The final minutes of a dreary, rain-soaked day tick away.
An uncomfortable feeling rests over Westwood--is it excitement or is it dread? Is it loathing or is it boredom? And tomorrow night? What then? Mixed elation? Anger? Depression? Could it....could it be exuberant happiness?
Those final minutes, ticking away.
Karl Dorrell will struggle to sleep tonight. So many ideas, so many words floating through his mind. Where will I be tomorrow night? He thinks of Pat Cowan. Pat's awake also. Can we do it? Can I catch lightning in a bottle? I'm the starter, but will I really be in charge? He thinks of brother Joe. So maybe it's my final game. Wonder how Pat is sleeping...
No uncertainty here. Tomorrow's game will happen when it happens, and when it's over we'll have a new coach or a bowl game.
Roommates tapping away at keyboards, getting in their last predictions. ESPN background noise from the other room. Trying to get amped up, pumped up, excited. Hoping for that sleepless tossing, wondering, dreaming. Am I still a fan?
Feeling sleepy, relaxed, drooping eyelids. Visions of stumbling runs towards the endzone, leaping interception, clock expiring.
Sleep well Bruins, sleep well. Dream of the good days, dream of kick returns. Dream.