You know that feeling when you find out that one of your heroes really has feet of clay, or you find out that Santa Claus does not exist (not that I'd know about that feeling. . . ), or you realize that the grass really isn't greener "over there"? Or how about the realization that Anne Shirley is a fictional character and never did live and breathe?
I'm having one of those feelings right now.
I just found out that Judah Ben-Hur wasn't really number forty-one. He was number sixty.