The match ended. Your appeal did not.
You don't watch football — you litigate it. Every call that goes the other way gets appealed to the group chat with frame-by-frame screenshots and a closing argument. The replay booth takes ninety seconds; you take ninety hours. But the Eye knows this was never about the referee. You do the same thing when a promotion goes sideways at work, when an argument with someone you love ends without a verdict you can live with, when a friend cancels and the reason doesn't hold up under cross-examination. Somewhere along the line you decided that if a decision hurt, it must have been wrong — and you've been building case files ever since. The tournament just gives you a jurisdiction and a robe. You're not bitter, you're thorough. The problem is the appeals court closed years ago, and you're still down there every night, filing.
Get your read — free on iPhoneyou appeal every call because a verdict you can argue with hurts less than a loss you have to carry.