As the final seconds ticked off yet another Missouri NCAA Tournament failure, extending their tournament-appearances-without-a-Final-Four streak to a nice round 25, tying them once again with BYU for the Choke Trophy, I found myself popping metaphorical champagne.  When the Tournament comes around, I usually set the majority of my in-conference hatred aside and cheer for the Big Ten teams (unless it’s Iowa) (or, sometimes, Indiana) (but never Iowa).  So while during the season I usually cheer for Chris Kramer to run into one of those blind picks at half-court, I find myself quietly pleased when he puts Purdue in the Sweet 16.  Everything is for the Good of the Conference at this time of year.  Unless it’s Iowa.

This leads to a single, white-hot hatred towards one team each March.  More so than Labor Day, more so than just before Christmas, I hate Missouri and want them out of the Tournament immediately.  I’ve gotten nearly 20 years out of this “wouldn’t the most tourney appearances without a Final Four make them the biggest chokers in NCAA history?” mantra, and I’m not about to give up on it now.  I can tell you where I was and how I celebrated when Paul O’Liney went 2-18 and Missouri lost in the 1994 Elite Eight.  I watched Tyus Edney go coast to coast over Derek Grimm on the 6″ under-the-counter television in my mom’s kitchen. I remember spilling a drink on my coffee table when Oklahoma finally put away Missouri in 2002.  And last year was probably my worst set of nerves, as UConn kept letting Missouri hang around and hang around before finally putting them away (and keeping my mantra alive).  I sometimes feel bad that I behave this way.  But then I simply remember Jason Sutherland mocking Kiwane, and then I don’t feeeeeel so baaaaaaaad.

(As an aside, while in Columbia, Missouri on business a month ago, I snuck into the football stadium and put a curse on their football team for stealing my favorite recruit of the 2010 class – Daniel Easterly.  Taped the whole thing with my phone.  When we win this year on a fluke fumble recovery or something, I’ll post the video.  You’re welcome.)

(Yes, I actually did this.)

So as my wife and I were driving back from a romantic weekend getaway yesterday (the answer to “red or black?” is apparently “neither”, by the way), I grew nervous as Missouri closed the West Virginia lead to 56-53.  I checked the bracket to see that 11-seed Washington was next, so I re-focused my efforts on a West Virginia victory.  58-53 – good.  The lead stretches to 7 with a minute left – I can start to breathe easy.  “Keith Ramsey misses 24-foot three pointer” – fist pump.

“What are you reading on your phone over there?”

“Just making sure Missouri loses.”

*eyeroll*

I can’t help it.  I have two things I follow religiously in March, and since one of them couldn’t beat Utah, I was left to focus on the other.  Yes, I see the logical fallacy in celebrating a Missouri loss in a year when Illinois didn’t even dance.  Yes, I remember that the knife-twist to this bowl-less, tourney-less season was losing to Missouri in both football and basketball. Don’t care. Jason Sutherland.

Is it petty?  Sure.  Dumb?  Probably.  But I can’t help it.  I don’t think I could change it if I tried.  I care about two things each March (OK, three if you count the start of Spring Practice), and when the annual Missouri tourney exit happens, I’m giddy.  One more year for the mantra.

Why let the hate fill my heart?  I’ll tell you why: 1993.  (Warning – this post is about to take a depressing turn).  I attended the Braggin’ Rights game in 1991 and 1992 with my dad.  We had tickets for the 1993 game as well, but my father passed away suddenly of a heart attack over Thanksgiving. (Warned you.)  I decided I was not going to use my tickets, but as the game approached, I was convinced that I needed to go.  My mom agreed to go and take his seat.

Yes, for that game.  A 9 point lead with a minute left that vanished.  Kiwane missing two free throws with no time left on the clock, all while Norm Stewart screamed and stomped at half court.  A triple-OT defeat after nearly all of Missouri’s starters had fouled out. The most exhausted I’d ever been at a sporting event.

And, in the stairwell walking out, I lost it.  Cried like a baby. The emotions of the month were too difficult to overcome.  I was supposed to be at game with Dad.  Kiwane was supposed to hit one of those free throws.  Jason Sutherland was supposed to follow normal rules of human decorum.

But none of that happened, so I lost it.  And some Missouri fans took notice:

“Are you CRYING?  Hey fellas, come check out this Illini fan who is CRYING!  Ha! You lost!  LOST!  Cry away on mommy’s shoulder, little Illini baby.”

Done.  For ever.  Ill-will from me to you and your fans, Mizzou, for the rest of my natural born life.  I will cheer each and every tournament exit with glee, and I won’t feel the least bit bad about it.

Just like yesterday.