If you’ve driven a car for any length of time in the temperate regions of the United States, you’ve seen dead squirrels on the road. Not billions of them by any stretch, but the little sweat-sock-shaped and twisted corpses are only outnumbered by the rich blue of numerous dead Bud Light cans.

Come to think of it, maybe there’d be fewer dead squirrels if there were fewer Bud Light cans. Causation, meet correlation.

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But I digress because it’s not fun to address the permanence of death and the associated emotions. I’ve provided that little prequel to set the stage for this column. Bear in mind I’m not always thinking about death, but this month it fits.

So, the other day I was in the car avoiding the minefield of squirrel carcasses in my town and I slowed down on a blind curve. At the edge of the curve, I saw a makeshift grave in a woman’s yard before I started to accelerate.

It looked freshly dug and the shovel stood next to a small pile of dirt. The grave itself was about the size of a student’s backpack and that caused my mind to race. What to do?!

I was about to call the police when I saw the decorative masonry cat. It had been obscured by the shovel blade. It is not as horrid as a human grave, but it is still bad.

Oh, the nice lady in my neighborhood lost her cat. I immediately had questions.

Was the cat very old?

Did it get run over?

Had it been sick or depressed?

Did the cat have family other than the lady?

If I learned much more about this cat, would I go to its wake and subsequent funeral?

Of course not. But I can feel things. And the loss of the cat I never knew hit me particularly hard. Maybe it was because I lost a cat suddenly once.

That cat – Brisket – would have been following a special curriculum had he been human. Regardless, he was happy-go-lucky and pretty oblivious to danger. Until the truck got him. The ice cream truck.

He never would have paid attention to the music they played, and I’d picture him bouncing and bounding across lawns until he arrived home. Or didn’t.

And we don’t know who hit him and left his little body crumpled, but he was such a happy cat. So instead of lamenting his death as a tragedy, we try to smile and reconcile the emptiness by pretending the Good Humor truck ironically took Brisket’s last laugh.

Following the theme – and FINALLY WRITING ABOUT SOCCER – I think we’re about to see the last gasp of Darwin Nunez in a Liverpool kit.

Let me see if I can’t weave this together coherently and compare it to dead cats and squirrels.

I’m not comparing Nunez to roadkill, but there have been enough ‘frozen-in-the-headlights’ moments by him to almost head down that path. But it doesn’t matter what I think.

I could compare him to a kangaroo or a meatball sub or a palm tree, no matter what I choose, Darwin is about to hit the bricks.

Darwin Nunez is about to hit the road like a one-eyed, deaf squirrel with a leg cramp. If he had any of those ailments, I’d forgive some of his misses. Unfortunately, he does not.

It’s gotten to the point where I shake my head every time I see him flying toward goal. I shrug my shoulders in advance of his next rocket shot into the seats. I don’t even weep any more, regardless of the outcome.

We’re winning matches IN SPITE of his lack of production. The season keeps rolling forward. And it’s time for a little change. Should he be a super sub? Should he take a little ‘rest’ until the end of May? Does he have a preferred place to go if LFC ditch him?

He definitely seems nice enough from thousands of miles away and through a TV broadcast. I like him mostly. If he scores, I’m happy but I’m not wasting precious energy celebrating.

For if I did, I would be more inclined to get my hopes up.

I’d celebrate on EVERY Nunez long run, only to be gutted when he’s offside; he awkwardly hits the ground before the ball; or he puts the ball with a parking attendant somewhere outside the stadium.

Was that enough? Was comparing Darwin to a dead squirrel or mangled cat too much? I’m not wishing any ill will on him or any player – regardless of side or kit color – and I think the experiment is over.

For a few weeks after I noticed the grave in the neighbor’s yard, I would get emotional every time I drove by. I would associate her loss with my loss of Brisket.

What should we do when we say goodbye to Nunez? Maybe shed some tears and remember his amazing array of shots – the misses and the goals. But the pain will go away like it does over time.

Eventually, both his heroics and his flubs will be glossed over. His time in LFC red will be remembered fondly (moreso if we are successful this season), and many of us will follow him at his next club.

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So, he’s not a squirrel writhing on the pavement.

He’s not trapped in the top of a tree overnight, crying constantly (one of Brisket’s adventures before his dirt nap).

In fact, Darwin’s got about a dozen matches ahead of him this season. It’s unfortunate that he’ll be enjoying many of the remaining games with the same view my new cat has – from the sidelines in a cushy chair, 90+ minutes at a time.

I miss Brisket and I’m going to miss Darwin, too.

**I am wrong much more than I am correct. If it turns out that Nunez has an LFC renaissance, please forget about this column. Thanks!

YNWA