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End of the world: we have no one to blame but ourselves

The world is ending and it's all Ohio State fans' faults. Sorry about that.

Warner Bros.

How many times did you think about what you'd do if it was your last night on earth?

When I was younger, I thought like most young men do – seek out random women and go full blown hedonist until the last possible minute, drunk off my ass and cigarette dangling from my mouth. After I got married, sometimes I wished for the end of the world RIGHTNOWPLEASEJUSTENDITALL, but my wife and I made it through those early years and when the polar shift/asteroid hits/alien invasion/zombie apocalypse begins later on, we'll be reminiscing on a pretty solid 23 year marriage.

And as I submit this from my undisclosed doomsday bunker deep in the heart of the Midwest, or what's left of the Midwest, I'd like to think that this 12-0 season by the OSU football team was a last gift to us fans, and at least I'll have something fun to watch on my DVR as long as the backup generator holds up and the Zombies don't find me.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that most people reading this are a) predominantly football fans, and b) in your mid-twenties. Normally, I'd tell little bastards like you to get off my lawn, but my yard will be engulfed in flames in just a matter of hours, so dance away, jackasses, dance away. That kind of pisses me off, because I was a goddamn miracle worker in keeping weed growth to a minimum during the Great Heat Wave of 2012, and the winterizer mix I put down in November was going to propel my yard in to some lush, green awesomeness come March.

Damn Mayans.

Anyway, if you fit this profile, you probably started getting interested in college football and Ohio State at about the same time the Jim Tressel era began, and I'm sure a few of you jumped on the bandwagon after 2002. For that, I hate you and feel sorry for you, but mostly, I'm happy for you. Happy for you because you missed the Jon Cooper years, or at least the most painful ones. You also missed what was generally an underperforming decade under Earle '9-3' Bruce.

You also missed Woody Hayes. For that, I do feel sorry for you.

For you, the worst of times was the 6-7 shitfest of 2011 that brought us Urban Meyer, what we thought was a gift of Divine Intervention, and the only catastrophe you've seen against Michigan was the 2011 game, unless you're some kind of masochist and voluntarily watches Shawn Springs slip, or Tim BiaksafkjdsfbihzDjdglksadlkdfnerkj;lsdfbatuka run wild again on BTN or ESPN Classic.

So I feel because of you, the Mayans are punishing us now. We were supposed to suffer through five or six years of mediocrity after Tressel's decade of excellence. That's just how it's supposed to be. Every program goes through it, and no one is supposed to anger the football gods by going off script.

But Urban Meyer was our big 'Kiss My Ass' to the football gods. We all know one doesn't piss off the football gods, but we had no idea the ripple effect, because we all just assumed the wrath of the football gods were confined to the football field.

We didn't know the Mayan gods and the football gods were winter neighbors in Boca Raton. And neighbors talk. And the football gods were angry over what we did to them, so they decided to hatch their plot:

1) End of the World

2) Notre Dame-Alabama National Championship in case number one doesn't finish us all off.

But you know what? I'm okay with it. Because we got to see one year of Urban Meyer running the show in Columbus, and it was an imperfect 12-0 masterpiece of perfection. Since we're all going to die, it'll be nice to go out knowing that OSU would've been the prohibitive favorite to win the Big Ten next year, Braxton Miller would've been on everyone's pre-season short list for the Heisman, and the Buckeyes would be one of the pre-season favorites to play for the national title.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to break open my reserve of Pendleton 1910, light up a Romeo Y Julieta Churchill cigar, and roll the 2012 Michigan game again.

Also, get off my bunker.