Throughout my life, I've experience my fair share of sporting heartache. As I've noted previously, the teams that I choose to cheer for are generally not the favorites to win championships or titles on a year to year basis. It would be so much easier to cheer for the Yankees or Lakers or Patriots, but then I would have to live my life without a soul. Instead, I continue to hope and pray that my sporting heroes will one day deliver success to its fans.
Other than a couple bright spots (87 and 91), I've never cheered for a champion. Most of my team's seasons end in heartbreaking fashion, many times a third or half way through the regular schedule. There are a few, however, that have been more devastating than others.
In this blog posting, I will list the five most disappointing losses that I've experienced in my life. While deciding on the complex rating system that determined the ranking for each of these moments, I found that there was an overwhelming factor that made certain events hurt worse than others. It was this: The amount of effort and attention that I put into each of these selected teams was directly linked to the amount of pain that I experienced. Essentially, the more I cared the more it hurt.
Without further ado (in reverse order), the five worst sporting moments of my life.
5. 1999 Wisconsin Badgers: In my first semester at Madison, I had quickly become fully immersed into the crazy world of college football. Over the first couple weeks of the season, I had learned all of the cheers, perfected my pregame drinking ritual, started envisioning the Badgers in the Rose Bowl, and above all else, learned to hate the Maize and Blue of the Michigan Wolverines.
Although Michigan doesn't realize it, Wisconsin fans consider the Wolverines to be our biggest rival. Not the Gophers, or even Ohio State. Over the years, they have routinely crushed our rose-colored hopes and dreams, and for that, we generally despise them. Our one loss in the previous season (1998) had been to Michigan. 1997 also. We didn't lose to them in 96, only because we never played them.
The Badgers had already lost to Cincinnati by the time the Michigan game rolled around, making a victory all that more important. We were all feeling confident. With Ron Dayne continuing to roll, our collection of "Ann Arbor is a Whore" t-shirts, and the pre-game consumption of enough alcohol to get a small African nation drunk, we didn't think that we were going to lose.
Tom Brady and the rest of the Wolverines had other ideas however. Michigan led by six late in the game, and their defense had held Dayne to negative yards in the second half, but we still had a chance to win. We were driving under the control of a young replacement quarterback named Brooks Bollenger. There was a long pass into the corner of the endzone to a wide open Chris Chambers. It was a sure touchdown. We were going to take the lead, and I began celebrating, jumping up and down on the aluminum seats, yelling like the drunken fool that I was.
Unfortunately, I was premature with my celebration. The wide open Chambers lost the ball in the late afternoon sun, letting it pass through his hands and effectively losing the game over the infuriating Wolverines.
Although the Badgers eventually headed to the Rose Bowl later in the season, at the time, the loss to our perceived rivals caused it to be a miserable weekend.
Pain Scale: High
4. 2009 USA Soccer: As I noted in a posting from last week, I love watching the US soccer team, especially on the world stage. The World Cup completely turns my life around. I will go without sleep, disappear from human contact, and work myself into a general tizzy with every game that they play. Throughout the past week, I watched every one of the US games at the Confederation's Cup, beginning with general sadness at the beginning and culminating in an overabundance of joy with Sunday's arrival.
I met with a few friends at a bar in San Diego to take in the upcoming Miracle on Grass. I had attempted to temper my expectations with each victory that the US attained throughout the tournament. After the Egypt game, I kept telling myself that they didn't stand a chance against Spain. After Spain, I continued to remind myself that they had been soundly beaten in the qualifying round at the hands (and feet) of Brazil. I continued to tell myself, "Don't get too excited. You'll only set yourself up for disappointment."
I had continued with this gameplan until the first goal that the US scored. At the time, I was a couple of beers deep and my high school-girl alcohol tolerance caused me to fully feel their effect. I was light headed and joyous, yet I still attempted to maintain a realistic outlook on the game.
After the second goal, all of these efforts were dissolved. I didn't know whether to stand up or sit down. I couldn't speak for a moment. I was on the verge of stripping off my clothes and running through the streets of San Diego in celebration.
They showed a clip of the Confederation's Cup trophy at half time, and I started envisioning Landon Donovan and Clint Dempsey holding it above their heads after the game. I saw ESPN headlines, and the rebirth of soccer madness in the US. It was all coming together.
