Ah, now we know we're back to "Normal." Once again, Saturdays are to be filled with hour after hour of bad music, screaming, military fly-overs (that we pay for,) and washed-up college football players* giggling, joking, and pretending to enjoy each other's company as they gush endlessly about the teams of non-students that multiple large Institutions of Higher Learning put together for the entertainment of the actual students and the viewing public to run around a large flat field for several hours reducing their lifespans by regularly colliding with each other at high speeds. Occasionally ESPN promises to cut away to crowds of witless morons wearing their school colors jumping up and down and screaming because they saw the ESPN camera. And because there are literally hundreds of schools engaged in this spectacle every Saturday between now and late November, the talking bobbleheads paid to talk up the 20-year old kids whose health will be in serious peril with every play never run out of material...and if they somehow manage to hit the wall in discussing which of these Fine Young Men is Very Possibly the Greatest of his Generation and Absolutely Bears Watching, well, there's always interviews with the inevitably pot-bellied, invariably White coaches who organize these bands of Fine Young Barely Not Teenagers to commit extreme violence against their still-maturing bodies because someone told them that if they worked at it hard enough they'd end up with $100 million-dollar NFL contracts before the age of 25.
*and Lee Corso, who was a quarterback for a few years during the Eisenhower Administration and therefore a wealth of valuable information when it comes to assessing the potential of modern college football players one-fourth his age. Corso's blathering, blithering, downright embarrassing schtick went to seed decades ago, but I guess as long as he's still breathing and able to give us that creepy grin ESPN is going to keep propping him up in a chair for several segments every Saturday during the NCAA football season. I'd rather see painted fans screaming into the cameras, myself.
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