Man, on some real ****:
That 3 minute or so stretch after Kofi caught foul number 4 was like a pure, golden light lit, angels with wings unfurled rockin lingerie and singing from the heavens type burst of redemption. That few minutes of ball filled me with the kind of joy that reminds human beings that, yes, even the worst varieties of misery can in fact be overcome and cleansed away by unexpected moments of miraculous beauty.
Up until that point, this game was a steady diet of frustration, indignation, and emotional constipation. Bro, I was damn near on my knees appealing to all the basketball gods for us to finally play like a Big Ten title contender. And when Kofi got tagged with 他第四次犯规, and then Nebraska tied the game with the 2 subsequent free throws, I was already mentally preparing for the discomfort that I would feel across the next several days every time I thought about the fact that we let the Cornhuskers put doo doo stains on our once virgin pure, undefeated BT record. (This type of emotional defense mechanism is a direct consequence of the trauma inflicted onto me by Illini basketball across the Bruce Weber-John Groce eras).
But then, in defiance of all expectation, Omar I-Came-To-Bring-The-Payne Hardcore-From-the-Brain, took all of Illini Nation inside his astral plane.
Yo, I felt what Andy Dufresne did in that moment he emerged from the caca tunnel, finally liberated from the oppression and suffering of Shawshank. Because that first 90+% of the game was a straight prison sentence. But then, watching the Fighting Illini perform after Kofi took to the bench felt *exactly* like this...
REDEMPTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!