Actual college football. It's happening. Looked at the schedule. Checked the TV listings. Yep. It's happening.
This season opening date was just a blurry concept - the indefinite open-ended answer to the impatient question posed from the offseason backseat of "Are we there yet?" And if you were my parents, the answer was not yet and we all had to be as quiet and still as wading birds when we drove through Houston on our way to Lousiana. Why? I'm not sure. Apparently, it's daunting to drive through a concrete swamp with my older brother and I trying to do Von Erich death claws on each other in the bench seat of a 3 ton Buick. Later, when I learned some geography, I realized that my parents had "Houston" start well outside of Katy and end in Sulphur Springs. For a good portion of my childhood, I believed Houston sprawled about 150 miles.
Obviously, it's only half that.
Look, I even wrote a preview with my brilliant co-authors Jason Chilton and Scott Gerlach sort of premised on the idea that this day would eventually come, but doing a deep dive on Cal's depth chart back in June and re-watching five hours of 2015 recruit's HUDL film didn't make the opener feel any more real.
But we're here. I mean, it's right up ahead. Look at it. Texas vs. Notre Dame. College football blue bloods squaring off in a hallowed gridiron cathedral that has defined college football history more than any other....up until 1995.
The football Vatican where Sam the gutty fat hobbit walked on against all odds and Ara Parseghian told Vince Vaughn that if he had half of the fat hobbit's heart, then he'd be an All-American and that the second season of True Detective wouldn't have been the most colossal letdown I've experienced since seeing Congo in the theater. Granted, this isn't quite Texas-Ohio State 2005 in terms of our anticipation - the stakes are smaller and the two teams lost a combined 34 games last year - but an iconic Longhorn decal trading paint with a golden helmet will make any football fan get a little goose bumpy.
It's game week.
Put on your eyeblack, get on your game face and tell the inconsiderate human garbage who would dare invite you to their September wedding that you'll attend only on one condition: prima nocta.
I now proclaim it hitting weather.
Hook 'em.
