Haunted house

Jordan Williamson’s game-costing missed field goal for Stanford in the Fiesta Bowl is no doubt devastating for him, yet not unusual for his position, his sport or even sports in general.

Or even life. Subtract the national stage, and I have no trouble calling back my own Jordan Williamson moments in my life. I don’t think about them every day, but they are profoundly powerful considering the decades that have passed for some of them. If quietly periodic haunting still counts as haunting, as opposed to crazy no-holds-barred “American Horror Story” haunting, then call me haunted.

Sometimes you get a chance for redemption, like the time I had the chance for my first real kiss when I was 11 and choked, and sometimes you don’t, like … well, let’s just say there are a few kicks I’d like to have back.

Jordan, you’ve got it bad right now, as bad as that mangled kick with time expiring, but while most of us can’t relate to the exact situation, we can feel it. I can, anyway. (And then there’s a fellow named Jonathan Broxton I might introduce you to …)

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