I really don’t function too well when I’m watching these games and it’s gotten worse since as I was in New Orleans two decades back. Funny, the lingering painful image I have from ‘93 is not Webber’s timeout but rather Donald Williams out on the wing with his legs and arms extended (wrist snapped), slinging in three and after three like he was Spike. It got worse at the 1998 Rose Bowl. Arms folded, I barely said a word or moved the whole game. Thinking about the never-ending string of late-game third-down measurements still makes me twist. I’ve seen highlights of course (and more importantly, I know how things turned out!) but I’m not interested in watching the entire replay again because it was so agonizing. Last night, once I arrived in section 227 I offered the occasional fist bump to the fellers around me but never moved from the seat—for anything–from tip to the time I walked out. I don’t think I’m alone. My dad once asked one of his pals, a big Michigan fan, why he didn’t really ever go to the Big House despite living within an hour. Reply: “Because they break your heart.” It was heart breaking last night. At times It’s Great to Be a Michigan Wolverine but for a lot us, especially when we’re…