While I enjoy the entire trilogy, I have seen Back To The Future roughly 5,481 more times than I've seen either BTTF II or BTTF III. I figure most people --- aside from my odd buddy, Jeff, who likes II the best of the whole series --- are in a similar boat. So, while I've seen the first movie so many times that I can tell you off the top of my head the names of the streets around the courthouse¹ and the major businesses on each², I can do so only in the context of the BTTF I timeline.³

I realized this fact last Friday, and I decided to attempt to rectify the discrepancy, starting with the second film. Going through it more closely, I noticed a number of things that bothered me, including one that was football related:

When Biff from 2015 is giving the Grays Sports Almanac to 1955 Biff, the older version proves that the almanac can't lose by tuning the car radio to a broadcast of a UCLA-Washington football game. Over the radio, we hear that there are 18 seconds left in the game, that it is fourth down, and that the Bruins trail by 1, 17-16. 2015 Biff predicts that the Bruins will win 19-17, which 1955 Biff scoffs at, quoting the radio announcer who said that it looked like it was "all over for UCLA." UCLA launches a 33-yard FG and wins by the predicted score. 1955 Biff is amazed that the old man got the score right.

Immediately, three things jumped out at me:

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Back in the halcyon days of Da Good, Da Bad & DeMeco, I wrote:

Every time I hear the song "The Devil Went Down To Georgia," two things jump out at me. First, under the terms of the agreement, it was apparently up to the Devil to decide who won the competition. No judges were named, and no one else was mentioned in the song. Now, maybe your mental version of Bud Adams' spawn differs from mine, but I have serious doubts that ol' Lou Cypher would be unbiased in picking the winner. I mean, dude was in a bind (and way behind) or he never would have entered the contest in the first place. Regardless, I really can't see Satan saying "dang, ya got me...and, as I am a man of my word and not the embodiment of evil, I will honor the bet I made with you."

But that brings me to the second observation. Namely, the Devil WON the competition. That dude broke it down so it could forever remain broken. Johnny, on the other hand, played some 10-second snippits from standard bluegrass classics?? "Fire On The Mountain," "House Of The Rising Sun," and a variation on "Chicken In A Bread Pan?" Seriously? The Devil just rocked your face off, and you do some bluegrass covers? Who are you, Bill Monroe's retarded savant child?

In the comments to that post, someone (I think it was DeMecoShallInheritTheEarth, but I am not sure) noted that another flaw with the song was that a fiddle made of gold would be remarkably heavy and have terrible acoustics. I still feel like that's a great point. But, hearing the song this morning, something that I have never considered suddenly jumped out at me.

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Very few things in life --- in my life, at least (though I suspect this to be the same for most of us) --- ever live up to the expectations we've set for them. Movies, sophomore album releases, famous restaurants, the finales of most television series . . . the more we hype how great something is sure to be, the less likely it is that the thing will measure up. Which creates the odd feeling of disappointment even in situations where the actual experience was good, because it just wasn't good enough.

Because of this phenomenon, the list of things in my life that have actually exceeded my expectations when they finally happened is not extensive: the overwhelming happiness a few weeks ago when the Texans had officially made the playoffs for the first time, the surprise of finding out my daughter's gender when she was born, the sense of relief upon finding out I'd passed the bar exam, Dyer's triple-triple with bacon, marriage the second time around.

And, after Saturday, the list has to include the awesomeness of the Texans' winning their first playoff game.

Others have hit on all the ways in which that game was fantastic, from Andre Johnson's much deserved TD to Arian Foster's embarrassment of Chris Crocker, and from Danieal Manning's textbook safety help resulting in an INT to T.J. Yates' outdueling the much more hyped Pride of Katy. For me, however, the lasting image of the game and the moment that I'm sure I'll be telling my grandkids about, whether they want to listen or not, is this:

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I have a bizarre fascination with hidden tracks on CDs. Discovering one always feels like the first time I made it through the swimming stage of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the original NES. (Seriously, it's bad enough that they made Donatello the only turtle who was worth fighting with; couldn't they have at least made the TURTLES better swimmers as a whole?!) That is to say, it always feels like I've suddenly joined an elite club of "people who know."

