And I'm an aggy misery addict. I suppose I should start at the beginning. I got in to aggy misery back in 1996. It started pretty harmlessly enough. I thought I could just go to the Texas game at Pyle Field and have a fine time with a few friends. "Everyone was doing it," I was told. But by the time Bryant Westbrook had finished leveling Leland McElroy, I was high as a kite. I couldn't control myself; I was out of my gourd. I tried to rush the field and when that didn't work, I just chanted "poor aggys" in the parking lot over and over again. But everything was still okay. It didn't interfere with my work. I was just a recreational user. I got another hit the following year. 51-15. That was the last year we gave aggy a ton of tickets in Austin (10,000? 15,000?). As they all left early in the fourth quarter--something they claim they never do--I and the rest of the students leaned over the edge of the east side stands to sing "poor aggys." The maroon throng could only hang their head in shame as they left out the north gates below us. But everything was still okay. 1997 and 1999 came and went. And though there were the occasionally humorous losses to the likes of Texas Tech and Kansas State, it was a welcome reprieve. I told myself that I could quit any time. But then we got to 2000, and I really started sliding downhill. A 43-17 blowout was followed by a 21-7 manhandling at Pyle Field. But soon that wasn't enough. Soon I needed the thrill of aggy misery brought on by embarrassments to Tech and Oklahoma. Once I tasted the misery of a Tech shutout and the consequent goalpost incident, I knew there was no going back. I had become an addict. It's not that it was entirely my fault, mind you. At least that's what I tell myself. My pusher--aggy--has to share a lot of the blame. Each year aggy became more and more delusional in their August predictions, and each year they got worse and worse. The result is that the aggy misery doses got higher and higher. By 2003, I was taking huge hits. The 77-0 loss to OU sent me to the hospital for three days. Apparently, I couldn't stop laughing uncontrollably. And the loss to Baylor nearly killed me. I wound up in a ditch by the side of the road mumbling "poor aggys." I was later told that I tried to dig up the grave of a dead dog, paint it green, and leave it on the corps' parade grounds. I have no recollection of those events. But I kept having flashbacks for months. I could have sworn I saw a guy in a bear suit in the Texas student section more than a month after that game. By 2005, the normal losses just weren't doing it for me anymore. I needed the predictable losses to Tech, OU, and Texas just to get by. I needed ever bigger hits. But my new pusher--Fran--was there to give me my stuff with a home blowout at the hands of Iowa State. Seriously, Iowa State. That evil bastard knew just where to hit me to keep me coming back for more. I suppose I hit rock bottom last Saturday. I knew I needed a bit hit. The "moral defeat" to Army had been nice, but it only kept me going for a week or so. And the loss to Tech had just become mundane. So I eagerly anticipated the Missouri game. Surely Fran would deliver the hit of aggy misery that I so desperately craved. But from the first quarter, it didn't look good. I kept begging Fran to "please, just give me a taste." I tried to bribe him with Little Debbies. I even offered to suckle Mark Mangino's man-breasts for his sick voyeuristic pleasure. But he just slapped me in the face and deprived me of the aggy misery on which I had come to rely. I couldn't watch Sportscenter. Hell, I could barely even think about football. I have the jitters and my stomach clenches every time I even consider the possibility that aggy is 5-1. I know Fran will come back offering the good stuff next month. But I just don't think I can live like this any more. Thanks for listening.