Steve Johnson was having a very bad, horrible, terrible day. The 24-year-old wide receiver had the opportunity to give the Buffalo Bills one of their sweetest victories: an unexpected win against the Steelers in overtime.

But he dropped the ball, in the end zone of all places.

My husband, whose passion for sports knows no boundaries, could be heard screaming in Trenton, New Jersey. We live in Oregon. I know one of these days I'm going to be kneeling over his body as paramedics arrive to treat him for an ESPN-induced stroke. You know that fellow in Wisconsin who shot his TV because he didn't like Bristol Palin's dancing? If we had guns in the house, I'm pretty sure my husband would have shot somebody on ESPN by now.

Johnson said he will never get over dropping that pass. No matter how long he lives, no matter how many winning touchdown passes he caught before this one, or how many he'll catch after this one, his obit is going to mention that dadgum dropped ball.

In his frustration, Johnson sent out a tweet not long after the losing game:

I praise you 24/7!!!!!!"and this how you do me!!!!! you expect me to learn from this??? how???!!! ill never forget this!! ever!!! thx tho … "

Johnson sent that message to God.

God has an iPhone?

God tweets?

The dangerous thing about Twitter is that it's too often used a recording tool for stream-of-conscious thinking. If God had intended for us to vocalize our every conscious thought, wouldn't he have given us bubbles over our heads the comic strip folks do? That way we could just go around reading each other's bubble. We wouldn't need an iPhone.

Bloggers and columnists and talking heads across the country are on a full-blown rant, chastising Johnson for blaming God for his dropping the winning ...

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