I don’t simply appreciate college football. Like the largest size available at Cold Stone, I “Gotta Have It.” Fall without college football would rival the anguish of a summer without ice cream.
Unfortunately, similar to vanilla Breyers in old, flat root beer, hopes of a 2020 season may no longer be afloat.
The Ivy League was the first to put athletics on ice following spikes in hospitalizations and confirmed coronavirus cases across numerous states. However, this did not necessarily mean the rest of the country would do the same.
I imagine Harvard University can survive comfortably on donations from absurdly rich benefactors with names like Bartholomew Quimbsby or Cecil J. Bumsworth IV, but a lot of Division I institutions rely heavily on football to stay in the black.
Thus, schools are forced to churn up creative strategies in order to milk every last bit of profit out of their student-athletes. I have no idea what it takes to plan a college football schedule, but I've assembled enough ice cream cones to see the NCAA’s current situation is one towering, sticky mess becoming a puddle in the hot July sun.
While fans hungrily await official news of a decision, they curb their appetites with an enticing yet meager flavor selection. ESPN serves up The Basketball Tournament and the Korean Baseball Organization, which are essentially the Choco Tacos and Fudgsicles of sports. They’re definitely worth a few bites, but are ultimately little more than novelties.
No, consumers will only be satisfied by the genuine article, even if it comes without toppings such as marching bands or cheerleading. With disease oozing about akin to chocolate syrup drizzled over a double-dipped waffle cone, I’m perfectly content devouring my own personal pint of Häagen-Dazs at home on the couch like a shameful but responsible recluse.
Alas, this too might be off the menu. Both the Big Ten and Pac-12 recently announced they would restrict their members to conference play, a reduced-fat approach that could never match the decadence of the original recipe. Regardless, I’m willing to pause my tireless pursuit of thickness and give Skinny Cow a try if the alternative is a bowlful of nothing.
Even without interconference contests to provide wacky taste combinations, many viewers still prefer an abbreviated schedule to a postponement to the spring of 2021. After all, if people truly appreciated delayed gratification, they wouldn’t constantly speed-eat their way straight into chilling headaches.
Perhaps therein lies the key message. Maybe we as a nation don’t really deserve college football. You don’t get dessert until you finish your vegetables, and America has been avoiding its broccoli as if it were — oh, I don’t know — a literal plague.
If college football is the treat we earn by practicing social distancing and using common sense, America’s sweet tooth might have to be pulled out. Sure, I’d violate at least six of the Ten Commandments for a Klondike Bar, but wear a mask in public to protect my fellow man? Please.
The thought of an autumn devoid of gridiron clashes has been slow churning my stomach for weeks. Contrary to the coronavirus tests of over 20 players at Clemson University, I am not exactly positive about whether we’ll have a season. Each ominous report I read spits out a stem and a pit, a sorry imitation of the cherry on top of our sadness sundae.
If you’re anticipating college football this year, don’t hold your breath. Actually, do hold your breath, because there are countless uncovered mouths and noses out there spewing droplets like infectious sprinkles.
Since reopening, society has careened along a rocky road toward greater misery, piling scoop upon scoop of carelessness into a measly cake cone destined to get soggy. We indulged too quickly, and suddenly the world’s worst brain freeze is preventing us from savoring any further.
Now, all we can do is watch our dreams rapidly melt before our eyes. Grab your ladles, because this fall we’ll all be slurping down ice cream soup.
