I feel like a pedestrian walking toward a 4-way intersection and glancing up to notice a delivery truck coming toward me driving what I know to be too fast for this road and showing no signs of stopping for the red light it's driving into. Looking around to see who else is in the road and realizing the minivan approaching the blind intersection with the green light has no way of seeing the truck. I know they are going to hit, but I don't feel the tears on my cheek until I see the car seats in the back of the van. So I scream and cry knowing that both are futile. I am powerless, and they come together with the horrible sound of metal breaking against metal. Joining into a ball of pain and fire and death. But I never knew the worst part. That the truck had intended this collision all along, that it was going to keep driving through lights until it found one. Or it would simply smash into the building at the end of the road, because the driver had already armed his thermonuclear bomb. Thankfully, I die before I even realize what's really happening. As do most of the people I know and love. Because for the rest it's far worse. They are the ones, my friends and family who survive the blast, who go slower. In agony with every cell in their body riddled with cancer and the skin falling off their bones.
At least we here can now divorce ourselves from feeling for this basketball program. Think of the poor bastards who are going to ride this spiral down to the bottom. So much for combo fanning gentlemen, it was a privilege, now back to football.
