It’s Sunday night, and I am standing up from my favorite reclining chair because I can’t take it anymore.

The tension of the Bears and Rams was just too much to take sitting down.

I said out loud, under my breath, “Please, don’t let this come down to Harrison.”

I was referring to former Warsaw Tiger kicker Harrison Mevis, who the NBC broadcast cut away to in that exact moment to show him jumping up and down to stay warm on the sidelines at Soldier Field.

The Bears had pulled off another fourth-quarter miracle and had tied the playoff game at 17-17 on a heave by quarterback Caleb Williams into the northwest corner of the end zone in the game’s final minute.

The Bears had stopped the Rams on the first possession of overtime, but the Bears promptly gave the ball back to them on Williams’ third interception of the night.

Rams Quarterback Matthew Stafford was moving the visitors down the field toward the winning score when those pictures of the young man I used to “bro hug” every autumn Thursday afternoon at Fisher Field began filling my TV screen, and my head.

I started to create scenarios in my head that would prevent what, I admit, was inevitable.

Maybe the Rams would make a mistake and turn the ball over.

Maybe they would score a touchdown and end the game that way.

No such luck.

So I started creating new possibilities that would get in the way of him kicking the ball and breaking my heart for the first time ever.

There could be a bad snap.

The holder could drop the ball before he could kick it.

The Bears could break through the line and block the kick, and maybe even run the ball in for a winning score.

None of those would be Harrison’s fault, right?

The conflict was tangible from my balding head to my socked feet. I didn’t want him to make this kick, but I didn’t want him to miss it either. I think too much of him for that.

The snap was perfect.

The placement of the ball was perfect.

The kick had a little bit of a hook in it as it reached the uprights, but it made it through and the Rams were off to the NFC Championship Game in Seattle.

I watched as his teammates mobbed him on the frozen turf along Chicago’s lakefront. Most of them had never met him before he was signed to the practice squad and activated for three games earlier this season.

Now, he was their hero.

I couldn’t be happier for him. He’s earned it. He deserves it.

The Hoosiers did it!
Indiana University won the College Football Playoff National Championship over Miami 27-21 in Miami.

I also watched the end of this game standing behind my favorite chair in the basement of my house. I was way too nervous to handle what I was watching in a seated position.

IU was leading 27-21, but the Hoosiers' defense looked like it was hanging on for dear life.

When Miami QB Carson Beck’s final pass sailed down the left side of the field, I saw the crimson-red jersey of Jamari Sharpe waiting for it to come to him, and when it did, he caught it and fell to the ground.

It was over.

The most improbable, incredible, unthinkable champion of college football had just taken their place on the throne of the sport.

What can we learn from this … beyond how important the transfer portal and NIL money packages have become to college athletics.

Leadership sets the tone. Curt Cignetti was in charge at IU the day he walked on campus and no one needed him to tell them or remind them of that.

I think the Hoosiers won the game on Monday night, back when Cignetti sat in front of the media and was asked to explain how he was turning around the Hoosiers from perennial losers to lovable winners.

He famously said, “I win … Google me.”

The team heard him say that, and from that day on, they picked up that attitude and carried it into places like Iowa City, Happy Valley, Lucas Oil Stadium, the Rose Bowl and Hard Rock Stadium in Miami.

Belief is a choice. Cignetti’s restoration could only have worked if the players and support staff at IU bought into it with all their hearts, and they did.

Anything is possible. When we dare to risk our personal comfort to see just what we are capable of, stuff happens.

One last thing that I think applies to both Harrison Mevis and the Hoosiers — dreaming is only dreaming, but joy comes from the journey of doing it.