When I was 16, I got my first job: a summer gig at a barbecue restaurant that paid me too much for what I actually contributed to the organization. I worked there for the next few summers, putting at least as much effort into cutting off the sleeves of my t-shirt as I did into pulling pork and running coleslaw to the servers. It was perfect, really, a long stretch of halcyon days that I thought would last forever. And then one day real life beckoned, and it was over. Poof.
Ohio State football has felt a lot like that in recent years.