Let's get one thing straight. Every time some crypto guru pulls up a chart covered in more lines than a New York City subway map and starts talking about "bullish divergences" and "Fibonacci targets," a part of my soul shrivels up and dies. It's the modern-day equivalent of reading goat entrails to predict the weather, except with more hashtags and rocket emojis.
Looking back at the Dogecoin saga, it wasn't just a market cycle. It was a masterclass in collective delusion, a high-wire act performed without a net over a pit of rusty spikes. And we all know how it ended.
The internet was buzzing. Analysts, or whatever you want to call the people who get paid to draw triangles on price charts, were screaming from the digital rooftops. They saw patterns. They saw "historical fractals." One guy, Javon Marks, was out there predicting a 3,690% surge to nearly ten bucks. Ten. Dollars. For a coin that started as a joke about a dog.
It's like watching a tightrope walker confidently tell the crowd he's about to sprout wings and fly to the sun. You know it’s impossible, you can see the wire, you can feel the gravity, but everyone around you is cheering him on, convinced this time will be different. And you just stand there, mouth agape, wondering if you're the only sane person left on the planet.
The Crystal Ball Was Made of Plastic
The predictions were coming in thick and fast. One analyst, a "Mikybull Crypto," pointed to a "bullish cross" on the Relative Strength Index (RSI), reminding his followers that the DOGE price gained 445% the last time this indicator flashed green. His conclusion? "$DOGE is ready to $1." Simple as that. No room for nuance, no mention of market manipulation, macroeconomics, or the simple fact that meme coins are, by definition, built on nothing but vibes and wishful thinking.
This wasn't analysis; it was financial astrology. These guys were looking at random squiggles and seeing destiny. When the price was stuck in a boring, narrow channel between $0.24 and $0.27, they didn't see stagnation or indecision. Offcourse not. They saw a "symmetrical triangle," a coiled spring just waiting to launch the faithful into orbit.
And the targets they threw around... good lord. Javon Marks wasn't just calling for a modest pump. He was talking about $2.28, then revised it to a staggering $9.8. His reasoning, as explained in a piece titled Why The Dogecoin Price Could Surge 3,690% To $9.8 This Bull Cycle, was that Dogecoin has a "perfect record" of hitting its Fibonacci targets. A 100% success rate, he claimed. Did any of these analystts ever stop to ask what happens when a "perfect record" meets reality for the first time? What happens when the pattern finally breaks, as all patterns eventually do? I guess not, because that kind of thinking doesn't get you clicks.
It was a recipe for disaster. No, "disaster" is too clean a word—this was a slow-motion pileup you could see coming from a mile away, and the drivers were all flooring it with their eyes closed.
A Prison Built of Buy and Sell Orders
The funny thing is, the data that could have served as a warning was right there. On-chain metrics from Glassnode showed exactly why the price was stuck. There were massive walls of Dogecoin supply piled up at key levels. Billions of DOGE were sitting just below the price, forming a floor, and billions more were sitting just above it, forming a ceiling.
The coin wasn't "coiling for a breakout." It was trapped. It was in a prison built by its own holders, a narrow hallway with no exit. The bulls and bears were in a perfect stalemate, with around $300 million in long positions almost perfectly canceled out by $330 million in shorts. There was no momentum, no conviction, just a market holding its breath.
But in the echo chamber of crypto Twitter, this reality was ignored. The data showing a deadlock was twisted into a narrative of imminent explosion. They saw the pressure building and assumed it could only release in one direction: up. They never considered that when you pressurize a faulty container, it doesn't launch into space. It just... breaks.
This is the fundamental flaw in the "to the moon" mindset. It's a cult of optimism that actively punishes doubt. You're either a "diamond-handed" believer or a "paper-handed" coward spreading FUD. There's no in-between, and there's certainly no room for asking if the rocket is even fueled, let alone pointed in the right direction. It ain't healthy.
And then, in October 2025, the floor gave out. A 50% flash crash. The prison walls crumbled, but not in the way the prophets foretold. The tightrope walker didn't fly; he plummeted. The silence that followed was deafening.
So Much for the Moon Mission
Look, I don't take any pleasure in watching people lose their shirts. But this was different. This was the inevitable, mathematical conclusion of a movement built on hype instead of substance. Dogecoin was never about creating a new financial paradigm. It was about getting rich quick by convincing a greater fool to buy your bags. The charts, the predictions, the "God candles"—it was all just sophisticated marketing for a pyramid scheme with a cute dog mascot. The crash wasn't a tragedy; it was a reckoning.
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