What to do with all this rage

I’ve had this problem a lot this year.  What do I do with all this rage?  How can I make my life feel better after giving up yet another large lead in the fourth quarter to an inferior opponent?  And this time losing?  Mother fucking god dammit.

I say mother fucking god dammit with the matter-of-factness of a 30-year veteran bailiff, which I am not, because I want to pound my fingers through someone’s skull, but I don’t know whose.  I want to break something, but I don’t know what.  I want to break into someone’s home and take a dump in an inappropriate place, but I don’t know whose house and whether to lay chocolate sausage in their fireplace or on their kitchen counter.

I just don’t know.

What do I do with all this rage?

This season, I have attempted the following:

• Exercised feverishly, gone for a run and done push-ups.  Result: short-term release, rest of weekend still ruined.

• Put on some Indigo Girls and ironed shirts.  Result:  even more angry and now slightly gender-confused

• Kicked a laundry basket down stairs and punched some pillows.  Result:  short-term release, and the futile sight of a laundry basket rolling down stairs just saddening.

• Slapped the hell out of a wall and pounded my foot.  Result:  A strange  awakening to my own insanity.  Appendage throbbing.

What is wrong with me?

What is wrong with them?

What do you do when you’re your own worst enemy?  Syracuse sucks.  I don’t care that they won, that they didn’t give up, bleh…  Leave the polite talk to the coaches and players after the game.  Syracuse is garbage, and Notre Dame should have won by four touchdowns.  The offense squandered great defensive and special teams plays.  And then, as if to get back at the offense in some passive-aggressive hissy fit, the defense had their inevitable collapse in the closing minutes.
Rant, rant, rant.  I’ll apologize for the rambling.
But I will continue to not call for Weis’s head.  I will continue to think, “Remember last year.  Remember last year.”   This team will be great in two years.  I firmly believe that.  And if they aren’t, I’ll be the one with the whet stone, front and center.  I’ll get those axes so sharp… you’ll be, like, “Damn… my axe so sharp…damn…”  And I’ll say, “You’re welcome.”
So what do I do?  What do you do?  What do we do?  How do we save marriages, professions, and front bumpers with all this rage?
Suppress it, bottle it, and go beat the shit of USC next week.  Fuck it.  It's our last chance of the season to look forward to next week.  Go Irish!