Don't know why I get excited about it every year, the disappointment is nearly always an annual occurence.
Forty days from now, the college football season opens for my Rebels. They'll make a short trip up to Memphis to take on the Memphis State (Yes, I know, they are the University of Memphis, now--but there's only room for one U of M in the south.) Tigers. Between Missouri, Memphis, LSU, and Auburn, we play four tigers this year. Obviously there is a shortage of mascots, if so many teams have to share the same one. Which makes me wonder why in the Sam Hill, Ole Miss' AD and Chancellor want to get rid of ours. Just gonna have to share somebody else's. But, I digress.
Since I started seriously following Ole Miss football in the early seventies (coincident with my matriculation), the seasons worth bragging about have been recorded on the fingers of one hand. I'm not even sure, and I don't want to waste the time and precious brain cells to confirm, that we are over .500 for the 35 year, post-Archie Manning period.
This year, with my CP secreted in the hills above Oxford, and with season tickets for the first time, I will be able to experience the pain (and pleasure, but mostly pain) of Ole Miss football up close and personal for the first time since I left the kudzu-clad Jewel of Mississippi (no kidding, that's what Oxford calls itself) nearly 30 years ago.
And, because misery loves company, the handful of you who punish yourself regularly by reading this blog will get a Sunday morning Rebel Rehash, complete with insights on the latest in Frat Rat fashion... Okay, maybe I won't comment on fashion. But, I will report, with a perspective not found on any Sports Page, on the scene from the stands.
Now, if that won't reduce readership, nothing will.