On the eighth day of bowl season, the bowl system gave to me eight straight hours of car repair and gasoline ads, enough to raise the temperature of the Earth by one degree and cause Nittany Lions to go extinct, seven "deez nuts" jokes, six kinesiology majors, five boredom-induced naps!, four looks at loudass shirts, three convenient excuses to ignore the family, two student-athletes suspended, and a Ute in a San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia 'tree'.
On the ninth day of bowl season, the bowl system gave to me nine chances before halftime for Nick Saban to "listen to other schools", eight hours of car repair and gasoline ads, seven "deez nuts" jokes, six kinesiology majors, five boredom-induced naps!, four looks at loudass shirts, three convenient excuses to ignore the family, two student-athletes suspended, and a Ute in a San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia 'tree'.
On the tenth and eleventh day of bowl season, the bowl system gave to me the best 36 hours of a sports fan's year. At least you got that right, you greedy bastards in your brightly colored bowl committee blazers and your complete lack of shame in riding college students for millions of dollars in return for a few thousand in tuition fees...
erm.
...nine chances to "listen to other schools", eight hours of car repair and gasoline ads, seven "deez nuts" jokes, six kinesiology majors, five boredom-induced naps! (zee zee zee zee!), four looks at loudass shirts, three convenient excuses to ignore the family, two student-athletes suspended, and a Ute in a San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia 'tree'.
For the rest of the bowl season, the bowl system gave to me the best remaining teams of a fairly underwhelming season (with the exception of the International Bowl and GMAC Bowl, who should be totally ashamed of themselves for pushing back their game days to be associated with the big dogs and can go back to early December now, thank you very much). If we all live through all 32 games over 18 days, we'll get together afterwards and have a drink to celebrate. Assuming we don't need to be on a liver transplant list by then or be cut from our homes and carried out with a fork lift so we can be on Tyra Banks' show, of course.
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