Imagine this: It’s May 1, and I’ve just finished my last exam of the semester. I’ve checked it over and, confident that I’ve done well, I hand it in to the professor. Without pausing, I leave the classroom behind and eagerly set my sights upon the next three and a half months.
As recently as a month ago, there was only one major presidential candidate who truly scared me: Mike Huckabee. Fortunately, at this point in time the only thing that can save him is a true act of God. While Huckabee might actually believe this to be plausible, I’m pretty comfortable with saying that he won’t win the Republican Party nomination.
Although neither of my parents are senators, and I can’t say that I was literally born holding a silver spoon in my hand, Creedence Clearwater Revival could accurately characterize me as a “Fortunate Son.” I grew up in suburbia, in a milieu of such comfort and amiability that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think your television had sucked you right up into Pleasantville.
How would you like it if a computer told you that you were just plain better than someone else? Better yet, how about if this same computer could also tell you just how much better you were than that other person?
Well, you just might be in luck, because for going on nine years now college football has been governed by such a machine.
My apologies to the members of the Cult of Fall Breakianism, but the year’s first real holiday is almost at hand. Of course I’m talking about Thanksgiving vacation, when this campus will (or so I’ve heard) become a ghost town. It won’t be completely deserted, but there will certainly be more than a few students heading home.
On July 20, 1969, man first landed on the moon. There he uncovered a vast array of mysterious objects, physical and theoretical enigmas which inspired awe and terror in those who but gazed upon them. It was thought at the time to be one of the defining moments in human history, one that would likely never be bested.
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