I don't understand anything about it. I know there are downs and yards and incompletes and fumbles and snaps and hooks and shotguns and Hail Mary's. I don't know how or why any of these terms, individually, suddenly a football game do make.

For years, I didn't care.

Then, I went to a Jesuit Catholic college that didn't HAVE a football team, so we had to adopt Notre Dame as our sister school. Yes, it was two or three states to the East of us (no one said an ivy league education made you a fucking mapologist, or whatever), but Notre Dame was the great, shining example that smart kids can be good athletes. And we told ourselves that while smugly reading our Descartes and Aristotilian textbooks. Of course, what any truly clever person understood was that Notre Dame athletes were getting lots of leeway around that education thingy. Creighton's basketball players were given the same advantages: personal tutors, personal classes, personal everything. And I'm pretty sure they weren't taking "God and Persons 401".

Ever since those fucking preists got caught with their pants down and their hands in some not-so-sacred chalices, Catholic schools have been getting honest. Dammit. Now, Notre Dame actually expects its football players to maintain a decent grade point average. Plus, the potential recruits for college football have figured out that South Bend, Indiana is not the ideal college town, especially if you have to spend any time actually studying. So there go all the decent recruits to schools like UGA and Florida and (God Help Us All) Ohio.

Yesterday was an ugly, ugly, ugly day. It was made uglier by my husband's laughter, mocking me as I sank deeper into my Notre Dame sweatshirt. I honestly think I watched Michael swell up three or four times in his Michigan sweatshirt.

When the shittiest coach in all of college history manages to convince his team of mentally challenged rodents to stomp the shit out of a historically recognized institution of football, I quit.

I never liked the stupid game, anyway.