Did NU's loss to Michigan have you throwing things against the wall after the 'Cats allowed 28 unanswered second half points? Or maybe you were looking for unsuspecting Wolverine fans to kick in the nuts in the Ryan Field parking lot.
One Spread Far the Fame reader wishes he could feel that anger once again.
We got this email sent to us and we thought it was good enough to post. All our friendly "guest-writer" wanted to do was remain anonymous. Maybe it's because he's secretly former Northwestern president Henry Bienen (although I'm pretty sure he's not).
Take it away...
"So the ‘Cardiac ‘Cats take years off your life, you say? You’ve seen 10 too many breathless finishes, heart-stopping wins or soul-crushing defeats? Good for you. At least when you’re dead, you won’t have to experience the pain I do every day. My life spent as a Northwestern fan has caused me to suffer from a different side effect entirely.
I’m incapable of love. I crave satisfaction, yet can’t taste it. I want to experience the sheer joy of victory and the tangible pain of defeat that other teams’ fans wear on their sleeves week after week. But instead, I’m like a fucking Pirate of the Caribbean who can’t eat an apple, can’t taste the wine and can’t even laugh at Michael Fucking Bolton.
I’m desensitized. The only reason I would have an erection lasting longer than four hours is a prolonged prostate exam. Northwestern’s up big? Sweet! It’s going to come down to the final play. Wildcats in a hole? Fantastic! They’ll come back only to provide an Illinois-to-Pat-Ward nut shot at the end. We just beat Iowa? Of course we did. But we’re about to get run out of Wrigley Field faster than a Mark Prior fastball. I recognize this. Year and year, game after game, I see it coming like the Coors Light train through a tunnel with Fitz as the beer-bearing bikini bitch. And there’s no party at the end, just a cold December and a Lake with temperatures that cause your dick to fully retreat back inside your body.
Friends set my phone on fire with hate-filled texts and stupid message board dweebs hurl themselves out of 18th story windows again and again. Why would I want to feel that pain? I’ve felt it so much over the years, I can’t fully enjoy life because I’m terrified the ‘Cats are going to hurt me again. So instead the defense mechanisms kick in. I fist pump when NU scores a TD, but not too much. I have to steel myself for the inevitable sub-1 minute scoring drive that’s about to be hung on us.
It’s so brutal. Those truly great wins, the Notre Dame game in 1995, the Michigan game in 2000 or the Ohio State win in 2004…I can’t enjoy those in the moment because deep down inside I know I’m about to get blindsided by Miami of Ohio or Purdue or fucking Hawaii. Or it may even be a same-day thing, like Dan Persa throwing a game-winning TD on the same play his Achilles tendon does its best fruit roll-up impression (has there even been a single play that so perfectly captured the essence of Northwestern football?) So I put up walls the Plex would be proud of.
And it carries over into real life. I am incapable of forming meaningful relationships because I can’t open myself up enough to real pain to fully appreciate the vulnerability that leads to true joy. I go through the motions and hope it works out, but it never does. Women are too in need of 'feelings.' My feelings were ripped to shreds long ago by the prevent defense and special teams blunders.
I don’t want to buy season tickets because I don’t care. If I’m too cheap to take a woman I want to bang out for anything more expensive than Dave’s Italian Kitchen, why would I plop down $200 of my hard-earned dollars to see a team that doesn’t come close to satisfying me? Which leaves me unsatisfied. Like John Malkovich in Rounders but without the badass accent.
So things like today happen, and they will continue to happen. Along the way, we’ll knock off a top-10 team or two. I’ll watch it and I’ll smile. I may high-five some people and pound a purple shot. But inside I’ll be empty and hollow—and not the good kind of empty and hollow you get after a really great shit. I know that the following week, something awful is going to happen. And unless I completely withdraw from reality, it’s going be like getting hit by a fucking Northwestern shuttle bus that’s 10 minutes behind schedule.
Hell I don’t even know if this was funny to you or not. I don’t give enough of a shit to care. But if there’s one takeaway from all this, I suppose it is the one Northwestern Football constant that’ll never change: We’re going to beat Iowa’s ass."
