I wasn't sure if I was going to post in this thread. I think you'll see why if you read further. I suspect my story is unique - at least I hope so, for the sake of all of you.
I'll venture to say that I probably experienced a wider array of emotions on January 3rd 2002 than anyone you know, here at the Planet or otherwise. You see, my father passed away that morning, his wife (my parents were divorced, dad remarried) having removed him from a ventilator the day before. Coupled with the fact that my mom had died just 13 days earlier after a horrific battle with cancer, and I think you can imagine the devastation I felt at that time. I had spent that season watching Buckeye games on the little TV in my mom's hospital room. I wasn't being disrespectful of her - she would've felt even worse if I missed my Buckeyes because she was sick, and told me to turn the game on. That's my mom. The day of her funeral, dad had a heart attack, and doctors tests soon revealed he had lung cancer, and his days were numbered. Which takes us back to January 3rd.
I had no desire to attend the parties my friends were having, choosing to spend time alone trying to make sense of it all. Not surprisingly, I reached for a bottle of Jack about 3 hours before kick-off, 7 hours after dad died. I wasn't excited about the game, at that point. I found myself looking at photos of years past, thinking about my parents, when I began to think about it having been 30+ years since the Buckeyes had been in this position, and how they knew my love for the Buckeyes, and there was no way they would want me to miss that game. I also realized if it took another 30 years, I might not live to see it. Besides, I thought there's no way Ohio State is going to lose. There's no way "God" would let that happen to me, at that point in my life. Something good had to happen during this hellacious period.
I fired up the TV, and escaped into an old friend - Buckeye football - at a time I sorely needed it. I did what you did - I yelled, I laughed, I cursed, I paced the floor, I threw the remote a couple times - and then the game went OT. You know the rest...when Dorsey's last gasp hit the turf, I ran a victory lap around my couch, yelled, and fell back onto it, completely spent. I didn't feel much after that - probably pretty drunk, definitely emotionally drained. I "talked" to mom and dad a bit before dragging myself to bed. Not the type of celebration I had always imagined after such a great victory, but then again, not the type of circumstances I ever imagined, either. I don't think a message board post conveys my thoughts on all of this very well - there isn't enough bandwidth - but I guess I wanted to share my story as best I could.
All I know is this: the next time the Bucks get to that game, I will be there. I don't care what it costs, I WILL be there. Life can be a lot shorter than you think, so you better live it while you can. Mom was 64; Dad was 66.