The longest week a college football fanatic can experience has arrived.
Months of research and speculation have come to an end. The depth chart has been thoroughly analyzed. The schedule has been reviewed.
Your knowledge is supreme. The games are just a formality. You know what is going to happen. The opposing players and their tendencies are now second nature. You would be the best coach in the SEC.
Well, you would be a better coach than Les Miles, that talentless, tall-hatted windbag.
One final week to declare your knowledge from the mountaintop. One week to intimidate all you meet with your immense knowledge and rapier wit. Your outlandish predictions start to sound possible.
The more you say, "Dude, I know this sounds crazy, but Jacksonville State is going to kill Georgia Tech. They've got Ryan Perrilloux! Plus, Georgia Tech's coach was at Army or the Coast Guard or something last year. He totally sucks"—the more likely it seems.
You are still unconvinced of Tim Tebow's throwing abilities: "Sure, he threw the occasional good pass last year, but can he take another pounding? I don't think so! South Carolina: SEC East champs!"
Your predicted BCS championship game—BYU vs. Wake Forest—was deduced by a complex equation of your own creation.
You would explain, but it would take too long.
The tailgate leading up to the game is where you really shine. You down warm Coronas and loudly proclaim yourself to be the "greatest college football strategist of all time. My football knowledge is untouched, and I will one day rain fire and brimstone upon the uncovered heads of the nonbelievers!"
Your girlfriend Alice and your three-legged dog Steve are not amused.
Who are you? No one. Everyone.
Every college football fan-base contains one of you. For better or worse, you are the one most recognized: the one that opposing fans and media grasp and refuse to let go.
You come in many different forms.
You might like large murals of long-dead coaches on your back.
Or perhaps you like to paint purple and gold tiger stripes all over your body.
Or maybe you don your Wal-Mart jersey and hold high your shag rug pennant for all to see.
You may even like running onto the playing field wearing nothing but a plastic hog's head and what appears to be a G-string.
I am not here to judge you, megalomanic college football guy. I love you.
You are one of the most entertaining and interesting sub-species of human. I want to study you. I want to mate with your females and produce beautiful hybrid children.
Only 3 more days. See you soon, that guy.
Full article, with pictures, can be found here.