I must admit I enjoyed the Olympics, but I've just got one thing to say, "THANK GOD IT'S COLLEGE FOOTBALL SEASON!" If the Chinese did one thing right, it was plan the games so they ended before Steve Spurrier tossed his first visor or Lee Corso made his first prediction wearing a mascot's tiger head. College football arrived as the flame went out in Beijing, and I could not be happier.

Michael Phelps and his eight gold medals were very impressive, but the only way to catch a college football player showing that much skin is if ESPN surprises a team in the locker room after a game, and, thankfully, they don't do that very often. After a few of those races, I really thought Phelps was going to break out something more than his impressive wingspan. We don't have to worry about anything like that in football…no matter how excessive the end zone celebrations get.

Another reason to rejoice about the arrival of football is that I believe the Olympics play loosely with the term "sport." Football is a sport. Badminton, ping- pong, rowing, or anything requiring synchronization is not. Some might argue otherwise, but if I can't tailgate before it, then it isn't a sport in my book. I don't think ESPN's College GameDay will ever broadcast from Peking University for a clash of tiny- paddle- toting titans. Grant it, some of those fans at the ping- pong finals in Beijing were just as crazy looking as a pack of barking Dawgs from Athens, but the so- called ping- pong athletes looked more like physics tutors than linebackers. Some of those events in China were hobbies or games that required exceptional skills, but they weren't sports.

We don't have to endure any more tiny Speedos. Now is the time for helmets with scratched up logos, pads, torn jerseys, black cleats, and blood- stained paints. Bob Costas can crawl back in his cocoon for a couple more years, and Keith Jackson can once again emerge with a, "Whoa Nelly!" so we know we can officially break out the fried chicken and pom poms.

I'm not sure what the Olympics smell like. I can't remember anything but the Varsity's onion rings from the Atlanta games, but I do know the smells of college football. The temperatures may still be warm, but there's a slight hint of fall in the air. Mix that with the smoke from grills, the aroma of disturbed grass, the smell of sweat, the bite of cheap hot dogs smothered in chili and onions, and the breath of an overindulgent college coed and that's football.

College football may not have an opening or closing ceremony, but it does have pageantry and tradition. Who needs 4,000 drummers in unison when we've got the Tigers running down the hill or the Gamecocks' 2001? I'd personally rather watch a bunch of Volunteers run through a giant T any day, than hundreds of brightly- dressed acrobats gyrating on a tower. I know I'd rather hear 90,000 Dawgs barking after a kickoff, than one lip- synching little girl…no matter how cute she is.

The flame has been extinguished, but college football is heating up. Life is good.