Nearly two weeks, we have waited to take the field again.
For twelve days, we have had nothing else to do but toil and stew in our own frustration, burning into our memories the mistakes that stole away a momentous, defining victory, hearing the belittling sneers creep out from inside of backhanded compliments.
We almost had them. There's nothing to be ashamed of. As if merely not getting blown out was a victory in itself.
You took the number five team to the final play, even after all the turnovers. And still came up short.