Normally I know who's making the hit, and I have a good idea of the context of the play. This guy, I don't know who this guy is. I don't know who I am. It's appropriate.
I love Virginia Tech football. I hate that I try to say the right things about Virginia Tech football. But this guy, 44, this guy is what I want us to be. Look at this guy. He's evil. He's gigantic. He doesn't give a fuck. The no-name motherfucker comes into your house and just takes what he wants. Look at him. This guy has a smile that should do twenty to life. He's laughing at everyone. He presides over bodies to the ground. Cleats up.
There's a long ass two-hundred plus days until football.
I don't know how we're going to get by. I don't know how I'm getting by. Then I look at this picture. I just smell football. I smell that monochrome grass there. It's sharp, fresh cut and stings my nose. The fans are anonymously important. That's football.
I see everything I love and hate about football right here. Beating Cincinnati, losing to Michigan. Beating the Noles, losing to the Noles, Tyrod Taylor prancing into the end zone like he's a one man ballet on an open stage, David Wilson losing twenty yards on a carry and eating Chick-fil-A on Sunday. Frank Beamer getting his.