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Once there were brook trout in the streams, and they needed football. You could see them standing in the amber current of May and June, desperately combing basic cable for reruns of old SEC games, and considering the dire measure of actually subscribing to the Big Ten Network just so they can watch the "classic" "Iowa vs. Minnesota 2002." On their backs were maps and mazes of a world that could not be put back, or at least a world that wouldn't even have media day for like two miserable months. Those things on their backs might also be ill-advised college tattoos, or perhaps just some randomly arrayed back hair.

Come hear the siren song of cannibal overloard Lane Kiffin sweetly demanding your flesh with us.