It's called Impulse Control. Very few black people have it. You might sack the quarterback and pretend you're urinating on him but a more mentally mature player (read: White player) might think "If I do that, I'm going to get a 15 yard penalty on my team and Coach won't be happy." It's the same pattern of thinking that tells young ghetto black people "OK, I'm getting pulled over because I was speeding or stole this car....I think I'm going to jump out of the car and start shooting at those 4 police officers! I'll get away with it for sure." This thinking permeates the ghetto black culture of America. If I was the coach of Univ of Texas, #1 here would run stadium stairs until the concrete wore off. During the game!
@toad_numb Thank you. I found it best to be my true self and be who I was born to be. After deep reflection with my ex, Dylan Raiola, he encouraged me to follow my dreams. So excited for this next chapter. GBR
@toad_numb As always we get a solid analysis. It sure is nice to have a white man under center again. How long has it been since Nebraskas QB1 was not black or khaki? RB room is as good as it gets, no complaints. Does this game change your predictions for the season as a whole?
I nearly disowned my children over College GameDay this morning.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Alabama. The kind of morning that reminds you why God created the Southeastern Conference.
I woke up early, made myself a strong cup of Jack Daniel’s, and turned on College GameDay. The sound of marching bands and irrationally confident predictions filled my living room.
Perfect.
My wife joined me on the couch while the kids played nearby. I looked around the room and smiled.
This was what it was all about.
Family. Tradition. College football.
“Alright, kids,” I said, leaning forward as Alabama highlights flashed across the screen. “Come sit down. GameDay is on.”
My son looked up at me.
“I don’t want to watch football.”
I froze.
For a moment, I genuinely thought I had misheard him.
I slowly lowered my drink.
“What did you say?”
“I want to watch Paw Patrol.”
My left eye began to twitch.
I looked over at my wife, expecting her to immediately intervene and correct this obvious act of insubordination.
Instead, she shrugged.
“They’re little. They don’t want to sit here and watch football all morning.”
I held up my hand.
“Robin.”
She stopped.
“I love you. But I need you to think very carefully about what you’re saying right now.”
The room went silent.
Pat McAfee continued talking in the background.
I stood up and walked toward the television.
“You see those people?” I said, pointing at the thousands of fans standing behind the GameDay desk. “Some of those people woke up at four o’clock this morning to stand behind Pat McAfee holding a sign for six hours.”
The kids stared at me.
“They didn’t complain.”
My son tried to interrupt.
“Dada, can we—”
“No.”
I pointed toward the television again.
“This is College GameDay.”
I began pacing.
“This is not Paw Patrol. This is not Bluey. This is not some YouTube video of a grown man opening toys.”
My voice grew louder.
“This is Herbstreit.”
I pointed again.
“That is Saban.”
Another point.
“And somewhere out there, gentlemen, the Alabama Crimson Tide are preparing for battle.”
My daughter appeared completely uninterested. She’s only a year old so I cut her some slack.
She started walking toward a pile of toys.
“Where are you going?”
She kept walking.
Unbelievable.
I turned toward my wife.
“Do you see what’s happening to this family?”
She started laughing.
I wasn’t laughing.
I walked into the kitchen and returned with another cup of Jack.
When I came back, my son was holding the remote.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting Paw Patrol on.”
I set my drink down.
“Son.”
I knelt beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“One day, everything I have will belong to you.”
He stared at me.
“My house. My truck. My tools.”
I glanced at the remote in his hand.
“But if you change College GameDay to Paw Patrol on an Alabama football Saturday, it all goes to your sister.”
My wife was now laughing uncontrollably.
I gently removed the remote from his hand and returned to my chair.
“Now sit down.”
He reluctantly climbed onto the couch.
A few minutes later, the Alabama fight song played.
I stood.
My wife remained seated.
The kids remained seated.
I stared at them.
Slowly, my wife stood up.
The kids followed.
“Much better.”
I placed my hand over my heart.
“Roll Tide.”
My son sighed.
“Roll Tide.”
My daughter said something completely unintelligible and wandered away.
Good enough.
You don’t build traditions in a day.
You build them one Saturday at a time.
Ive been waiting all week to see @toad_numb Big 10 predictions and haven’t heard a peep. I think the people deserve to know if we can expect these predictions on a weekly basis.