Late July, 1983. I was camped out on the bed in my mom and dad’s room, my leg sporting a cast from the foot to the knee and propped up on some pillows, and sweat dripping from every pore in my body in the sweltering heat of the little bedroom, which, thanks to the fact our house didn’t have air conditioning, was like sitting in a blast furnace.

Buckeye Nation has been basking for a month now, Ryan Day has made the rounds on the talk show circuit, and the national championship trophy sits in Columbus, Ohio.

A lot of you probably spent the afternoon of Saturday, Nov. 30 like I did: watching the Ohio State-Michigan game.