I watched the game through the window, Arkansas holding LSU to just a field goal at the three yard line midway through the third to maintain the lead. Then as Arkansas started a strong march back into Louisiana territory Mallet throws a pick. It was right then I realized not only did I not care if Arkansas won, I was actually hoping they lost! My broken heart sent me straight into bed with the enemy. A team which up to that point I had detested above all others. Now, that mattered not. If they could deliver even half as ferocious a blow to those stands as I myself had been rocked with then they just found themselves a new supporter.
Anger, nothing I had wanted to hold onto. In fact I had sequestered myself to the dungeonous quarters of my room watching SnL reruns on VH1 in order to avoid even the slightest contact with the game. Knowing any connection would put me that much closer to the pain that was sitting in that stadium. It was hunger that had summoned me to the kitchen. A need for hours I had tried to sleep away, expecting the game would have surely concluded. Though through that narrow opening between the kitchen and den I had full view of the gaping wound I had tried to bury in the basement. The horror I hadn't wanted to face. I have no desire to hate, but it is with even less request that I wish to hurt. My allegiance is to none above my heart. So with that delicate chamber's charity I pray, bring me blood o' mighty Tigers.
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