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Last year, we won one game out of 12. We lost to Minnesota by 42 points. Most schools could start the faculty against Minnesota and not lose by 42 points.
But now? Now? It’s a miracle, a dream, Eddie the Eagle winning the gold.
We went from the nuclear winter of college football to the epicenter of it, all thanks to an irresistible football god named Deion “Coach Prime” Sanders, the Hall of Famer who dumped almost our entire sad 2022 roster, lured dozens of vastly better players, and told the world how amazing the Buffs were going to be.
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“We comin’,” he kept saying.
I nearly sprained my eyes, rolling them.
Look, I was born in Boulder, been a fan since I was 5, graduated from Colorado University (’81). I’ve seen coaches “comin’” and then “goin’” for nearly seven decades. We’ve had 11 coaches in just the past 18 years. The problem is we are a beautiful town, but we’re sooooo White — 89.5 percent White and 1.3 percent Black, in fact. We are whiter than Tucker Carlson eating a Wonder Bread mayonnaise sandwich at Cracker Barrel. Black players come here with Rocky Mountain high hopes, look around, see nobody that looks like them, and get out.
So here came Neon Deion, spouting promises, telling us he was going to bring players from HBCUs to Boulder, of all places. Here came a son of the South, born in Florida, coached in Mississippi and played in Atlanta, telling us he was going to make hippie-happy Boulder his new home. He even talked the local breakfast joint into adding grits to the menu. They call it PRIME Grits.
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This was all going to work … how?
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So, when it came to facing No. 17 TCU on the road in the first game of the season last Saturday, I gave the Buffs the chances of a skydiving blowfish. And it wasn’t just me. Before the game, analyst Tom Luginbill said Colorado might have “the worst roster in college football.” Oddsmakers made CU 21-point dogs.
Well … Prime shut our mouths and opened our eyes. In one of the most astonishing coaching debuts in college football history, his Buffs — with 510 passing yards from his own son, QB Shedeur Sanders — stunned TCU 45-42. Not only did Young Prime vault himself into the Heisman Trophy race, but so did human Swiss Army Knife Travis Hunter, a two-way player who played 151 snaps — wide receiver (100+ yards) and shutdown corner (a crucial interception) — in 120-degree Texas heat.
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I’ve been covering football for 44 years. This just doesn’t happen. No one over-promises and then over-delivers. It was like hearing your crazy uncle claim he can lift a Toyota over his head and then watching him out in the driveway doing 20 reps with a RAV4.
Pity the poor reporters sitting in that Fort Worth media room afterward, when Sanders roasted any media member who didn’t “believe” going in. “No, no, no, I got receipts!” he yelled. Why objective reporters need to “believe” in the team they’re covering doesn’t matter in Prime Time.
Me? I’m not within a par-5 of being objective. I’m literally wearing Buffs underwear as I type this. I love everything about Coach Prime. I love the cowboy hat. I love the speeches he gives that make me, at 65, want to jump out of my lounger and flatten my living-room rubber tree. I love how different he is, like …
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- Naming no team captains; it’s just “leaders and dawgs.”
- Posting signs copping to the reality of name-image-likeness college football: “You Play Good, They Pay Good.”
- Screaming at his charges for not jumping into an on-field shoving match: “If one fight, we all fight!” And this was in practice.
I especially love when he reaches the crescendo of a barnburner locker-room sermon, then hollers, “Gimme my theme music!” And an actual DJ in the locker room hits a button and the whole room starts shaking like loose farm equipment.
All of which brings us to this weekend, when the Believe It or Not Buffs host our hated eternal enemies — Nebraska (spit).
For 125 years, the CornEaters have pretty much been the tornado and we’ve been the trailer park (20-49-2.) We’re sick of it.
“This is personal,” Sanders says, even though it very much isn’t personal. He’s saying that for us. He’s banning the color red on campus for us. And if he can whup the Evil Red Menace for us, the Flatirons will topple, elk will lie down with moose, and all the vegans in Boulder will eat double Sinkburgers.
