For the past month and a half, I’ve sat back and laughed at the misfortunes of other football teams. I’ve smiled as Tim Tebow has pulled off obnoxious victories, and I’ve even texted “Tebow Time” to various friends after their favored squads have been overpowered by the Broncos’ stupid option attack. They teased me relentlessly, prior to Cutler’s arrival, about the Bears’ offensive awfulness for years; so, I figured rubbing salt in the wound was more than deserved.

I was wrong, so thoroughly, vociferously and aggressively wrong, but there’s no way I could have known that until today.

This afternoon, the Bears inexplicably blew a ten point lead with under three minutes to go. They curiously ran out of bounds instead of stopping the clock. They curiously left men wide open for long passes right next to the sidelines. They fumbled at the wrong moment, started trying to rundown the clock at the wrong moment and did absolutely everything wrong at the worst possible moments. The Broncos, to their credit, scored a touchdown, made a fifty-eight yard field goal (what the fuck?) and a fifty-one yard field goal en route to an overtime victory. But I can’t think about any of that right now. All I can do is try and explain the misery that happens during and immediately after a Tebowing. Those that don’t know already, need to know now.

It starts with a completely rational and smug confidence, brought on by decades of watching football. Teams just don’t win down ten without any timeouts, especially when they haven’t had a successful drive all day. Then it turns into a tinge of irrational nervousness. They’re really getting down the field quick, you think. Please God, take some more time off the clock. After the touchdown, a queasy feeling takes root somewhere in your stomach. You’re still up three, but you’ve seen this asshole Tebow do this all before. The chances of recovering an onside kick are remote, but you’ll feel a lot better when it’s safely in your team's grasp. Then the onside kick comes. It’s a beauty. It’s just hanging in the air for someone to grab. And it’s your team. They’ve recovered the ball. Now all they need to do is wind down the clock and punt with a few seconds left. Even Tebow can’t drive the field in a few seconds.

And then your running back get pushed out of bounds. Normally a reasonably intelligent player, he’s lost all goddamn sense. Now you know Tebow is getting the ball back, and you’re nervous. He makes a few passes, moves the chains and gets his kicker set up for a fifty-eight fucking yard field goal. It should be a shot in the dark, but between the kooky Denver air and this Tebow shit, you know it’s going in. Of course it does. And at that point, you know the game is over. It doesn’t matter that you win the coin toss. It doesn’t matter that your time gets into field goal position. You know the fumble is coming, and when it does, it’s almost a relief because the game is that much closer to being over. And as the Broncos nail the fifty-one yard field goal and Tebow points to the sky, it all sinks in and you’re numb. You can’t even shout or throw the changer. Your team is no different from anyone else’s, just another bleeding pile of helmeted flush on this son of a bitch’s KO tour.

Being Tebowed sucks. I’ve been broken up with. I’ve fought with friends, disappointed my parents and had beloved family dogs put down. Nothing is this agonizing, probably because I’ve seen it all before and laughed as it happened to others. Next week I’ll just shake my head and feel empathy for the poor sons of bitches suddenly in the same boat as me. I don't wish this despondency on anyone, but I know it's coming.