By J. Henderson
The ache this morning in no way stems from a loss per se, but much more from the fact that we were downed by a ricocheted suicide attempt by a madman. The bullet bounced off his well-insulated skull and caught us between the eyes. I’m of course referring to “Less and” Les “Sense” Miles and it is our dumb-luck role as his latest enabler that rubs so raw.
The “dressed-for-the-arctic-in-the-middle-of-the-bayou” outfits are either coded messages to Michigan boosters or cries for help. The man is out of his mind. Did you see his on-the-field interview?
It made no sense.
Holly Rowe: “Take us through your decision there…”
Miles: “… on what?”
I myself listened to most of the game on the radio, only getting home in time to watch the last 5 minutes of the 4th quarter. And in the car and on the couch, there was plenty else to take in that did not make sense: calls from the sideline, specifically – unless it was just botched, which it may have been – our last squibbed kick-off; calls from the officials, specifically the criminal spot LSU received at the end of that third down screen we sniffed out in their final drive (I hereby dub 2007 “The Two Feet Game”).
But rest just as assured: that last play did not make sense. They didn’t need a touchdown, they needed a field goal. We weren’t caught off guard, my man Powers was right there.
Of course the win is satisfying for LSU fans… but there was no earthquake of euphoria last night – if anything, it must’ve been rather gusty there at the end for all the sudden gasps and sighs. Whether he’s in it for ego, or whether he’s flirting with full-blown dementia, your coach, LSU fans, has a gambling problem and his only taste is for Russian Roulette.
One of those chambers is going to have a demystifying, tear-jerking loss in it soon enough, and it’s gonna blow your brains out and there will be much clamor.
And though I wish we could have been the ones to be see it… to be there for it… I am, like everyone else, more than proud of this team.
Let us rally around them and together assume the remaining Saturdays with (extra) bone-rattling, (extra) spine-tingling assurance that it is great to be an Auburn Tiger.