Me, I’ll be mainlining grits.
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You don’t understand how bad it’s been. Being a Colorado Buffaloes football fan is like being a Nickelback devotee. You mostly get laughed at. A couple of years ago, a buddy said he left two Buffs tickets on his desk at work and somebody broke in overnight and left two more.
Last year, we won one game out of 12. We lost to Minnesota by 42 points. Most schools could start the faculty against Minnesota and not lose by 42 points.
But now? Now? It’s a miracle, a dream, Eddie the Eagle winning the gold.
We went from the nuclear winter of college football to the epicenter of it, all thanks to an irresistible football god named Deion “Coach Prime” Sanders, the Hall of Famer who dumped almost our entire sad 2022 roster, lured dozens of vastly better players, and told the world how amazing the Buffs were going to be.
“We comin’,” he kept saying.
I nearly sprained my eyes, rolling them.
Look, I was born in Boulder, been a fan since I was 5, graduated from Colorado University (’81). I’ve seen coaches “comin’” and then “goin’” for nearly seven decades. We’ve had 11 coaches in just the past 18 years. The problem is we are a beautiful town, but we’re sooooo White — 89.5 percent White and 1.3 percent Black, in fact. We are whiter than Tucker Carlson eating a Wonder Bread mayonnaise sandwich at Cracker Barrel. Black players come here with Rocky Mountain high hopes, look around, see nobody that looks like them, and get out.
So here came Neon Deion, spouting promises, telling us he was going to bring players from HBCUs to Boulder, of all places. Here came a son of the South, born in Florida, coached in Mississippi and played in Atlanta, telling us he was going to make hippie-happy Boulder his new home. He even talked the local breakfast joint into adding grits to the menu. They call it PRIME Grits.
This was all going to work … how?
So, when it came to facing No. 17 TCU on the road in the first game of the season last Saturday, I gave the Buffs the chances of a skydiving blowfish. And it wasn’t just me. Before the game, analyst Tom Luginbill said Colorado might have “the worst roster in college football.” Oddsmakers made CU 21-point dogs.
Well … Prime shut our mouths and opened our eyes. In one of the most astonishing coaching debuts in college football history, his Buffs — with 510 passing yards from his own son, QB Shedeur Sanders — stunned TCU 45-42. Not only did Young Prime vault himself into the Heisman Trophy race, but so did human Swiss Army Knife Travis Hunter, a two-way player who played 151 snaps — wide receiver (100+ yards) and shutdown corner (a crucial interception) — in 120-degree Texas heat.
I’ve been covering football for 44 years. This just doesn’t happen. No one over-promises and then over-delivers. It was like hearing your crazy uncle claim he can lift a Toyota over his head and then watching him out in the driveway doing 20 reps with a RAV4.
Pity the poor reporters sitting in that Fort Worth media room afterward, when Sanders roasted any media member who didn’t “believe” going in. “No, no, no, I got receipts!” he yelled. Why objective reporters need to “believe” in the team they’re covering doesn’t matter in Prime Time.
Me? I’m not within a par-5 of being objective. I’m literally wearing Buffs underwear as I type this. I love everything about Coach Prime. I love the cowboy hat. I love the speeches he gives that make me, at 65, want to jump out of my lounger and flatten my living-room rubber tree. I love how different he is, like …
I especially love when he reaches the crescendo of a barnburner locker-room sermon, then hollers, “Gimme my theme music!” And an actual DJ in the locker room hits a button and the whole room starts shaking like loose farm equipment.
All of which brings us to this weekend, when the Believe It or Not Buffs host our hated eternal enemies — Nebraska (spit).
For 125 years, the CornEaters have pretty much been the tornado and we’ve been the trailer park (20-49-2.) We’re sick of it.
“This is personal,” Sanders says, even though it very much isn’t personal. He’s saying that for us. He’s banning the color red on campus for us. And if he can whup the Evil Red Menace for us, the Flatirons will topple, elk will lie down with moose, and all the vegans in Boulder will eat double Sinkburgers.
Me, I’ll be mainlining grits.