In my opinion, the only way to really gauge how much a moment means to you is to accurately define the moment, assess your feelings regarding said moment and then consider what, if anything, you would trade that moment for. In case you missed it, South Florida beat Louisville. No, that’s not right. Let me try again. South Florida pounded the ever loving shit out of Louisville and made them look like a crap ass junior varsity football team. Louisville was favored by 20.5 points. We beat them by 31 points. Louisville was ranked ninth. They are soon to be an afterthought in the college football rankings, and they owe it all to USF. Damn, that felt good to type.
In my opinion, the only way to really gauge how much a moment means to you is to accurately define the moment, assess your feelings regarding said moment and then consider what, if anything, you would trade that moment for. In case you missed it, South Florida beat Louisville. No, that’s not right. Let me try again. South Florida pounded the ever loving shit out of Louisville and made them look like a crap ass junior varsity football team. Louisville was favored by 20.5 points. We beat them by 31 points. Louisville was ranked ninth. They are soon to be an afterthought in the college football rankings, and they owe it all to USF. Damn, that felt good to type.
Anyway, that moment meant a lot to me. Now let’s figure out how much.
Defining the Moment
The exact second when my brain jumped out of my head and splattered in the USF end zone occurred when Chad Simpson ran a kickoff return 94 yards for a touch down.
The exact second when my face turned into a permanent smile occurred when Amarri Jackson (a wide receiver) threw a touchdown pass.
I high fived Ian, Clay, Chess Piece (this is UCF hater Mike’s new nickname for reasons I don’t want to get into now) and total random strangers roughly two thousand times. I mean, as I’m typing this now, the day after the game, my hands hurt like hell.
Chess Piece, Clay, Ian and I all rushed the field. None of us were cuffed and stuffed (unlike some unlucky idiots who tried to rush the field near the goal posts, which were being protected by roughly twenty cops as if it were a drunken George W. Bush on holiday in Iran). We shook hands with players and ran around like idiots.
In other words, we were in college football heaven.
My Feelings Regarding this Moment
That was the best USF game I’ve ever been to (and I’ve been to an easy thirty games in my lifetime). I woke up the following day with no voice, grass stains on my feet, mustard and beer stains on my University of Arizona shirt my brother gave me (by the way, since he doesn’t read this at all on the grounds that he could care less, I am using this space to call him a bitter prick. So there you go, tanning salon boy) and the aforementioned busted fingers. So yeah, I feel really damn good.
What Would I Trade that Moment For?
No less than $3.5 million dollars, my own harem of upper class strippers and a marriage proposal from Jessica Alba.
In other words, not a damn thing.
And yes, I know I promised not to post on weekends anymore, but this was just too damn good.