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With Orson out running moonshine through the hills of North Carolina, the guest columnist of the day is The Kid from Fire Mark May. He's here to talk about Notre Dame 2007. It should be fun.

Hey, remember: Van Damme kicks himself off the cross in this scene. There's always hope.

There's no reason to spread the scourge of the Trev to Orson's corner of the interwebs, despite his benevolent Trevness. This is between me and you, Notre Dame, and this season that has stabbed my heart with a flaming chainsaw. I hereby declare it basketball season. Forever. These are the lengths I go to in this the winter of my discontent. Sure, I have thought that Michigan losing to Appalachian State would sustain me through this down season, but that wonderful dose of schaudenfreude can't get me out of this crippling withdrawal from Notre Dame glory. I need my fix, man, and I don't see any way to get it anytime soon. Its not the money, I'll break into your freaking houses to get me some glory, but its just...well....I don't freaking know!

What is it? How did all of these players forget how to play effing football?

Seriously?!? I can't even look at this rationally any more! A fifth year center turns can't make a shotgun snap to save his life. We've got QB after QB after QB, I don't care which one, looking like a deer in the freaking headlights. But, it doesn't even matter, because they have about a second an a half to check down after the revolutionary new "turnstyle, look the fuck out" offensive line scheme thats been installed. Not to mention receivers that are maybe....what feels like 5 foot 6? And hes in the slot? It's not a big deal though, because that All American Tight End John Carlson is....staying home to miss his blocks. Hooray for fucking everything. Enough ragging on the players, though. In the end, they are Notre Dame students just like the rest of collegiate America, and let me tell you, the professors don't pull any freaking punches on the football team, especially when they are sucking to these levels of sucktitude. "Oh, you need an extension on your paper? Well, it's not like it'd be ruining an already fucked up"

The professors have this year's offensive line for the rest of their natural lives.

So that's basically how I feel about this year's team, this year's season, I feel nothing now. It's a grand void of nothing that makes me wish to care. It's like one long unending season under Ty, basically everything after that Florida State game his first year, except this time around, there's no escape between games, and I was a student back then. Back then, it was easy to just write off the team midweek, there were tests and papers and BeerKart, and when it was all said and done, you lined up every Saturday, half in the bag, stood on your six inches of bleacher, did your dance, sang your song, and at the end of it, swayed back and forth to the alma mater. Of course, after losses then, it felt like the band played it in a minor key, and every Notre Dame fan suddenly turned into a citizen of Hooville, trying to show the Grinch that they didn't need presents after all. The unending tune of the moral victory. Now, I get to be bombarded in the real world by friends, coworkers, and every damn form of mass media constantly reminding me that this team is the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked. I feel like I'm building a shit ton of character here, but it's still enough to make most any man ask for the sweet surrender of Stanford. Jim Harbaugh bows to no man, and I need him to end this season today. Well, that certainly was a lovely defeat. Everyone join hands for our closing hymn. Reminder, mass begins in 30 minutes. Drive home safely.

This year, that tune of the moral victory becomes its most smarmy. The arrogant pap of mealy mouthed lace curtain types reminding us all that "Notre Dame plays the right way. Notre Dame's players aren't thugs. Notre Dame wins overall. We're Notre Dame, and you're not." FUCK. THAT. SHIT. I'm not saying its wrong to think these things, well except maybe the self-righteous bullshit at the end, but I draw the line at hiding inside it like some ivory fucking tower, thumbing your noses at the savages and their football factories. Its a convenient excuse to hide behind for the wrong reasons, and when you do it for 10 years or so, you start to believe in it for the wrong reasons. You start to believe that people will follow you no matter what, because "You're Notre Dame" (tm). People who will buy anything with a monogram on it, pay their $65 to sit on a plank for 4 plus hours (thanks NBC), stand for The Song, clap to the beat, sit down, and otherwise sit on said hands for the remainder of said 4 plus hours. The game has become church, the school its Catholic Disneyland sponsored by Adidas (tm), and all of that which is connected with it too sacred to be disturbed. To these types who see nothing wrong with this glorious tradition, I remind them that sooner or later people won't put up with that kind of bullshit when the team consistently sucks.

That fear, the fear that it will all go away is what keeps me up at night this season. I'm tired of running after the light at the end of the tunnel. I've lost faith in my Robot Genius, and even if he has his #1 class of shiny new toys, how do I know they'll remember how to freaking block? The bottom has moved so many times for me, I'm tired of chasing it. That is what this season has become of me. It has stolen all of the joy of this beautiful game from me, smashed it into frozen grief bits with the most brutal of sledgehammers, and asked me to put together the pieces game after game after game. Put in another way, this season is like that time Homer Simpson's roast pig rolled away. It's a little dirty....its still good....its still's a little slimy....its still good....its still good....ITS A LITTLE AIRBORNE!.....It's gone Homer......I know.......

Keep chasing the pig, Notre Dame.

I used to love this school unconditionally....and then they decided to fake the fucking field goal because "They're Notre Dame." I'll be back, but I'm going to need it to be basketball season for a while.