Confessions of a College Football Fan

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary.  After being spoiled rotten with gorgeous jewelry over the years, I was hoping hubby would think of something more, well, me, when it came time to exchanging presents.

So imagine my surprise when I opened my gift—a gorgeous Spalding "Never Flat" football.  I had tears in my eyes.  God, I married well.  He so gets me.

As I held that ball in my hands, my leg started to quiver.  With my fingers laying across the laces and my grip getting tighter on the ball, I realized I was ready.  I need some football.  Now.

It's that dreaded time of year—post-NBA Finals and right smack dab in the middle of the death throes of baseball.

Don't get me wrong—baseball is OK, but I fervently believe that it's a kids' game that grownups ruined.  It bores me.  I need a contact sport.  I need football.

I'm already looking forward to that first football TV commercial.  My favorite one?  Where the guy bends over to look at something and this deranged woman comes up behind him, cups her hands underneath his crotch, looks to the right with this psychotic look on her face and yells, "Hut-Hut!"  Hilarious.

It's that time of year where I start to actually miss Lee, Herb, and Chris.  And Lou and Mark.  Although I work for ESPN's rival, I miss them nonetheless.

I miss that opening music theme to College Game Day.  The students with their silly signs, bobbing up and down, behind Lee and Herb talking about the upcoming games.  The cheerleaders standing on the shoulders of their male teammates, leading yells to the masses.  Dang it, I need to see a mascot head and some helmet stickers.

I miss Lee tapping his Ticonderoga pencil on the desk.  God help me—I miss Lou's halftime locker room pep talks.  Spit and all.

It started with the Spring games in April.  At the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, I actually took off my cowboy boots and ran my toes through that sweet turf.  I imagined all the great players that had walked on this sweet-smelling sod.

I walked through the tunnel leading out to the field and touched my hand on those crumbling, old walls.  How many great players have touched these walls as they passed through to play in front of 90,000 fans?

I actually remember thinking, "Wow, LAPD could have probably gotten some of O.J. Simpson's DNA lifted off the concrete."  There's some history here.

I stood near Pete Carroll on the sidelines—yeah, I cheat a little on the sidelines and tend to step over that 25-yard line barrier between the press and the players.  Shhh.  Don't tell anyone.  I just like to feel the intensity of the players and coaches when I stand near them.

I can already hear the sounds of the marching bands drowning out the sounds of the visiting teams' fans.  I can smell the hot dogs and nachos, and taste those $8 beers.  It's stuck in my brain now.

I can see the fans clasping their hands behind their heads as they look at the last seconds of the clock tick down—will their team pull off the upset?

I can hear the impending smack from all the bloggers as they get ready to pronounce their team/conference/cheerleaders/band the greatest in college football.

Yeah, I'm ready to see the Oregon Ducks' new uniforms.

I'm ready to see if Weis can right the Titanic he currently is captaining through treacherous waters.

I'm ready to see if Urban has found a way to fix the Gators' secondary.

I'm ready to see if the Buckeyes really are as good as everyone says they are. Again.

I'm ready to meet the new Cinderella who'll upset a Georgia, USC, Wisconsin, or Oklahoma.

I'm ready to perhaps hear Keith Jackson say, "One more year, then I retire for good."

I'm ready to hear 100 renditions of "Rocky Top" when Tennessee visits the UCLA Bruins.

I'm ready to put away my DVD collection of USC 2007 football games and watch some live games instead.

I'm ready to hear the wails of "unfair" when a team isn't ranked No. 1, and ready to hear another team get chants of "overrated" when they take the field.

I'm ready for the "D" and fence signs, and "SportsCenter is next" signs.

I'm ready to get new batteries for my digital voice recorder and fire off some questions to coaches and players.

I'm ready to ditch all the college football magazines on my bedside table and see if the prognosticators were correct in their predictions.

OMG—I miss Sun Belt football.

As I sit here spilling my guts out, I hold that football even closer to my face.  It's not pigskin, but I can smell it.  It's a faint smell that will get stronger around late July, and permeate my every sense by late August.

The football, resting comfortably in my hands, has inspired me to hang on for two more months.  We'll get through this.

Am I the only one who feels this way?  Is there an easy button I can push to get me through the next two months?

Thank God I married well.