(Wow . . . that sounds way dorkier now that I re-read it. Oh well. Onward.)

Anyway, you know how a lot of the hidden tracks, especially on earlier CDs were only found if you let the disc keep playing after the "last" song ended? For example, "All By Myself" off of Green Day's Dookie album, "16 Days" off of Wade Bowen's Just For Fun album, and "The Heckler" off of Primus' Antipop album. Well, consider this 2DH the blog post equivalent of one of those hidden tracks. You left the disc playing, you didn't expect anything else, and then this just started playing.

Enjoy.

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Under normal circumstances, losing a game in the manner that the Texans did on Sunday would have sent me into a rage that resulted in a dog's being kicked. (Probably the little dachshund; she barely counts as a dog, really.) Losing to the Tennessee Titans in that fashion would have taken my reaction up another notch to outright apoplexy (meaning I would have kicked the dachshund at one of my kids).

Yet none of that happened, because Sunday was not "normal circumstances." It did not matter one bit whether the Texans won, lost, or tied that game. Yet, despite that, the backups, especially on defense, played very well and almost beat a Titans team that was fighting for their playoff lives.

You'd think that everyone --- at least everyone who was a Texans fan --- would have had the same outlook about the game. After all, there was zero upside to going to overtime in that situation, so the 2-point conversion attempt was absolutely the right call, even after the false start. There was zero downside in losing the game; the playoff seed could not possibly change, no matter what happened.

Some people, however, saw it differently.

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Despite the fact that the widow of a United States Marine was presented with a mortgage-free house on Sunday, and the entire presentation occurred on the field prior to the game, Jeremy Shockey declared that the Texans were unpatriotic and did not "show[] respect to America during the national anthem."

Shockey reached this conclusion by counting the number of Texans players who did not place their right hands over their hearts during the song. "There were about 10 players who didn’t put their arms across their chest. This is America. They should at least give respect to America."

Ten, huh? That's the number we're working with?

/goes full screen on YouTube video of National Anthem showing Panthers' sideline

/screen-caps a shot 2:20 into the video

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Your Houston Texans have played a game of footed ball on December 11 exactly twice in their near-decade of games. On December 11, 2005, the Texans rolled into Nashville sporting a 1-14 record. Also on that date, the San Francisco 49ers had an identically terrible record, and a race to to the bottom was in full swing. Also in full swing, my love of a certain mutant DE from North Carolina State who I dreamed would assuage memories of taking David Carr over Julius Peppers in 2002.

I dragged my wife to a local sports bar that day to watch the game, and I explained to her why I wanted the Texans to lose that game (and every subsequent game). She looked at me like I was nuttier than squirrel turds. "Why are we even watching if you want them to lose?"

You see, prior to her questionable decision to be in a relationship with me, she'd never cared for football in the least. Now, here she was, learning about the NFL (and, more grudgingly, college football), and doing it by watching the Texans and a bad Michigan team most every weekend. The idea of my wanting the Texans to lose seemed even more absurd to her than the idea of watching football in the first place.

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On September 1, 2007, I was en route to Memphis with my wife to celebrate our first anniversary with a weekend away. Michigan's football season started that day, but, as they were ranked #5 in the country and were playing D-1AA Appalachian State, I wasn't too concerned with the game. Around 2 p.m., however, my phone started blowing up with text messages. Perhaps the one from Tim said it best: "App State? I fear for Lloyd Carr's life."

As you know, App State shocked the world, beating Michigan 34-32. If there was a silver lining to this, however, it was that the loss made it crystal clear that Lloyd Carr would not be back in 2008. And, for that, I was thrilled.

Though I desperately wanted Michigan to hire Les Miles, I was on board with the Rich Rodriguez hiring. I even defended his terrible 2008 campaign, arguing that it made more sense to blow up one season and install the entire system rather than piecemeal the system over a few years. When 2009 began with four consecutive wins and a climb to #22 in the polls, I assumed that all was right with the world and that RichRod would be my anti-Carr and my savior. (Yes, I take Michigan football a little too personally. I am aware of this.) The Michigan State loss in Week 5 could be chalked up to a freshman QB playing in the rain. I still had faith.

Then came the Iowa game.

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