So I'm sitting at home and I'm wondering to myself, "What the heck am I going to write about this week?" Not much new has been going on around here. I still have a job. My girlfriend still likes me. I'm healthy and training just about every day. Life, in general, is pretty good.
Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. The Seminoles lost. They lost. Again. The Seminoles. They. Lost.
My only consolation is that the Gators also lost. Ha ha ha, Gators fans. But, and I hang my head in shame at this, at least they scored a touchdown.
The downside to that loss, and I almost can't say it, is that the Miami Hurricanes won. Now, having grown up in Miami, I know how they must be feeling and celebrating. Go blow up a car or something, Hurricanes fans. Shoot out some tires. You know you want to. Or did you do that already?
Just kidding. Please, don't blow up any cars, okay? It was a joke. Do not blow up any cars to celebrate your victory. I repeat, blowing up cars and shooting out tires is bad.
Go play in traffic instead.
Arrgh. So life is not so good. My college football team has once again, through a series of bad decisions by individuals (see Snoop Minnis' final term paper, entitled "I Am Too Good To Study School,") and a devastatingly poor offensive effort, the Seminoles only points in the 2000 National Championship game were scored by the Sooners kicker.
Can I buy him a beer?
Now, of course, it would be nice to point a finger at one person and say, "It's all his fault." But that's not the way it works. Sure, Chris Weinke did not play like the fireball he was all season. But don't forget that he did connect to his receivers a few times. They just dropped the ball. In the end zone.
Can you say, "snOops?"
Or you could point at the kicking team and say, "You kick like my three-legged dog after I take him for a three mile hop."
But the truth is that the real fault lies in recruitment. Last year they had the Wunderkind Janikowski (another highly effective decision maker), with the magic leg. I suppose in all the excitement it just somehow slipped through the cracks that they needed to plan for a kicking team this year as well.
Now, the reports I get, and these are unconfirmed, is that after the first couple games they lined everyone with NCAA eligibility on campus up (and I'm talking everyone - like - they cancelled class for a week) and had them attempt two or three field goals.
It turns out that the best guy was discovered deep in a sub-basement of the Williams building. He had fallen into a deep sleep in a Spanish language class two years before. Upon waking, two hours after the class ended, he discovered himself in a strange new world, where everyone was acting like it was two hours in the future.
Naturally, this destroyed his higher reasoning. He survived by going only to Happy Hours that also had a food buffet. He slept in the Room that Time Forgot (it's in the Sigma Chi house somewhere). He used something called 'parents' to pay his bills. He avoided trouble by only enrolling in liberal studies classes. He spoke in monosyllabic sentences (examples: "What's up?" "Where am I?" "What time is it?" "This is neat." "This is cool." "Wow.").
On one of his ventures into the light (a Gumby's pizza run) he was stopped by the Kick patrol, or K.I.C.K., for short.
"Can you kick?" their leader, an offensive tackle, asked.
"Hgrbbblgarph!" our hero said. Translated, it means "Heck, no!"
"Good," said the offensive tackle. "Come with me."
So you can't blame the poor guy who tried to kick field goals this year. At least he tried.
Can you blame Bobby Bowden? Not really. Can you blame offensive coordinator Mark Richt? No, you can't really blame him, either. No one individual is to blame, because football is a team effort.
The fact of the matter is that the Oklahoma Sooners outplayed them. The Sooners defense shut down the Seminoles offense. Josh Huepel, the Heisman runner-up, played a better game than FSU's Weinke. And that's that.
On top of that, both the Dolphins and the Bucs got booted out of the playoffs. Feggedabboudit.
So what am I going to do about all this?
I'm gonna do what any FSU fan would. I'm gonna buy my season tickets for next year. I'm gonna put on my warpaint and scream like a Texas Chainsaw Maniac when the season opener comes around. I'm gonna run up and down the street, wave my Tomahawk chop at everyone, and yell stuff like "Bobby Bs the Man," and "EFF-ELL-O-ARR-IYY-DEE-AYY ESS-TEE-AYY-TEE-EEE FLORIDA STATE FLORIDA STATE FLORIDA STATE WOOOOO!!!!!" at the top of my lungs.
And what does this all have to do with triathlons? Absolutely nothing.
FLORIDA STATE, FLORIDA STATE, FLORIDA STATE, WHOOOOO!
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