This is not your regular Hellx. This is a different man. A changed man. A man on edge. A man to be given a wide berth, if not outright feared.

Two days before kickoff: I’m frantic on deadline, with a huge amount of work still to be done and precious few minutes to do it — one of those days when I look at the clock and beg for just a few more minutes. Ping goes my email. It’s from Hellx. Whining about the game. I dash him a quick note saying that if he needs to be preoccupied I have a pile of work he could help with.

One day before kickoff: Ok, I say via email, now I can think about it. His reply: You can turn it on and off? I can’t think of anything else!

An hour before kickoff: Hellx and I bike to Jebus and TSI!’s place. He keeps missing red lights and speeding cars, and one of his legs is quivering.

At the game: There’s jumping. Cheering. Cussing. (“Earmuffs, Hellx!” Jebus says a couple of times.) There are dances with arms and legs akimbo. There’s flopping. There’s sweating. Songs and chants. To watch Hellx on game day is to glimpse Man at his most base, scarcely removed from the savage creatures that first walked on two legs then bashed their neighbors’ heads in over coconuts.

After the game: Mostly silence on the ride home. A couple of times svelte Hellx leaves chunky me in the dust. An ebullient Hellx is a fast Hellx.

Phone call, game day night, after I’ve gone to bed: I can’t believe it! I’m still psyched! That was awesome.

Imagine if we had lost.