Some people talk about Christmas as a time of wonder. They talk about miracles and mystery and believing and no matter what happened the year before, that it’s a time for new beginnings. For me, the Christmas season is more about pushy shoppers, bad weather, and uncomfortable meals with people you’d never talk to if you weren’t legally required to.
But there is a season of wonder in my life. It happens in August. Just before football season begins. In August, you believe. You believe that this is gonna be our year. You believe even if the coach is the idiot you suspect, the quarterback might not actually have all that talent he was hyped to, and the line might not hold or the defense won’t stop my sister from running the ball. You gotta believe that, if you had to, you could put in the cheerleaders and they could bring home a national championship, because it’s August.
In January, there’s a different kind of wonder. You sit around and wonder where it all went wrong, and think maybe you shouldn’t really be paying the coach all that much money for yet another losing season. But I checked the calendar, and it’s time for belief. Because it’s August.
So GO HOGS! I can feel it. This is gonna be our year.