Getting to Know Your Fellow Fans: "Memorable" Fan Moments and Reactions.

With the team entering its tenth year of existence, it's fair to say that we have really been on a roller coaster of emotions when it comes to the Houston Texans.  We've gone from exhilaration (Holy crap, we beat the Colts, we beat the COLTS!!!1!!1!ONE), to borderline-psychotic outrage (Why, Sage?  Why did you feel the need to helicopter over those blockers?!) to even indifference (Yeah, they suck, but they're an expansion team, they're supposed to suck). 

I know we've all had these reactions watching the guys who wear our team's laundry playing out on the field, and I started to wonder:  What is the most outlandish reaction other Texans fans have had in the last nine years of Texans football?  As we're only a couple of weeks away from meaningful football (praise Durga!), I thought that now would be a good time to hear some of your stories.

So the floor is yours.  Tell us about a time you had a...um..."strong" reaction to watching your favorite team play, either positive or negative.

I'll even tell a story on myself from just last year, it seems only fair, but only if you click on the jump.

I am generally a pretty reserved guy, in real life.  Matter of fact, in crowds I'm hard pressed to even make conversation with people I don't know.  So when I react to something or someone, those reactions tend to be muted or subdued.

That all goes out the window when I watch football, though.  At the sports bar where I watch Texans games, I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I never talk trash with anybody, but I am one of the loudest, most boisterous voices at the sports bar, and I generally embarrass my wife on pretty much a weekly basis.  All I can say is, it's a good thing the people at this bar know me or I would've been thrown out on my backside a long time ago.  And this is all without a single drop of alcohol in me, either.

In my defense, I come by it honestly.  The men in my family are all like this when it comes to sports or anything involving competition.  My father once, in a fit of anger, threw a bag of Oreo cookies across the living room while watching the Cowgirls blow a lead to the Oilers.  My six-year-old nephew has massive fits when he loses at ANYTHING. We are extremely competitive and um...passionate about our teams.  Yeah, passionate, that's it.

Now let me set the scene for you.  It's November 14, 2010, Week 10 of the NFL schedule.  The Texans are playing the Jacksonville Jaguars Glitter Kitties in Jacksonville.  The game is tied with three seconds left in regulation.  The Jaguars are on their own 49-yard-line and are lined up for an obvious Hail Mary situation. At this point, all the other games have ended and the Seahawks game has not started yet, so the Texans game is the focus of EVERYBODY's attention at the bar; it is also one of the very few times the Texans game actually has the volume turned up.

By now, I have approximately two pitchers of soda coursing through my bloodstream, and am watching our league worst pass defense in a manner becoming of the way they played:  through my hands.  My wife has already threatened to leave me at the bar and drive home alone twice by this point.  In other words, it's been a typical Sunday morning.

The ball is snapped and the Jags receivers are screaming to the end zone.  Our defense, as usual, gets no pressure on David Garrarrarrarrarrd, and he launches the ball 50 yards down the field.  At this point, I'm feeling uncharacteristically and undeservedly optimistic about forcing overtime.  After all, how often do Hail Marys work anyway?  The Jags' receivers are, for once, fairly well covered as they head toward the end zone.  Garrard overthrows the ball, which hurdles back to Earth and toward then-cornerback Glover Quin.  He bats the ball down and I raise my hands to clap together, grateful that the Texans had forced overtime.

But something didn't compute.  Where was the ball?  Why were the Jags celebrating going into overtime? Were those gasps of amazement coming from the bar or Gus Johnson?

I don't know what exactly happened in the dark recesses of my brain, but I imagine the following conversation took place in the span between Quin's play on the ball and what happened next:

Neuron 1:  Quin knocked the ball down!  Quin knocked the ball down!  Overtime!  Brain, get the hands ready to clap like a cymbal-banging monkey!

Neuron 2:  Um...you may want to hold off there.

Neuron 1:  Why?  The Texans are still in it!

Neuron 2:  Mike Thomas caught the ball that Quin knocked down.  The Glitter Kitties won.

Neuron 1:  Wha--? (Watches replay) No!  Nooooooooooo!!!!  RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!!!!  (Hits the "Flagrantly Unacceptable Reaction" button...or would if neurons had arms, at least.)

I stood up out of my seat, nearly knocking the table over onto my wife in the process, pointed at the television and screamed, "YOU'RE DEAD TO ME, QUIN!" at the top of my lungs.  Every head at the bar was turned in my direction, some confused about what happened, while others, who had seen the play, had looks of abject pity for me on their faces.

My wife slinked down into her seat, hoping nobody would catch on that she was there with me.  I slumped back into my chair, staring blankly at the table, half-heartedly listening to the Seahawks game now playing on every television, my brain effectively numbed by confusion and unparalleled anguish.  It was easily the single most outrageous reaction I've ever had as a Texans fan.

Now let's hear what your stories are!

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