I was driving home from CT as the game was going on and was arriving in Boston just as they were entering the final moments of the game. For a moment as the kicker came out I was instinctively thinking, "Gee, I hope he makes it" and then I realised I would be driving through the asshole-bar district of Brighton RIGHT as they won the game.
So I was muttering, "Miss...miss...miss..." as he kicked the ball. And made it. I gunned it down the main drag and then turned off on a back-road detour for the last half of the stretch and my only problem was having to weave to avoid shirtless kids running around in the street whooping outside The Last Drop (one of them did throw a shirt at the car behind me, though).