Again. It happens again. My curse is real. Fear it. I don’t recall what oaths I swore to what gods for Ohio State’s 2002 title, but my debt must be great and damning.

My girlfriend is from Chicago. Her whole family are Bears fans. Her parents mailed me a Bears NFC Champs t-shirt and mug this week. Which I wore during the Super Bowl (or drank from, in case of the mug).

I think my eyes started bleeding when the Bears returned the opening kickoff for a touchdown. I’ve been here before.

I knew I shouldn’t have worn it. I am a victim of hope. The Bears were damned as soon as the t-shirt came into my possession. One rule I’ve always managed to hold is that I never buy a shirt commemorating something my team has not yet won. Yet, this year, for Christmas my parents buy me a BCS Title Game t-shirt. Gotterdammerung ensued. My girlfriends parents buy me a Bears Super Bowl shirt. Rex Grossman plays to a level of abhorrence that a Florida QB should have played to a month past.

My sole consolation is that the Bears QB roster could play for Hell’s own team one day, with a Florida QB, Brain Fucking Griese, and that drunkard Purdue guy.

I am Fortune’s fool.