Continued from my previous entry...
Unfortunately, I couldn't be any more wrong. At match point, I let out a blood-curdling scream in frustration. I yelled to the visiting fans "You don't know how much we wanted to beat you guys!" over and over again. Soon after, Northridge made it six straight against us, and I was just sick to my stomach. I hurled my souvenir bat in frustration, acknowledging that my guys were not going to be championship material, and that I was revoking their Masters of LSV license.
Personally, I was sick to my stomach. Mentally, I was a wreck. I hurled my bat in the direction of one of the players decked in red to show my disgust of our team's futility, and it missed wide right. I sent a message to the Daily 49er regarding the situation. I was a bit surprised, if not flattered, that they had to make a story out of it. Bastards.
Our team's defeat to Northridge had huge adverse effects on my state of mind. I was lethargic, irritable, and I just had a feeling that all the energy I put into hoping that we would stop this streak of futility was all in vain. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I felt indifferent, antisocial, and not even the medication I took could change my mood. If I could look at myself from a different angle in the Gold Mine, seated where the old alums are, and see what unfolded, I would shake my head in disbelief.
All I could think about was that game, and everything that happened. Not even our sweep of Wichita State at Blair Field, nor the softball game's recent tear, or even the guys rebounding against UC Santa Barbara could change my mood. Not even my parents cheering me up could change my mood. Any attempt to placate me was like talking to a wall. It was useless.
Just thinking about that game causes me to go in a blind rage, like Audie Murphy did after he wiped out the people that killed his friend in World War II. If I were to redo that situation, I wouldn't want to go through that again.
