Tomorrow is college football’s signing day. The day where a recruit signs with the school he’ll spend the next three to five years representing on the field (unless he ends up ends up sucking or is stupid enough to get caught stealing stereo equipment).

No, I’m not nervous. I’m not one of these no-vag-getting losers that’s obsessed with recruiting. I’m too busy with my career to give a shit about the number of stars some geeks at a recruiting service assign an eighteen year-old kid. All I ask is that my school signs a solid crop of hard-working young men with good characters. And that they win football games.

Of course, I know enough to know my school’s star average WILL kick the shit out of your school’s. That’s a promise I can keep. We recruit nationally. You recruit regionally. My head coach could sell diaphragms at a nunnery. Your head coach sweats and makes people uncomfortable. Rest assured my coach will earn his seven figure contract tomorrow when he signs nothing but 4 and 5 star FUCKING STUDS at a rapid clip.

Sure, we’ve only got like ten kids “verbally” committed so far. I’m not worried though. All those gay verbals don’t mean shit. Tomorrow is where we make it happen. WE KNOW HOW TO FUCKING CLOSE. Tomorrow’s gonna be like grocery shopping on an empty stomach. Mmmm, mammoth left tackle committed to some crappy Big 10 school. That sounds good. We’ll take him. Geeee, freak wide receiver that thinks he wants to catch lame ducks from subpar ACC quarterbacks. Rethink that, pal. Time to sign with the big boys.

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I, the College Football Fan, am just beginning to feel only partially devastated. It’s been three days since we lost our first game. We played like utter dogshit. I didn’t get out of bed on Sunday. When I did get out of bed, I was an asshole.

But now it’s Wednesday and I haven’t told anyone to “go fuck themselves” in about five hours. That has to be a sign of improvement.

I’m such a silly bitch sometimes. I can be delusional. I printed out our schedule last week and was convinced that every single game would result in a W. What I didn’t realize at the time is how much we suck. I realize it now. We may never win another game in school history we suck so bad.

Just like last season, I got ahead of myself. I conveniently ignored our suckiness. I set myself up for failure. I only have myself to blame for the gaping whole in my existence right now. 

Correction. I have myself, our head coach, our quarterback, the officiating crew, our O-line coach, Kirk Herbstreit, and our kicker to blame. Along with anyone within a ten yard radius of me. They are all in some way each individually responsible for the loss.

Dammit, our coach is a dipshit.

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I, the College Football Fan, woke up this morning with a raging woodrow. It could not be suppressed even by a cold shower.

That’s right, today’s the day. Air smells better. Food tastes better. My girlfriend’s tits are bigger.

Today’s the day life becomes glorious again. College football has returned.

And I don’t even care that LSU is going to kick the ever living shit out of Mississippi State tonight. That doesn’t matter. The game is more symbolic than anything.

Tonight’s game symbolizes know longer having to drink myself to happiness. It symbolizes me being pleasant to my friends and family. It symbolizes tailgates and overtimes and mocking nerd schools and my alma mater’s shot at a BCS game. It symbolizes coeds giving me wet dreams. It symbolizes Erin Andrews on the sidelines. It symbolizes Mark May and Lou Holtz trying to sort out who’s more retarded on national television. It symbolizes me driving myself ape shit over yards per carry, missed assignments, and halftime adjustments. It symbolizes me replacing “Go fuck yourself” with “How the hell are you?” as my greeting of choice.

Sure tonight’s game isn’t that important, but the next four months are. They mean everything. The next four months are where I shine, where I bring my A-game every day.

Besides, I really like the under tonight.

I, the College Football Fan, woke up this morning with an intense woodrow. It’s nice to be this excited. Things have been pretty bleak over the last few weeks. I have been drinking heavily to counteract the bleakness. Last week I began dominating NCAA ‘08 on Playstation. Corralling virtual national championships has been therapeutic. But today my life is officially much, much better. Today ESPN airs the very first “College Football Live”. It’s going to be like “NFL Live” except for fans with an education. It comes on at 3:30 and then replays at 7 PM. I heard Erin Andrews is making an appearance on the first show so waiting for the replay is not an option. I’m leaving work at 3 PM and hoping no one notices. If they do notice, they can suck it.

ESPN better not fuck this thing up. I have too much riding on it. Rece Davis is hosting. He’s cool with me. He once said my alma mater was a dark horse for the national title, so it kind of made up for him having a homo first name. I’m sure Lee Corso will be there. There’s no getting away from that old bastard. My boy Herbstreit will be on the show too. He rocks. I kind of wish I was him. I met him at a bar in college once. He took home this Tri-Delt that I had been trying to bang since I was a sophomore. I didn’t care though, she was kind of a slut.

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I, the College Football Fan, don’t care much for Summer. I’ve used the holidays, college basketball, spring practice, and even the NBA playoffs to help level me off from my football hangover, but Summer is here and I’m starting to get anxious. Crackhead anxious. There’s a lot of scratching and twitching and hitting up my parents for money. I try to let baseball and golf help me maintain my sanity, but they can only do so much. I’m staring down the barrel of three months of Summer and it’s painful to think about.

Since I’ve been in my twenties my summers have played out the same way. To get through June I frequent internet recruiting sites. I read every word every moron with a keyboard and a mouse has to say about my team. I stalk other teams message boards and giggle at what losers they are. I let the whims of 17 and 18 year old kids who are debating scholarship offers to my school determine my mood each day. I think we still have a shot with all of them.

Once July hits I start drinking. I drink hard. The hardest really. Drinking usually gets me through the week of the 4th. Then I hit a rough patch. It’s a little bleak and scary. If I’ve ever told you to “go fuck yourself” during that period of time I apologize, even though you probably brought it on yourself.

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