I could only “watch” in the live gamecast. No noise. Nothing. Silent agony. I writhed and contorted in the chair as the score seemed more dire and time got shorter. Not even bothering with Twitter or anything outside of that single screen. Matching the silence from the “game,” I said nothing. No shouting at a miss that could have happened a minute, two minutes, seconds before. Just tense silence.
The sips of my double IPA becoming drinks, becoming gulps. No joy taken from the resiny nose and the flavor. It could have been anything, as long as it helped to dull the emotions. I’d pay for this later. The impotent frustration of not even being able to see what was going wrong.
Scanning and rescanning the box score. Looking to see if there was anything that gave a glimmer of hope. Extremely poor shooting from the outside. Oakland shooting well — or at least getting good looks it would seem. Were the Golden Grizzlies having a hot shooting night? Was the defense playing poorly? Was Oakland packing it in against Pitt, daring them to shoot jumpers? Was Pitt simply settling?
Trying to figure out if this was a let-down game after rolling Lehigh, or a look-past game as the team thought about the Wednesday game with Michigan and the trip to Madison Square Garden. Did it matter? It wasn’t looking like a win would happen. An inexplicable home loss to a good mid-major, but in the end still a team from the Summit League. A game that seemed like a mere formality to another good start. Set to become a debacle.