I am an optimistic, economically-advantaged person of non-color, and I feel that it is my duty to exploit my fortunate circumstances to inject joy into your pitiful lives.

With that in mind, here is a piece of optimistic thinking to reinvigorate your lives. I have titled it “Hope for the Future.”

One day, college football will vanish, and all its fans will cut to the chase and join suicide cults. Can you imagine the nation’s median IQ rising 500 points in an instant? Can’t you just picture the utopian paradise that will then ensue when that useless, brutal distraction from life is shut down and all its worshippers are forever silenced?

A shining sun. All nuclear weapons abolished. Tribal barriers will collapse, and together, we, mankind, will unite as one and enter an everlasting golden age in which wisdom and reason reign supreme.

God, it will be great.

In the meantime, let’s be content with something a little more tangible. Something resting just over the horizon. Something guaranteed to brighten everyone’s days.

The end of college football season.

Yes, it is nearly upon us. The end of college football season. The end of everything unholy and profane about the human existence for the next nine months.

The end of idiots shrieking when the team whose players cannot tell them apart from the next semester drop-outs. They lost! They got stomped by Florida! I’m going to get my crayon and scribble a letter calling for the firing of coach Fulmer … oh wait. Look.

We beat Kentucky in overtime. We are going to the SEC championship.

What if the team loses?

Then they lost to LSU.

The end. The end.

The end of drunken, genetic catastrophes meandering through the library on gameday, staring at books like they’re looking at an extraterrestrial, their mouths slack until their draft beer beams them back up and their minds are whole once more.

The end of spelling majors screaming from their seats at their team and the opposing team. You suck! Such striking criticism cuts through the bull and gets to the heart of the matter.

Too bad they can’t hear you.

Too bad they don’t give a damn what you think. Do any of you honestly think you matter to people for whom sports is their primary motivation for attending an institute of higher learning? Before you issue “12th man” rebuttals, remember how quickly “we” turns into “they.”

They lost! Those losers. Where’s my crayon?

The end of petitions and Web sites calling for the firing of Phillip Fulmer. Whenever the team’s performance fails to match the expectations held by all rabid fans who are out of touch with reality, the Fire Phil (or PHire Phil. Which looks better?) battle cry drums up. He must go! Why? What’s wrong? Well, we have the talent to win a national title. You think so?

Fans for every other team say the same thing. Who’s right?

Well, the last national title came in 1998.

OK. So what?

Only one team (occasionally two, with those foolproof polls) can win the national title. In the last nine years, that team has not been the Vols. Do you want to know something else?

In the 47 years between 1951 and 1998, that team wasn’t the Vols either. A 47-year gap. We’re in year nine.

You’d better learn some patience.

The end. The end. God, it will be glorious.

The emotional investment most people put into these contests frightens me. Games. Mere games, and after a loss, you are liable to see people crying. Crying! Over a game!

Look, there are only three instances in which you, the spectator, should ever cry following a football loss. (1) (2) (3)

Are you with me? If not, read it again. Read the list until you have it memorized.

I could continue, but I fear that if I do, I will have to find a new crayon.

As it is, mine’s already worn down to a nub.

— Travis Lee is a senior in French. He can be reached at [email protected].