Wow. I had a bad feeling coming into this game. On top of the fact that I'm plagued with forever low pessimism, the entire O-line was injured before the game started, I knew Houston liked to throw to the tight ends, and I had personally lost this game when playing in my Madden 25 franchise. And whaddya know, the 'Hawks started slow just like I expected. Then the game got worse. By halftime I had cooked an entire pizza and was prepared to drown my sorrows in grease.
I wanted to believe Wilson would pull out his magic like he did against Atlanta in the play-offs last year, but when the third quarter ended and we still had not scored, I was prepared to just shrink away into my room and continue with the chemistry homework I've been avoiding all weekend. Then, all of a sudden, Doug Baldwin just does his thing on the sideline. Russell continued to go nuts with his scrambles, causing me to scream at the TV more than once about holding the ball instead of throwing it, but he somehow managed to get the yards we needed in the end. At that point, I was feeling pretty confident about a comeback win, but the PI call on Browner on third down dampened my spirits. I thought the Texans would win for sure then. But Mr. Richard Sherman had other plans. When the game went into overtime, I can't explain it, but I had no doubt in my mind the 'Hawks would lose. After an entire game of no confidence in my own team, I suddenly was not worried anymore. Its like we've obtained the phantom "clutch" ability. Whether that exists or not is debatable, but I sure felt like we have it. My roommate is a Falcons fan, and as we speak, Atlanta is a few plays away from either winning or losing the game, and my roommate doesn't even want to watch the end of the game he's so certain the Dirty Birds will collapse.
Whatever the case, I almost had a heart attack. Whether it was the stress of the game, or the obscene amounts of grease I consumed will never be known.