I used to live in Colorado. It snows there. Sometimes a lot. There are no indoor football stadiums in Colorado. If you want to watch football, you have to sit outside. Unless the powers that be decide to show the game on television. Then you can watch from the safety and comfort of your home. But, as I have discussed prior to this writing, concern rays have a very difficult time travelling through the air and television cables to influence the outcome of a game. This is why it is infinitely preferable to be seated in the stands, in order for your team to get the full use of one's concern rays.
I sat on a snow drift in Folsom Field on November 2, 1991 and watched my Colorado Buffaloes play the Nebraska Cornhuskers to a 19-19 standstill. The grounds crew kept the field clear, but couldn't be bothered to get the stands free of ice and snow, so the hearty souls who came out to make their voices heard and their concern rays felt had to do so in subzero temperatures dreaming of an outcome that would reward their foolhardiness. And dedication.
When I think about the hours I have spent watching spectator sports without receiving the outcome I feel that I have worked so hard to achieve. Just the other night, I sat down with my wife to watch the Denver Broncos play the Kansas City Chiefs. I asked my wife along for this experience because I hoped her somewhat muted but very sincere concern rays combined with my full bore obsession rays would help carry the day. And they were nearly enough. Nearly. Not enough to win. Or tie. Enough to have put up a good fight.
And three hours of my life have slipped by in the most unsatisfying fashion.
I relate all of this sports chatter not simply to annoy my younger brother, but to relate it to my feelings about the Brett Kavanaugh experience. The past few weeks worth of concern rays have done little or anything to affect the outcome of the confirmation vote. Part of me wishes that I could have stood with those on Capitol Hill, arms linked and chanting, "We believe women." Because I do. Part of me wishes that this blog had more readers, especially those whose opinion I might have captured and swayed. Ultimately, this was a series of futile gestures on my part. Resulting in a loss that will last far into next season. Into another generation.
Perhaps it's time to stop being a spectator.