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THE 24 HOUR RULE: The Great Norman Road Trip of 1985

We take a moment away from our record-breaking 0-6 start to remember what heartbreak used to mean…and how old-fashioned determination to have a good time (with the help of our good friend alcohol) can win out in the end.

My apologies for a short hiatus from this column. It had nothing to do with the losses, just a busy bit of life. Shit happens, as they say, but I found the keyboard where I left the damned thing, so here we go again.

This is the part where I’ve normally been finding humorous ways (in my own mind) to deal with yet another close, soul-crushing loss and pump my fist Howard-Dean-style YEAAAAHHHGG!!! as we recognize the improvement being made and virtual slap the Riley-weenies who see each loss as some new validation of the power of sprinkles, Calibraska and the wonderful future portended by another 55-21 pimp-slapping.

Well tonight I just want to return to a simpler time when I took my first impromptu, who-gives-a-shit-let’s-do-this road trip. With the help of some notes I cobbled together years ago on the off-chance I might write about it someday and a memory somewhat muddled by time and other spirits, I’ve attempted to recreate this sojourn in diary form. It’s an extreme stretch to even call the times given here approximate but any references to morning, afternoon, night, light and dark are pretty accurate.

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