It's a pleasantly sunny but chill Saturday afternoon, and yet, there is no college football on my television. To which I ask: What did I do to deserve this? It must've been that time I did a murder.
I will admit, if I were to exist in an eternal off-season, one starting with the Buckeyes kill-shotting the Heisman field with a 12-gauged shotgun blast would be the one I'd choose, but if I were truly interested in huffing the fumes of past glory I'd smoke Pall Mall Light butts out of a trashcan and root for the S-E-C.
What in the hell am I supposed to do right now? Crack a FourLoko? Without the veil of The Big Game, drinking a FourLoko at 1 o'clock in the afternoon would be considered the raging depths of alcoholism. Not that I have a problem with alcoholics, but I'm only in the Loko game for the dumb jokes nobody over 30 understands.
I suppose I could wait around for tomorrow's big game — you know the one, Andrew "Andrew" Luck vs. Tom "Touchdown" Brady — but if I were truly interested in opulent pony show produced by cocaine-addicted men in $10,000 suits, there's numerous strip clubs on the near east side of Columbus that would be a lot more entertaining (albeit more expensive).
Hell, I'm more likely to find a scant of tradition in a place like — and I'm just drawing a name out of the hat here, folks — Centerfold Gentlemen's Club than I am in the corporately-sanitized Gillette Stadium©.
Sure, Ohio State played its last two games on a Thursday and a Monday (and its next game is on a Monday), but because I eschew the Gregorian calendar as much as possible, they all felt like Saturdays to me.
Does this madness end? I hope so, because I am sorry for killing that drifter at a truck stop somewhere outside San Antonio in 1986. (The Eighties were a different time and crack ubiquitous; you kids today wouldn't understand.)
But until that reprieve comes from the heavens, then I'm afraid the only thing I know anymore is Saturdays just got a lot worse.
