Don't cry in that beer, drink it!

So U.W. plays at home against us the way the Yankees play in The Stadium at World Series time: getting exactly what they need at the precise moment they need it most. So what? So this: the Yankees finally ran out of cards and so will UW.

All right, all right, so the 26-year string just got another couple of years longer.  So we continue to be a Husky B*tch in Seattle.  So we save our worst performance for the biggest game of the friggin' year.  Even TW, whose blood is typically room temperature, fell victim to the yips as he juggled fourth-down playcalling and clockwatching.

So our punting game continues to astound and amaze.

So we go into a strange state of mind when we're not underdogs.

So U.W. plays at home against us the way the Yankees play in The Stadium at World Series time: getting exactly what they need at the precise moment they need it most.

So what?  So this: the Yankees finally ran out of cards and so will UW. 

So we've got four stiffs coming up and a 9-2 season beckoning us like a barker in North Beach.  Would you've pooh-poohed a 9-2 card handed to you during two-a-days? C'mon.

Bonus: Simba Hodari is going to be OK.

So forget the siren, the miscues, the misplays. We got stuffed by guys clearly better prepared for us than we were for them. Kind of the way we schooled the Bruins the week before.  Hand it to Neuheisel: the dude slaps us around like a speedbag.  He's ready for anything we throw in the path of his dogsled.  Hell, he chucks it back at us.

No weird officiating, no weird plays.  Just tough-it-out, physically punishing football that had the Cardinal flummoxed and flailing at crunch time.  All capped by a suffocating 77- yard death march that drove a stake through our heart. Beating us at our own game.

But somebody's gonna beat these guys.

What's to learn?  Not much except this: for the second week in a row, let UCLA serve as our cautionary tale.  First, they get clocked by us.  So they go all weepy and whiney.  Then, they go up to Pullman expecting maybe some sympathy. What they get is an "L" tattoo to add to their collection. So crestfallen were the Weenie-cousins of Westwood due to their comeuppance by the Cardinal the previous week, and their shattered belief in their Divine Right to Lifetime BCS Membership, that they forgot to strap it on.  Result?  They're reduced to salvage work – trying to fetch the aluminum cans of their season for some kind of redemption down at the Bowl recycle yard. 

Let's be clear. Any let up next week against ‘Zona, any "emotional letdowns" because of what did or did not happen in the Washington game, and we'll be schlepping garbage bags full of cans, too.  It's sort of like the opposite of the old Lottery slogan: If you don't win in Tucson in November, you can't play in Tempe in January.  Tempe may be a bit of a  stretch goal.  But so was the possibility of 9-2 on Labor Day weekend.  

Go Card.

Go Simba!

Go fetch me a drink!


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