, we've made some mistakes and learned from them. This is a good time to size up our competition and make solid plans.
Third quarter. After we rest a bit, we feel like our energy is dwindling, but the expectations are that we will play like the seasoned veterens that we are.
Fourth quarter. I'm tired. I just want to win this game and go home. And, oh, the desperate realization that some of our beloved teammates have already fouled out puts incredible pressure and saddness around us.
Overtime? Our fans are happy to see this, but we're losing our drive. More team members are fouling out, and frankly the team is just not in good enough shape to pull it together.
When the game went into it's fourth overtime-- that's right, not a typo... We kinda got, uh, bored. At this point, I don't really care who wins. My thoat hurts, my beer buzz is gone, and I just want to sit in a soft chair. I dream of getting the heck out of this place and home in my bed to sleep.
News in the morning covered the amazing 4 overtimes. Followed by Willard Scott announcing over 100 birthdays. Aren't these the same thing?
Go out with a whimper, not a bang? No thanks. I don't want quadruple overtime. I don't want to be on the morning show for living a century.
Funny thing, don't even remember who won the game.
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