Jeremy: Don't you smell that smell?

In the words of a fine poet: "Ooooh, that smell. Can't you smell that smell? Ooooh, that smell. The smell of it surrounds you." Okay, so the poet is Ronnie Van Zant, the lead singer from Lynard Skynard. Still, do you smell that? The leaves. No, not that. The cooler air? No, not that. Clean sweatshirts to keep us warm? No, not that either.
Football. I'm talking about football. Do you smell it? It's the sweetest smell in the world. It's the smell of life being breathed back into us. The smell of testosterone and bratwurst and beer and... well, of everything that's good and wholesome and American.
College football opened last weekend, but this weekend, without further delay, there's nothing more to wait for, because all forms of football are officially now in full swing. It hit me late Thursday night. It was about 11:30 p.m. (CST) and I was in the process of picking Jim Kleinsasser as the token Viking for my fantasy football team. I always have trouble believing my gut when it tells it tells me to trust a Viking to anchor my fantasy team. This year it wasn't an issue. I had the first overall pick in our keeper league (LaDainian Tomlinson), so I didn't have to choose again until pick 20 (Matt Hasselbeck). By that time Moss and Daunte were long gone, so I had no internal dilemma this year. Still, I have to have ONE Wiking don't I? Seems reasonable. But I digress.
Anyway, that's about the time that it hit me. I started singing. "It's the most wonderful tiiiiiiimmmmmme of the year." Forget that Christmas crap (at least for the sake of this post). THIS is the time of year when my senses are most acute, when I have the excitement and wonderment of a child. During football season each weekend is like opening it's very own specially wrapped present, and the gift is for you and I to share. It's for the whole world to open and enjoy and revel in until... yes, the next present. And the next present comes only ONE WEEK LATER!!! And do you know what the beauty of these presents are? It's never underwear!!! You will never go to bed on a Sunday night during football season saying "well, I guess that was okay, but I was hoping for baseball." And even if you did, guess what? Football gives itself a chance to redeem itself one last time each week on (queue Hank Williams Jr.) Monday Night Football.
My goodness. I'm sweating. I got a little fired up there. This is the most wonderful time of the year. I will fight to the death on this. No other sport even comes close to football in its purity. No other sport touches it in terms of anticipation. Every other sport oversaturates itself to the public (except for college hockey). And nobody is passionate like football fans. (I would tell you that my body isn't shaking, ever so slightly, right now, but that would be a lie.)
Honestly, if the Gophers and the Vikings lose on the same weekend it takes me a minimum of 96 hours before I get back into a good mood. (I still haven't recovered from how the Gophs crapped the bed against Michigan last year or how the Vikes let the Cards keep them out of the playoffs.) I'm a mess after a double-loss weekend. I've had relationships that don't affect me this much. No lie.
So welcome back football. Baseball is fickle. Hockey and basketball are corrupt. And they all drag on far too long. Even the Olympics couldn't quench our thirst for real sport. We've been waiting patiently for you all this time.
Welcome back! (Queue "Welcome Back Cotter" music) WELCOME BACK, WELCOME BACK, WELCOME BAAAACK!!!