My Most Shameful Moment

Good morning Quesobanditos!!! Perhaps earlier statements have proven a little hasty. The Super College Football Bonanza post will have to wait until tomorrow, because today I have to get some things off my chest. As Usher would say, these are my confessions.

The Cheese tries to be a good man. The Cheese tries to keep all things in persepctive and not get too emotional about anything. But I have to be honest with you...I am after all just a man. And that means that like all other men, I lose it. I do things that are rash. Sometimes I get a rash, but that is beside the point. Today, because he trusts you and loves you, the High Cheese wants to share with you his most shameful moment. This actually is my most shameful moment.

So the Cheese loves his Alabama Crimson Tide football--it is my pleasure. The most incredible woman in the world and I hosted a goodly sized group of friends to watch the game. There wasn't a seat left in the house as about nine had gathered to cheer on my pride and joy. It was the opening week game against Oklahoma about two or three years back . It was close, real close, and the pressure was mounting. Fourth quarter. Under two minutes. I was about to explode. The Tide needed a stop in order to hold onto a lead that was running through their hands like water. It was fourth and nine. I was cracking up. Please Lord let them win. The quarterback for OU was one of the law-firm trio they had (Heupel, Hibl, and White), but I am not sure which one. It didn't matter. All I know is that he threw a perfect sideline pass to a receiver, Mark Clayton, who deftly tiptoed and caught the ball just past the first down marker keeping the gamewinning drive alive. NO! NO! NO! The Tide was beaten on that play. I couldn't hold it in. All of the emotion and anger came exploding out as I, full of hate and rage, shouted:

"I hope you get cancer!!!"

The entire room froze and grew quiet, as it should I suppose, whenever someone has completely crossed the line. I felt the guilt and weight of eight pairs of eyes who had that you-might-have-just-lost-your-salvation look in them. I remember thinking they were probably right. But I was too proud to simply apologize and own up to my faults. I tried to weasel out of the most hateful statement ever, "It can be treatable, I mean, I'm not a monster," I was a monster. "Nothing too bad, just like a small treatable tumor, you know." Everyone knew. Everyone knew that that is not what I meant. Anytime someone says cancer generally like that, you know they mean the worst kind possible.

An afternoon of joy and laughter and fun and comradery was crushed under the weight of my coal-black soul and its unchecked passion for the Crimson Tide.

I confess this for a reason. I confess this to tell you all that I am sorry. I have since learned to find more productive outlets for my rage. I have sense learned that college football is not everything. I have sense apologized to everyone there, but now I apologize to you as well. Finally I want to apologize to the most offended party, Mark Clayton, with this open letter:

Dear Mr. Clayton,

I am sorry. I hope you are cancer-free forever.

Sincerely yours,

The High Cheese

Remember kids, even at your worst, the man upstairs still loves you, and so do I. Have a good day. So ends part one of my confessions. Stay tuned for part two: the world cup.