A few years ago, ESPN created the perfect drug for the general college football degenerate: College Gameday Live, a once-a-week quality-produced show that is not only insightful but also entertaining. (Even though this year, they’ve slipped a bit by overly promoting and even counting down to Corso picking his “headgear”.)
Minor flaws aside, I quickly became a recreational weekend user. I considered this a good thing. A once-a-week user. It didn’t affect my life negatively and I could only convince myself of the positives. I’ve now realized it was only a gateway. I began to chase the euphoria of this early Saturday morning show during the week by tuning into Fox regional shows (the meth of college pre-game) or just watch the hour long Sportscenter to just catch a glimpse of the latest poll, injury report or arrest from the college game.
I must not have been the only junkie, because the drug lords at ESPN, knowing the addiction their drug provides, decided to street College Football Live—the crack to College Gameday Live’s cocaine.
Now we all know there’s nothing wrong doing a few rails once a week off some stripper’s ass down in the Champagne Room at the local Jet Strip, but the moment, you snap out of some month long bender in a some ghetto crack house sharing a pipe with a STD-filled two-cent whore and her pimp, it’s time to admit you have a problem.
What formula makes CFL (not the Canadian Football League) crack? Most obviously, it’s quicker: a half an hour high to CGL’s three hours. It’s cheaper: half of the half hour show has helmet contests and fan sound offs.
The most important ingredient to this: who is cutting up and dealing the drug to you? We know the untouchable kingpin ESPN funds and delivers the package, but on the drug food chain, it’s not who’s running the “tits” to the street, but who on the street are you getting your drugs from? With College Football Live, it’s the pimps and whores.
The pimps: their rotation of anchors, because they have to control the set, keep their whores in line. And who are the bitch-slapping? Random columnists (basically anybody who has ever written an article in a major publication) and over-hyped, overrated College player (who never did anything at the next level). The columnists who sold their souls so they can pontificate on their thoughts on why Chase Daniels still deserves Heisman consideration. (If douche-ness was a factor, he’d be running away with it), while the ex-players lose all credibility if they still had any, just so they can say things like “Well, when I played” or “Back when my coach [fill in the blank]”.
But here’s the catch, the thing about crack: it’s a tough habit to break. I can’t stop watching CFL. I watch it nightly as soon as I get home, like a jonesin’ junkie. I need to watch FSU beat USC in a helmet on-line vote off. (Really? It doesn’t help that it airs when we’re still at work and they’re already a few drinks past happy hour.) I need to watch unwatchable Sound Off smack running videos
I need it as my fix, a short, sweet high until College Gameday Live hits the air every Saturday at 7 am Pacific Standard Time.
I simply need it. I’ll see everybody on some urine-soaked mattress soon.
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