But it's football . . . It's college football . . .

That's what I said in September, 1991, just a couple of weeks into my sophomore year at Wake Forest. I was standing in the middle of my suite, about to go tailgate before the Deacons' home opener, and I was gobsmacked. None - not one - of the 5 other guys in my suite were going to the game. They were going to spend a fall Saturday doing something other than watching college football, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around it.

What do you mean you're not going to the game? What possibly could be a better way to spend a fall Saturday? Hanging out with your girlfriend? Well, why isn't she going to the game? Studying? Come on.

This is sad to admit, but I almost couldn't see the point of going to college if you weren't going to go to college football games.

That moment produced my first beginnings of an inkling of a thought that college football, for me and many others, had become a phenomenon whose dimensions made absolutely no sense. By confronting people - buddies, even - who did not and did not want to take part, who had chosen this rejection casually and without a second thought, I had to take a step outside my love for football and take a look at it, especially all of its ridiculous contradictions:

I'm a lifelong fan of Wake Forest. They're not exactly a football powerhouse; in fact, for a while they held the title for fewest wins in the history of NCAA Division I. I'm a native of North Carolina, a state that's hard to top for college basketball, but hardly the first place you think of when someone brings up big-time college football.

I never played high school, much less college, football - too slow for the skill positions, too skinny for the line.

In the abstract, I hate what TV and booster money have done to big-time college sports, the way they've professionalized what started as an extracurricular diversion for student. On the other hand, I sure do love being able to watch SEC games, games from the West Coast, more bowl games than anyone could possibly need, and of course, Demon Deacon road games.

I know I'm supposed to hate the hypocrisy that's so often produced by big-time athletics at academic institutions, but like the late, great Bear Bryant said, "It's kind of hard to rally 'round a math class." And who am I to argue with the Bear?

I recognize that football, of all the major sports, applies the most pressure to conform, to submit yourself to the organization, and to let the game consume your life. I listen to the Clash; I'm not supposed to love a sport that does all that.

But I buy the preseason magazines at the end of every spring, even though injuries and suspensions have already made half their predictions obsolete. I check www.wakeforestsports.com almost every day. I listen to sports talk radio, lurk on the message boards and know that I'm not the only one. I plan the tailgate. I count down the days:

3 days, 57 minutes to kickoff.