Kicker Brad Craddock winds up to kick a field goal when the Terps lost to Penn State, 31-30, at M&T Bank Stadium in Baltimore on Oct. 24, 2015.

“Brad Craddock is the worst kicker in college football.”

I must’ve uttered this phrase a dozen times during the Terrapins football team’s 2012 season. Come to think of it, I might’ve said it 12 times on Oct. 20, 2012 alone.

Standing on the aluminum seats in the student section of Byrd Stadium that fall night, I didn’t know what to do with my hands as Brad lined up for the potential game-winning field goal. Should I cover my eyes? Should I rest them on my head? Should I cross my fingers out in front of my body?

Three years later, I can’t recall what I ended up doing.

But I do remember what I did with my hands moments later. First, I placed them on top of my head in disbelief. Then, filled with rage, I pointed out to the turf where Brad was laying.

How could a kicker miss a 33-yarder? That’s his job. He’s supposed to kick that over and over every single day in practice. How can that not be second nature to him?

I know nothing is a chip shot, especially in college, but he had to make that. The Terps had overcome so much to put Brad in a position to boot a 33-yarder to win the game.

Earlier in that contest against N.C. State, the Terps had watched two quarterbacks exit with season-ending injuries. Still, they rallied from a 17-9 deficit late in the third quarter. And after allowing the go-ahead field goal with 32 seconds left, their fourth-string quarterback had improbably moved the ball 60 yards in 30 seconds into field-goal range.

But six games into the season, Brad, a freshman at the time, had been wildly inconsistent. That day alone he’d drilled 36- and 48-yarders but had missed an extra point.

And with the game on the line, the converted Australian punter yanked his attempt, sending the kick off the left post. No good. Game over. My freshman homecoming was ruined. His freshman homecoming was ruined.

I cursed his name as I slogged to the exit. It wasn’t the first time I had done that during that season, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Sports have this weird ability to make us feel like we know the players, even as fans who have never said a word to them. We read stories about them. We watch them address the media. But most importantly, we watch them every game. We feel like we have a relationship with them.

And when they let us down, we feel victimized. It’s as if one of our good friends promised to hang out, only to make last-minute plans with someone else.

That was my relationship with Brad. I didn’t actually know him, and he certainly didn’t know me, but over and over I felt as though he’d let me down.

I’ve grown up around Terps football with Brad. We both knew little about the program when we arrived in College Park in 2012. We’ve experienced the trials and tribulations of the past three-plus years. And now, our Terps careers are winding to a close as we watch the team stumble through a forgettable season.

On Saturday, he’ll trot onto the field more than three years after missing that kick. He’s since won the Lou Groza Award, given annually to the best college kicker, and he’s almost definitely NFL-bound.

And over the past three seasons, he’s been as reliable as they come. I’ve asserted, “Brad Craddock is the best kicker in college football” multiple times.

I’ve learned in the three years since Oct. 20, 2012 how premature my assessment of Brad was, and it’s about time I apologized.

I’m sorry, Brad.