Can you feel it out there? That warmth from the sunlight, tempered by just a slight chill in the air that foreshadows the slow but stunning descent of autumn into the cold, murky depths of snowy winter? That feeling of exhaustion in your bones from five day's worth of work, mixed with the excitement and relief of being free for three consecutive days?
Across college campuses, you can hear faint drums and the muted sound of trumpets riding the slight breeze. People are buying school colored shirts. Beer pong is probably being played outside on collapsible tables.
College football is here, my friends.
And, depending on how things go, I am going to be bouncing anywhere from irrational exuberance to irrational despair.
Should you catch me on one of these days, likely a Saturday night or a Sunday or on into Monday and Tuesday, depending on the severity of the game, I just want you to know that it's nothing personal.
I'm not pissy because of anything you did. I'm just angry about the outcome of a game I can't control that's played by a bunch of eighteen to twenty-two year old kids.
And before you ask whether or not it's kind of stupid to tie my happiness or displeasure for the day (or for days, or weeks, or months) to the movement of an oddly shaped brown leather ball around a big green rectangle, and stupid as well to base my opinion of people entirely on the color of their shirt or design of their helmet, you should know that I am already aware of the absurdity of my situation.
And that the answer to your question is 'no.'
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