As a true orange and blue blood -- one of those guys who judges his self worth by the number of Virginia football players who call him by name, one of those guys who knows the helmet size of the backup long-snapper - I should be sullen. I'm not.
I should sulk pitifully on my couch, bag of pretzels in one hand, box of Kleenex in the other, and bawl my little eyes out until the reservoirs run dry. I haven't.
Cavalier fans, I come to you with a hardened heart and a confession to make: last-second, throw-your-heart-on-the-floor-and-stomp-on-it losses, the ones Virginia is now befriending like the stunning blonde who sits next to you in Spanish class, just don't phase me anymore.
Agonizing defeats, those of the 38-35 overtime variety against BYU Saturday, would send loyal gridiron fanatics running for the nearest shrink. Psychosis becomes nausea upon discovering that Cougar quarterback Bret Engemann - he who threw for a measly 447 yards - is one of Larry King's four dozen brothers-in-law.
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Once upon a time, all the way back in 1998, these losses stung like a Roberto Duran left hook to the kidney. On Oct. 17 of that year, sixth-ranked Virginia, unblemished and undaunted, boasting a cornucopia of football VIPs from Thomas Jones to Anthony Poindexter, walked all over Georgia Tech like stepping stones on the pathway to greatness ... for 40 minutes at least. One of TJ's innumerable sprints to paydirt had the Cavs thinking blowout, up 38-17 midway through the third.
Unfortunately, they play 60.
Joe Hamilton and Dez White rallied the shaken troops, and in a miracle of miracles, scrounged out a 41-38 triumph as Todd Braverman's last-ditch field goal of 54 yards sailed 53.
That night and in the ensuing days, elementary household tasks - projects like getting out of bed and shaving - took on an air of difficulty once unknown.
A mere ten weeks later, dŽj