"How can you come here and not drink beer?"

I am assuming this question is either theoretical or rhetorical; it certainly wasn't thrown out to seek any relevant information. But that's the kind of place this is. "This" of course could be any place in America, but in this case it is the bar in which I typically watch the national title game. A place I once saw two grown men in Red Sox jerseys escape to their car to sing "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond at concert hall volume to induce a rally for the home team. They prevailed. Two years ago, this place hosted a delirious Gator fan who went to the car and returned in an orange jumpsuit to celebrate his team's second national title. He wasn't here for the third. He was there.

We learn much from airline magazines, all in neat digestible 300-word bites. The ads interest me more than the articles, vitally informing us of America's finest steakhouses and the rolling carry-on that will, indeed, completely change the way you feel about business travel. But the vacation ads rock the hardest. Yes, I am convinced that there is much to do in Shreveport that the casual observer would miss; now what's the number for Independence Bowl tickets again? The best of the year comes from the new Hilton in Santa Fe, which boasts the "untamed energy of Las Vegas" combined with the "magic and mysticism of Native American culture." True, academics regularly cite the Anasazis' remarkably advanced architecture, the Hopi's artistic influences on modern culture and the Pueblo's invention of free drinks and removing all the clocks from the casinos.  

The bitterness fades with each bite of jambalaya. This version comes from a seventh-generation and self-described coonass from Slidell. He throws in some outrageous venison sausage-the herd's got to be thinned out right?-and I washed it down appropriately. I've already lost one bet to the Florida fan in attendance: Alabama plus ten losing by eleven equals Jones minus one fifth divided by whatever friends the winner invites over to imbibe away my largesse. Get all of that?

I'm now watching the Oklahoma Sooners slowly torture Chase Daniel and Wazzu. Check that, Mizzou, although it is hard to tell the difference. How about you Show Me something else Missouri? Defense, perhaps.

At least the BCS renewed my passion for AM radio. The Jones family took in Missouri/Kansas through the magic of the internet, with the 30-second refresh adding intensity and anticipation to a game that was exciting enough in real time for those who actually saw it. We made due with Zach's call from the back seat. The kid's got a future at ESPN. We listened to Zach's BlackBerry call of Texas Tech/Baylor for a quarter and a half before Mrs. Jones Top Ten, in a pure "eureka" moment, noted that we were only about 40 miles northeast of Waco, which meant the 13-year-old could relinquish the stage to the Baylor Bears radio network. The Bears were doing their damndest to upset Tech, a result that would give our boys a clear path to the Big 12 title game. By the time we left Hubbard, Mrs. JTT started referring to the Bears as "we." Just outside of Bellmead, she noted that, were this game in Waco and not Lubbock, we would be driving straight to Floyd Casey Stadium and watching the second-half as a family, tired three-year-old or not. No one disputed this. Ah, the euphoria of a 28-14 lead for "us." 

We improve things far beyond their utility in this country. That's my thought while I watch a vending machine slowly engage an elevator device, moving both horizontally and vertically, carefully select a 16 ounce bottle of Dasani water and gently bring it down to the vending window. Heaven forbid a bottled water drop too violently in our modern culture. Heaven forbid we drink tap water, for that matter.

My car won't allow me to reset the clock for daylight savings time. The owner's manual explains that this is unnecessary; the onboard computer does it for me. No need for me to override it (which I can't), well, until my 2002 car does not realize that the federal government moved the time change back a couple of weeks. I'll just pretend to live in Denver for a fortnight.

Miserable. My word for Sunday morning described not any result on the field-my team won easily-but rather that run-over-by-a-truck, what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this?, I'd-rather-be-strapped-to-a-chair-watching-Hee-Haw-reruns feeling. This may have happened because I missed the flu shot clinic at work a couple of weeks ago because, naturally, one of my kids was sick. Feeling a little better on a Monday morning, I look back over the results and find...nothing to write about.

The best football game of the day? Probably this one:

Oregon State 34

California 21

The Beavers stayed on course for a Rose Bowl finish in an exciting game that could have ended 27-21 if not for a bizarre ending. Cal, trying to rally, threw a pick six in their own territory, which was called off because of an illegal procedure penalty against the Bears. The very next play, Cal quarterback Kevin Riley did it again, leading to the final margin. I've never seen anything like it.

"The new president wants to end the BCS."

This from the backseat, offered up by the thirteen-year-old future constitutional law scholar.

"Yeah, well that is what he said." No denying this, at half-time of Monday Night Football, for the love of Pete, the junior Senator from Illinois was asked the most pressing problem in sports. His opponent prattled on about steroids or something. The younger man got straight to the point. I am convinced it sealed the election the next night. At the very least it might even lead me to forgive him for his stance on NAFTA. Settling matters on the field shows a competitive American spirit.