If the cost of one missed field goal is a more prestigious bowl berth, with the sunnier climes and hefty payout that could have come with it, then that says more about the vagaries of big business in college football than any imperfections of a kicker. There will be a powerful temptation to remember Aldrich as the Bill Buckner of CU sports, as a tragic figure seen forever as trudging toward the bench with shoulders so despondently stooped, you just knew the heart in his chest was cracking a little more with every beat. But there is an image of Aldrich you should also file away, an image that probably says more about who he really is. From no more than 35 yards, Hnida missed kick after kick. Aldrich didn't let her give up.
Wide right happens.
In defeat, Aldrich will be cursed, but is not a villain. In his despair, he will be pitied, but he is far from pitiful. Jeremy Aldrich is nothing more than human, with all the good and bad that entails. During his final home game at Folsom Field, a Colorado kid who grew up knowing how much it means to beat Nebraska trotted onto the grass, took dead aim at the goal posts, waited for the football to be snapped, swung his leg and let it go. Letting it go might be just about the hardest thing any human being ever does.