Let's talk about some football. Doesn’t that beat the alternative?

I know it does for me.

In all my 55 years of life on this planet, nothing compares to the stinker that 2020 has become. If 2020 were a vegetable, it would be a Brussels sprout—you know, those green pods of nastiness we (well, I) used to sit on the end of a fork and flip up at the ceiling back in the elementary school lunchroom.

These months have been a mental drain on us all.

That is why I just CANNOT WAIT until football kicks off Sept. 26 in Fayetteville. We all need a sense of normalcy. We need our outlet. We need to be able to get on with our lives.

As y’all probably have guessed by now—particularly our long-time subscribers—speaking my mind has never been a problem for me. Some people like it, some do not. My take, I would be disingenuous if I were not completely honest with you guys all the time.

So, when I say I'm so tired of the doomsday prognosis by some of my learned colleagues in the sports media, the words are coming from the heart.

There's going to be football in some form. There already has been.