FanPost

The Allegory

Okay, so you know that I'm a little... off. Well, during my mourning process following the Georgia-Alabama game, I tried to put my thoughts, feelings, what-have-you into an allegory so that I can deal with it a little better. This is what I came up with:


There is this girl. We'll call her Georgia. Georgia and I grew up together. She lived in our neighborhood, and her family and mine were always pretty close. We went to school together as long as I can remember, and it's almost like Georgia has been part of my family forever. We've always been really good friends, spending a lot of time together, particularly on Saturday afternoons during the school year when our families would get together to watch some college football. Those afternoons were always fun, even though the outcomes of the games were unpleasant at times. Despite the outcome, though, I loved being with Georgia. I wanted to see her all the time. I didn't know what to do with my time when I didn't get to see her. I guess you could say I was in love with her.


Of course, Georgia grew into a beautiful young woman, and as such, my youthful infatuation grew steadily more intense. I couldn't stop thinking about her, but I was certain that she knew nothing of my undying devotion to her. Until one day, it happened. She asked me to prom. I mean, damn. The hottest girl around asked lowly old me to prom... eight months in advance. Sure, eight months in advance seems a little weird, but I couldn't even begin to think rationally at this point. This was the day I had waited for my whole life. It was really going to happen.


My excitement level grew daily as those months passed by. I took dancing lessons, I bought my own tailored tux, I went all out in every possible way. Finally, the day arrives. She had made all of the arrangements, like getting our pictures made by Southern Photography, getting us a limo ride from Chippewa Travel (even though we got stuck in traffic behind an overturned chicken truck), and dinner reservations at Tempe Steak House. The night had been perfect. Everything was in place. I thought it to be the perfect time to tell Georgia how I really felt about her. I was going to tell her I loved her. At prom. It was going to be perfect. Nothing could go wrong. I decided I couldn't wait any longer. As soon as we got there I told her how much I really cared about her, how devoted I was, and how I loved spending time with her. She looked into my eyes, drew me close, and said...


"You've been punk'd!!1!!1one Hahahahaha!!!! You are such a loser. How could somebody like you ever expect to go to prom with somebody like me? I mean, really. Are you delusional? C'mon. You knew this was a hoax, right? I mean, right?"


Yep. Right there in front of everyone. The love of my life had set me up for eight months to break my heart on national television. I was shocked. I was hurt. I was on national television. The crowd's reaction is as you would expect: Pointing and laughing at the loser who got punk'd by his true love in front of his family, friends, and a national television audience. Along with the laughing, the crowd inexplicably brought out a yellow hammer, a roll of toilet paper, and some laundry detergent. This crowd might have been a little retarded, but do you know how much it hurts to have a retard point at you and laugh. I'll be honest. A little piece of me died. A piece that I will never, ever be able to get back. I was so angry. I was lashing out in every direction, dropping bombs of the F variety at any and all in attendance. I was blaming Georgia, cursing her very name, hating everything about her. Hating her dad. Hating her mom. Hating the economy. I was just hating on everything and everyone indiscriminately.


Finally, the only one left to hate was myself. How could I let myself get so emotionally attached to someone who would do this to me? Why have I spent my entire life chasing after Georgia hoping that one day she would love me as much as I have loved her? It didn't help that everyone I ran into afterwards told me to hold my head up. That all was not lost. That I could still amount to something in life. Do you know how freakin' useless that is to say to somebody right after something as traumatic as this happens? Every time somebody said that to me, I wanted to punch them in the face. I hated them for even mentioning it to me. Can I not have a little while to mourn? Is that not acceptable? Am I nuts? The answer clearly is yes. I am batshit crazy. How do I know? After the shenanigans and the big TV reveal of her diabolical scheme to a nation watching, she came back and gave a half-hearted apology, and asked if we could still be friends. I should have said no. I should have broken ties and gone on with my life, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I loved her too much to imagine life without her. I told her that I would see her in a couple of weeks when our families get together to watch some more football. And I'm sure I'll be happy to see her that Saturday afternoon... except that little part of me that died that day.


Don't get me wrong, I know that college football is just college football. It is a game, played by amateurs, and is not life nor death, and I love my wife waaaaaay more than I love college football. I tell her so everyday. This is just a metaphor for the emotional toll Saturday night took on me (and my wife who is just as nuts as I am). It happens, and we move on. But, this one hurts. And it will for a long, long time.

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