1. I do not know about the modern era but in the old days next week on the practice field at IU would be called hell week.

  2. The same old fickle wind out of coach’s sails in postgame press conferences…the struggles for answers where truth wishes closets to hide…the tiring battles to break free of repeated patterns…the fans that come with the summer infused into hearts pumping crimson hope…the empty 3rd quarter seats in week four already calling to the cold winters chill of the inevitable night pulling in the weight of heartache soon to return. The chrome helmets and Wilson’s mirrored sunglasses fooling me like the child I once was as I danced to the laughter of innocence at the county fair fun house. And then the Tsao posts….The tearing of his insides and the contorting of his dreams as the flesh abandons the soul and feeds it back on an angry plate of hostility lost from any redeeming purpose found in a kind and grounded taste of cultured perspective. Vast a life trapped. Forever trapped in the cycle of hope and despair. The walls are closing in again. The shadows are amassing and circling the bed. They call to remind me. All I built and all I came to tell was only the fear of the coming truth in a light where in the darkness I always shall wed. Same old war. Same old winners and losers. Another episode. Another shock treatment. Forget what you saw of me. Forget what I see of myself. I am Hoosier Football.
    Cue the Hasselhoff.

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