Training weekend
I’ve been insanely unproductive this weekend.
My weekends are usually unproductive. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are days of rest and decompression: I sleep in, chill out in Huntington, and don’t do much. But this weekend I’ve been especially fruitless, artistically and personally, for two reasons: it’s hot and there’s football on TV.
On that note, it’s fair to say the last couple days haven’t been totally useless. They’ve served as practice for next week, the beginning of my shameless — and I’m talking completely unrepentant — worship of college football.
Starting next weekend, my Saturday’s will be wholly — and spiritually — devoted to the greatest game on Earth. Except for a few breaks throughout the day, I’ll be gorging on college football telecasts from nine in the morning (unless I get up early and watch College Gameday at eight) to well past 10 or 11 at night (I always recap the day with College Gameday Final). It’s wall-to-wall football, and there’s nothing better.
Go ahead and talk all the shit you want, but I love college football. Having grown up in a Big Ten town, it’s part of my personal fiber. Fall and football have always gone hand in hand. With a chill in the air and the leaves turning red and yellow and orange, Iowa City transformed into a football Mecca during Hawkeye home games. On our way to Kinnick, my dad and I navigated the crowds on Melrose. The street was lined with clothing and food vendors, the air was spiced with the aroma of grilling brats, and the hypnotizing rhythm of the Iowa drum line could be heard from miles away (which was where we parked, at the university lot adjacent to the county jail). Radios buzzed with pregame analysis. Young kids and college students played catch. Can collectors mined redemption mother lodes in the tailgate lots. We were always among the first hundred people in the stadium because dad loved watching the teams warm up. He would buy a bag of peanuts and eat the entire thing before the game started; the floor where we sat was covered in shells. After the final whistle, we went home and watched the rest of the Big Ten games, then the late SEC match-up on ESPN. The cadence of Keith Jackson, Brad Nessler, and Brent “Danica Patrick” Musburger provided the soundtrack for the afternoon.
That was IC. Now I’m 2,000 miles away in a different world, where the only football anyone cares about is the corporate corrupted garbage they play on Sundays. It’s just not the same, so come football Saturday’s I tune into the ESPN family for a little taste of home, the way of life in the better part of the country.
High school football also played a prominent role in the autumns of my life. It’s also played a prominent role the last two days, helping me train for next week: I’ve watched the six high school games ESPN has broadcast. Friday night I watched the game from Iowa, and yesterday and today I’ve stayed pious with the Kirk Herbstreit Variety Football Series, which, strangely, Herbie has taken no part in (I think he may have made the coin toss for the first game). Last night ESPN featured a high school game from Texas, a barnburner between Cedar Hill and Desoto. I only saw the first and fourth quarters because I went running.
A run always serves as a welcome break in the action. Though I love it to death, I can only handle so much college pigskin. I need alternate stimulation, and running provides a great change of pace. It also gets me out of the house (I do feel guilty about sitting on my ass all day). I had been thinking about moving my run to Friday so my football worship could be uninterrupted, but the little recess is good for me. I may think about altering the day’s schedule, though, and running earlier. I usually run when the late games are kicking off, so I always come home at halftime or at the beginning of the second half. That means I’ve missed over half of the day’s most atmospheric games (I’ve always loved watching night games; they have that added mystique of being under the lights, much like high school football games). Hmmm. It’s a thought.
Well, the last Herbie Series game has concluded. A school from Ohio beat Orange Lutheran, a football powerhouse from here in Orange County. Of course I was cheering for the Midwest team, and I’m surprised they came away with the win. Their aggressive defense kept the Californians from establishing a passing game. Regardless, I’m getting in shape for next weekend when the big games kick off.
Now it’s time to get off my ass.
My weekends are usually unproductive. Saturday’s and Sunday’s are days of rest and decompression: I sleep in, chill out in Huntington, and don’t do much. But this weekend I’ve been especially fruitless, artistically and personally, for two reasons: it’s hot and there’s football on TV.
On that note, it’s fair to say the last couple days haven’t been totally useless. They’ve served as practice for next week, the beginning of my shameless — and I’m talking completely unrepentant — worship of college football.
Starting next weekend, my Saturday’s will be wholly — and spiritually — devoted to the greatest game on Earth. Except for a few breaks throughout the day, I’ll be gorging on college football telecasts from nine in the morning (unless I get up early and watch College Gameday at eight) to well past 10 or 11 at night (I always recap the day with College Gameday Final). It’s wall-to-wall football, and there’s nothing better.
Go ahead and talk all the shit you want, but I love college football. Having grown up in a Big Ten town, it’s part of my personal fiber. Fall and football have always gone hand in hand. With a chill in the air and the leaves turning red and yellow and orange, Iowa City transformed into a football Mecca during Hawkeye home games. On our way to Kinnick, my dad and I navigated the crowds on Melrose. The street was lined with clothing and food vendors, the air was spiced with the aroma of grilling brats, and the hypnotizing rhythm of the Iowa drum line could be heard from miles away (which was where we parked, at the university lot adjacent to the county jail). Radios buzzed with pregame analysis. Young kids and college students played catch. Can collectors mined redemption mother lodes in the tailgate lots. We were always among the first hundred people in the stadium because dad loved watching the teams warm up. He would buy a bag of peanuts and eat the entire thing before the game started; the floor where we sat was covered in shells. After the final whistle, we went home and watched the rest of the Big Ten games, then the late SEC match-up on ESPN. The cadence of Keith Jackson, Brad Nessler, and Brent “Danica Patrick” Musburger provided the soundtrack for the afternoon.
That was IC. Now I’m 2,000 miles away in a different world, where the only football anyone cares about is the corporate corrupted garbage they play on Sundays. It’s just not the same, so come football Saturday’s I tune into the ESPN family for a little taste of home, the way of life in the better part of the country.
High school football also played a prominent role in the autumns of my life. It’s also played a prominent role the last two days, helping me train for next week: I’ve watched the six high school games ESPN has broadcast. Friday night I watched the game from Iowa, and yesterday and today I’ve stayed pious with the Kirk Herbstreit Variety Football Series, which, strangely, Herbie has taken no part in (I think he may have made the coin toss for the first game). Last night ESPN featured a high school game from Texas, a barnburner between Cedar Hill and Desoto. I only saw the first and fourth quarters because I went running.
A run always serves as a welcome break in the action. Though I love it to death, I can only handle so much college pigskin. I need alternate stimulation, and running provides a great change of pace. It also gets me out of the house (I do feel guilty about sitting on my ass all day). I had been thinking about moving my run to Friday so my football worship could be uninterrupted, but the little recess is good for me. I may think about altering the day’s schedule, though, and running earlier. I usually run when the late games are kicking off, so I always come home at halftime or at the beginning of the second half. That means I’ve missed over half of the day’s most atmospheric games (I’ve always loved watching night games; they have that added mystique of being under the lights, much like high school football games). Hmmm. It’s a thought.
Well, the last Herbie Series game has concluded. A school from Ohio beat Orange Lutheran, a football powerhouse from here in Orange County. Of course I was cheering for the Midwest team, and I’m surprised they came away with the win. Their aggressive defense kept the Californians from establishing a passing game. Regardless, I’m getting in shape for next weekend when the big games kick off.
Now it’s time to get off my ass.
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