Herkie is getting warmed up in the shadows of Iowa City.  The Hurricane winds are starting to blow in South Florida.  The mighty soldiers from Troy are preparing their steeds.  The students in Ann Arbor have put their clothes back on.  The Warriors in Hawaii are planning their air-assault on the rest of the nation.  Harvest is over in Nebraska.  So put down that corn and grab a helmet.  Beevo is just happy he is not on someone's plate. 

Life will begin anew.  So sayeth the great and almighty football Gods.  I can hear the chomping on the bits.  I can sense the electricity in the air.  I can see all the fans getting ready for the big day when all of the speculation and prognostications will be put to the test.  I can smell the burnt brauts and bad beer for breakfast.  

What gets into us this time of year?  My wife is already bracing herself for the manic-depressive football season she will have to endure because she was unlucky enough to marry a freekin' nut-bar.  She is already trying to come up with new ways to tell the kids that their father is not really mad or crazy.  He is just watching football. 

 "Why does he watch if it makes him yell?" my little one says.

"He likes it," she retorts without missing a beat.

We get emotional over the things that are important to us.  Isn't that the way it works?  

What makes this time of year so special is that everyone is undefeated.  Everyone has a chance in running the table and getting noticed.  The realism of the season has not set in.  The memories of past triumphs are burning bright in the eyes of the rabid fan.