I found myself in a real quandary on Saturday afternoon. Since it had been a holiday, I decided to stay in Athens, Ga., with my girlfriend for an extra day.

So, I drove back early Tuesday morning and unfortunately did not make it back for my accounting class.

I met up with some other students from the class to talk about what I had missed. As they spoke, I nodded my head in a way that really seemed to them that I completely understood.

I even had myself fooled until I sat in class the next day and we started going over the homework problems. I attempted to hold onto the teacher’s ideas about retained earnings, shares of stock and all of the numbers that came up along the way.

I soon realized something as I continued to get more and more lost in his pursuit of the right answer. I was going to have to spend time outside of class to work on catching up.

I had no classes on Friday, and so it seemed like the obvious time to get back on track, but it was not to be.

Sleep and procrastination consumed my Friday morning and afternoon. That night was dominated by some leftover Japanese food and passing out while watching a football game at a friend’s house.

I am the modern day Frank Sinatra.

As I sat on the couch late Friday night, the thought occurred to me that I could get caught up on Saturday. The idea was a comedic one, and I even put on a grin for it.

The thought of neglecting a television set at any time on a Saturday for the next three months was an uncomfortable one.

My mind set on football game days is as predictable as an MTV reality show. Somewhere in the deep or possibly shallow part of my making is a love for watching the game of college football.

There are those that love playing the game and then, there are those that appreciate the history and how the game has been molded into what it is today.

However, these people would not be as appreciated if it were not for the majority which I fall into, the watchers of the game.

We are the ones who so proudly sit on our gluteus maximus’s with a family-sized bag of chips, a popcorn bowl filled with French onion dip and a 47-ounce cola.

I share this experience with a group of like-minded gentlemen who have the same feelings on deep subjects as myself. Subjects such as A.J. Green is a boss, Bryce Brown will one day be a boss and the Big 10 is hard to watch.

I’m so intrigued by the intricacies of a punt returner finding his way back to the end zone.

As observers, we feel connected. We wipe the chip crumbs off our sweatpants and fist pump the air like it was us who scored. We yell, “Not so fast!” at every announcer who says something with which we disagree.

We don’t think a coach should fake punt. We know if he does that it would lead to a series of events that would ultimately take their program to college football immortality.

We forget the fact that we did not put in the hours of practice, and disregard the fact that we are not on scholarship to catch touchdowns.

We put aside the thought that they deserve to be on that field. On Saturday, we all score when one man scores.

We observers yell at the referees, the coaches, the quarterbacks, the ball boys and the camera operators if we feel like they have made a mistake.

When it comes right down to it, we run the show on Saturday.

This is not seen as an option anymore, but an obligation to be in front of that 100-inch flat-screen television.

So, now it is understood that my hours of accounting can wait until Sunday. Is there a sin in that somewhere?

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