And then the second half began. Each goal that Brazil scored ripped a portion of my heart out. After the first goal I still maintained hope. After the second goal, quiet dread started to creep into the bar. After the third goal, there was nothing but utter disappointment. It made me want to curl up in a corner and slowly cry myself to sleep, which is exactly what I did when I arrived home later on in the day.
Pain Scale: Torturous
3. 2008 Minnesota Twins: It has been nearly a year since I started writing this blog. During the All-Star break last summer, I decided to start writing about Minnesota sports, with my main focus being on the Twins. At the time, the team was mired in a similar situation to where they are currently. Late innings bullpen collapses, injuries, tempered expectations, and general ass-battiness occurred throughout the second half of the season, yet somehow, as the season came to a close, the Twins were tied with the worst collection of humans on earth. I speak, of course, of the Chicago Bitch Sox.
The two teams had the exact same records, both home and away, and within the division, and had to play a one game playoff to determine who would be the Central Champion. I had spent the summer watching the activities of the Twins on ESPN Gamecast, writing about them, and willing them to somehow catch Chicago in the standing. Hours spent trying to create nicknames and photoshop various players as superheroes caused this one game to mean more than any other baseball game in my adult life.
I was in Minnesota at the time, and went to a local bar to watch the game with friends. Through 6 1/2 innings, there had been no score. Then, in the bottom of the 7th, the beast known as Jim Thome unleashed a monster home run off of Rob Nick Blackburn, effectively winning the game. I couldn't look at ESPN or the Strib for a week. I couldn't even think about writing anything for a week. Here is a link to the first entry that I made following that game. Re-reading the entry still makes me shed a few tears and hope that the Twins won't put me through a similar experience in 2009.
Ughh...gross.
Pain Scale: Intolerable
2. 2003/2004 Minnesota Timberwolves: I love the Timberwolves above all of my other teams. Attending games throughout my childhood and an unhealthy obsession with Kevin Garnett have caused me to form a bond with the team that can't be broken. Even after every misstep of ownership, management, and players over the years, I will still return every season with hope in my heart.
The apex of my fanaticism for the team began in the summer of 2003. In an effort to bring a championship to Minnesota before the exit of KG, CoacHale (who was GM at the time) made some bold moves. He made trades to bring in Sam "Big Balls" Cassell, Latrell "Feed my Family" Sprewell, and Michael "Bustlicious" Olowokandi to surround Garnett with some amount of talent.
After a slow start, the team gelled throughout the season to earn the top seed in the Western Conference playoffs. Throughout the playoffs, my confidence with the team grew more and more. They soundly beat the Denver Nuggets in the first round, and eventually conquered the Sacramento Kings in an epic game 7 in the second round. At the time, I had all of the confidence in the world that KG and his boys would be able to find a way to win against the Lakers in the Western Finals.
Unfortunately, Sam Cassell's back, hip and groin were injured, causing his leg to fall off at the start of the series. Sprewell didn't intimidate any of the Lakers with his Predator locks and couldn't seem to hit a shot. Olowokandi always sucked, so his performance wasn't out of the ordinary. KG played well, but there was only so much that he could do against Shaq and Kobe.
Although they managed to stretch the series to six games, the Lakers looked in control throughout. I watched each of the games with a growing sense of dread. By the end of game 6, I left my friend's apartment and wandered the streets of Madison by myself, wondering if KG or I would ever see a championship in Minnesota.
Pain Scale: Chopped off limb
1. 1998 Minnesota Vikings: I thought I was ready for this, but I've decided that the pain is still too fresh. I don't know if I'll ever get over that team, or season, or playoff game. Tears are streaming down my face as I write this, and I have the overwhelming urge to hunt down Denny Green.
Why would you kneel?!? Why?!?
Let me just say this; if I ever hear the following phrases, I may revert back into the near catatonic state that I experienced the day of the loss:
-Dirty Bird
-Jamal Anderson
-Gary Anderson
-Playing for Overtime
Ugh. So much pain. A thoroughly depressing way to end a thoroughly depressing post.
Pain Scale: Heart Explosion.
-Sota
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