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Well, well, well. It seems that we may be happening on what is affectionately known as football season. Not to get too hyped up for the upcoming mother fu…football season, but well, it’s time to be happy about it. I’d like to send out a big time thanks to the irreplaceable Max Colossus for making this place neat and tidy in my absence, and for bashing Tim Sullivan so the rest of us can focus our attention on Nick Canepa. Don’t worry Nick, I don’t have any complaints tonight, you’re safe for another week.

Friday night, begot football. My first fix of the upcoming year, as my offseason has been obscenely marred by wedding festivities in the USC area with alumni galore, complete with marching band. Tommy Trojan and that freakin’ horse were last seen vomiting in the corner of the west wing of the estate after I slipped mickeys into their tequila. I managed to suppress my inevitable disdain, and even restrain myself from making any unnecessary jabs at the cultural abnormality that is USC.

I opted to skip the Green Bay shenanigans for local music night for a couple of reasons. First and foremost the previously mentioned ownership debacle of blacking out preseason games, and second, the outrageousness of a full priced ticket for half price entertainment, but with the boys out in Chicago to battle the newest version of the Monsters of the Midway, the televisions were dialed in, and I wanted to get my first look at #17.

Comfortably settled into a familiar chair, I was able to witness in full high def detail my first view of #17 completing a pass. It was well thrown, right on the money, problem was he hit one Paris Urlacher in the numbers and the score was quickly not in our favor. My first view of 17 did not start out as initially planned. After jamming a fork into the neck of the first person that felt obligated to make a Mr. Brees reference as Paris skipped into the end zone, I relaxed and settled in for Bolts light. It was football, but it was restrained football as Martyball was in full effect, with the offense being LTD free and very luke warm. No doubt that things will be different with the touchdown maker in uniform. Worries be gone…

Monday brought my first experience with the Reggie Bush experiment that is New Orleans. The One Armed Bandit, handed the ball off well in his first series hushing all naysayers that his surgically repaired limb is fine and dandy. His second series brought a couple of passes, one of which was intended for a Cowgirl defender and if it weren’t for a case of masonry fingers, he would have been doing his Urlacher impression all the way to the locker room. Drew did complete some passes, short, careful routes and didn’t show anyone whether or not he can throw it down the field, but hey, it’s preseason and who knows what will happen from here on out. Perhaps he’s fine and we made a tremendous mistake by releasing our rights to him as our squadleader, or perhaps not. We won’t know for some time, and I for one will not be hitting the panic button during the preseason. Who knows how he will survive against the likes of Atlanta, Tampa and Carolina’s defenses twice this year. I hope New Orleans took some lessons from the events of 2005 and got themselves some insurance…

So we swing into Week three of cocktease football, and we’re back online over here. Max Colossus has done a remarkable job of entertaining us in the interim and we’ve added a couple of new elements over here. New voices are in the mix and we’re set for Football 2006. It makes me think of that God awful Hank Williams song that plays relentlessly on Monday nights, and it brings a little emotion along with it. It’s football time. It’s really almost here and damned skippy I’m ready for some…