There was a time in my life when Fall weekends presented an opportunity for my family to witness my famous mood swings magnified out of all proportion. It is, thankfully, a time that has passed into memory along with several other of my more sterling attributes--my hair, my ability to run a sub-20 minute three miles, my memory. For three months each year, beginning with the first kick-off against Memphis State (they tried to change their name to something else, but they will always be Memphis State to me) and ending with the final whistle of the Mississippi State game (or the rare bowl game), my mood would soar with anticipation of an Ole Miss victory, often to be plunged into a morose funk by a Rebel collapse. Every year I warned myself, "The Rebels will break your heart..." And yet, forewarned, I still held out hope... and had it snatched from my hand and stomped flat like a losing fan's souvenir drink cup.
But this year, I have almost reveled in the horrible season my Rebels have provided for the Ole Miss faithful. I am in the reminisce intermission of my life at the moment, and this year's 3 and 8 season brought back memories of a 3 and 8 season 31 years ago when I first wandered the Grove. It was so bad that South Carolina beat us at our homecoming and they went 1 and 10 that year.
The worst part of this particular weekend is the loss to Mississippi State and the cowbell hell I will have to endure from my Bulldog brother. It is only on weekends like this that I am glad he doesn't live close. But I will maturely grant him public recognition of his bragging rights--Mississippi State 35, Ole Miss 14.
Dang you Rebels, you break my heart.
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