<HONEA EXPRESS: Bunnies Beat Cats

It finally happened. Honea Express has moved to greener pastures, or possibly just out to pasture -- you make the call.

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Please pardon the dust and update your feed readers accordingly. Thank you - Whit

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Bunnies Beat Cats

The Wildcats were up 15 points on Number 1 Illinois with two minutes left. Just work the clock. Don't give any fouls. Don't allow the three point shot. The Wildcats were tied at the end of regulation and went into overtime. Don't allow the three point shot. Be aggressive on offense. Get rebounds. The Wildcats were down 1 with eleven seconds on the clock and possession of the ball. Let Salim take a shot. Get the ball inside to Frye. Let Adams drive. Don't sit at the top of the key and do nothing until it's too late. Too late.
If you know me, or any U of A fan really, then you know the passion that lives in us. We are the ones in quiet places that jump out of our chairs and pump our fists for every single shot. We are the ones that will flip you off if you say you were in Chicago once and it was nice. We are the ones that keep the makers of blood-pressure pills in business. I was born a normal kid into a house of Wildcat fans. Now, I am bi-polar and hanging dangerously close to having a heart-attack before I'm 40.
At 'too late' I leaned forward from my kneeling spot 2 inches in front of the television screen and turned the power off. I stood and looked at my son who lay next to me intently reading, or pretending to read, a book about Clifford the big red dog. I bit my lip and paced the livingroom. I wanted to cry, scream, curse, throw and break things. Man, I wanted to break things. I paced. I looked at my son and sat with him on the couch. We read the entire Clifford book, cover to cover, ignored phone calls from the 'ha-ha' and 'that sucks' of the world and ordered a pizza. Our plan for the night was to color Easter eggs after the game, which we did. I had every intention of changing Atticus out of his best U of A outfit before we began. The loss had me mad. Mad enough to take our Arizona sweatshirts and burn them in the front yard. I looked at his clothes as I sat the eggs on the table. With some hesitation I took off his team attire and placed it in the laundry. The season is over, but Easter is tomorrow, and we had eggs to color.