I don't even know what to say this morning.
I had been listening to Atlanta sports radio every day on the way to and from work over the previous two weeks, watched and read every Super Bowl-related thing I could get my hands on, just doing everything I could to soak it in. I got my schedule changed so that I could be off from work for the Super Bowl, then I worked a night shift (8pm-8am) in the ICU the night before the Super Bowl, then drove straight from the hospital to the airport in the morning and flew down to Atlanta to watch the game with my family. I was dead tired, but excited as hell at the same time to have this opportunity, and I wasn't going to miss it.
But that loss last night was the most Atlanta thing ever. Even when we were up 28-3 and some people at our Super Bowl party were proclaiming the game over, I didn't assume anything and kept my emotions in check because I know better as an Atlanta sports fan. Hell, that's a big reason why I rarely post during games.
I'm just completely spent. I've been through so many disappointments as an Atlanta sports fan over the years, but this is easily the saddest moment of all. The car ride back home was absolutely miserable. The Falcons hosts on the radio sounded like they were on the verge of tears.
This is going to hurt for a long long time.
I know I've barely posted in here, but I've been a fan since the old Tecmo Super Bowl days where Chris Miller to Shawn Collins (especially if he was in Good or higher) was my favorite go to. Keep Andre Rison, I'll throw to 85 over and over again.
My life has changed over and over again since 1991 but the one thing that always stuck with me since I was a 5th grader with my notebook of TSB stats was that every Sunday I would look forward to watching my Falcons play.
I was there in 1998 when Eugene Robinson thought it was a better idea to pick up a hooker than prepare for the most important game of his life. I suffered through Bobby Hebert, Billy Jo Tolliver, Jeff George, Joey Fucking Harrington, all of them. Jim Mora, Bobby Petrino, June Jones. The enigma that was Ron Mex...I mean...Michael Vick.
Last night, my phone was going nuts. Coworkers, family, you name it all with the congratulations to which I said "not yet". My SB party sounded like yours--sure I was up and yelling during the pick-6. That Julio catch was pure art. But I too never let my emotions get the best of me. There was still too much time. By the time of the fumble, I knew it was over-- that's just how we're conditioned as Falcons fans. I can't say I was even surprised when the 2nd 2-pt conversion happened. The rest of the room was afraid to look at me. They hadn't seen anything like it. For us, it's just another new and creative way to lose.
I drove home last night in silence. I don't think I slept for more than an hour. This one's going to hurt, I agree. But I'll still always be a fan and somewhere in my garage, packed away after how many moves, that notebook from 1991 still exists.