I’m still wearing my Chargers socks.

It’s been a couple of days since the game and I’ve still got on the blue-and-yellow trimmed socks that I got for Hanukkah (or Jewish Christmas for my goyim readers). It’s not that I think wearing these long enough will bring the Chargers back into the playoffs — if that were possible, I’d still be wearing my O-Town underwear and hoping for the reunion tour. Rather, I wear these socks as a reminder of the pain, the suffering and the losing, much in the way some people wear a cross or Green Day T-shirt.

Throughout the entire game, I never really felt confident that the Chargers were going to win. Maybe it was the Super Bowl mystique of the Patriots or the fact that the Chargers try to cripple opposing players with each hit. Maybe it was the overconfidence of San Diegan fans — forgetting of course that this team was inept enough to draft and bank their entire future on Ryan Leaf at one point. Or maybe it was because the Chargers, except for league MVP LaDainian Tomlinson, never looked confident themselves that they would win.

The entire game felt like being repeatedly kicked in the balls. If you’ve never been kicked in the balls (and I have), it’s kind of like warm apple pie — specifically if you were to place a warm apple pie on your testicles and then have somebody run up and kick the pie tin. It’s not the best feeling in the world, ranking somewhere between opera and questions about standardized testing.

With any disappointing loss comes the need for somebody to be blamed. The unspoken rule that coaches get too much credit when their teams win and too much blame when their teams lose makes head coach Marty Schottenheimer the logical scapegoat. As sportscaster Jim Nantz repeatedly reminded us (and I hate Jim Nantz), Schottenheimer has the most regular season victories (200) without a Super Bowl appearance. Of course, beating the Patriots (and I hate the Patriots), or even making the Super Bowl, would not have necessarily guaranteed Marty’s job status. Schottenheimer and General Manager A.J. Smith are the old white guy equivalent of Shaq and Kobe, and their relationship seems destined for a similar ending, with the possible lack of a Christmas Day cane fight (I hate old people).

I’m not sure if it’s Schottenheimer’s fault. He’s not calling any of the plays anymore. He didn’t tell safety Marlon McCree to try to intercept a fourth down pass rather than bat it to the ground and get the ball 20 yards farther upfield. He didn’t recommend that cornerback Drayton Florence headbutt somebody just to give New England another four downs to score. He didn’t decide to continually have a first-year starting quarterback throw to a wide receiving corp straight out of ‘Little Giants.’ He wasn’t the one giving the best player on his team ­— and in the universe — only 25 touches even when Tomlinson looked like he might break a huge play every time he got the ball. Actually, Schottenheimer might have had a hand in the last two decisions, but I can’t be completely positive about that.

Sure, two years ago everybody said the Chargers lost to the Jets because Marty was too conservative, but since then he has busted out like a repressed teenage girl on the prowl. Maybe this was the perfect game (at home, with Tom Brady playing his worst game ever, with two defensive backs who could pick apart the defense) to really run the ball down New England’s throat. But who’s to say it wasn’t actually the perfect game to go for it on fourth and 11 yards in the first quarter?

Personally, I feel like maybe I’m as much to blame as Marty. Sure, I was wearing the socks, I hadn’t taken down my Chargers calendar or even changed the month since they started winning, I kept saying one thing would happen just so the opposite would take place (a tactic I call reverse-called-it), and I ate 21 slices of processed cheese (in honor of LT) while taking 17 sips of water (in honor of Phillip Rivers). But I also made a fateful call following the end of the Bears game and discussed the possibility of going to Miami for the Super Bowl and the probability of buying some American Football Conference Championship tickets for the following week’s game. Again, I can’t be sure that my unintended hubris brought upon the downfall of the newly built Chargers Empire, but it made it hurt a little more knowing I could be at fault.

San Diegans and Chargers fans across the globe can probably in some way relate to the pain. Can you imagine the disgust of looking at your computer screen 15 minutes after the end of the game to see 12 messages either consoling or mocking the loss? Can you understand how hard it is to sleep with team memorabilia, posters and the like adorning your walls? I didn’t really lose the game. I’m not a Charger player, I’m not a minority owner and I didn’t even have any monetary stake in their victory. However, for a fan (except for those who just started liking the Chargers, in which case please refer to my earlier article on bandwagoning and stick it up your sphincter), watching a team you root for lose, especially in a mega-hyped game, hurts. Of course, it helped a little when Tomlinson told the Patriots, and head coach Bill Belichick in particular, to wipe away those shit-eating grins that made me want to punch babies.

In the end, another tough playoff loss will only help make ultimate victory that much more satisfying.

And at least my feet will be warm until then.