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High off Ohio State reviving the conference singlehandedly with the first College Football Playoff Title, Jim Delany is seizing the moment, taking his new pocket full of chips, and letting it ride on the tables Probably while sweating into his watery Jack and Coke. Okay, Jack and Diet Coke. This is Jim Delany, and there's no way he doesn't prefer a diet option as a mixer.

Anyway, the YEAR OF READINESS is a great concept, and not just for football. Who, at one point in life, hasn't pulled back and said "this is all coming too fast, and I need a year to just chill and prepare." The YEAR OF READINESS shouldn't just be a college concept. No, it should be something you can take at any age, and take immediately and on the payroll. If Jim Delany's serious about this, then you have to admit the validity of the premise not just in college, but well beyond the fair ivied gates of the Big Ten's universities.*

*Did you know that only 84% of the University of Iowa's applicants get in? Is higher better? This is something we'll investigate in our YEAR OF READINESS.

Our year of readiness, for instance, would include:

  1. An hour of video games a day for a year. The bare minimum to continue identifying with our children, and their passion for educational games like Dragon Age: Inquisition and Far Cry 4
  2. Sleep? 11 hours a day at least to prepare ourselves for the inevitable, sleepless grind towards death or Florida retirement, whichever one happens first. It's what athletes require, so just imagine the wonders it could do for a person who barely moves at all.
  3. Krav Maga classes. We'll just sign up for them and pay and never attend and probably enable an autodraft on our bank account we won't notice for several years of steady robotic payment. In light of this, we may propose a second YEAR OF READINESS just to figure out this and how we're still being billed for subscriptions to George, Cargo and Official Dreamcast Magazine.
  4. A pointless art project. Something we've been meaning to reconnect with that we were never good at. Yes, that's our pottery wheel. It cost nine hundred dollars, and we use it to launch toy cars across the room. But we got this for you for Christmas. It's an egg molester. No, we don't know what that is, but that's exactly what we decided it is. Never art.
  5. Working for next to nothing just to improve the depth chart of our semi-employer who doesn't want to pay real wages or provide real benefits for the millions of dollars our athletic talent helps bring in the door and put on the conference's custom television network.

Man, we're gonna be so ready after all this. TO THE POTTERY WHEEL.