"Grandpa, tell me about the BCS Wars."
"Oohhhh my child, it was a marvelous, terrifying, exhilarating time, where men were ruled by robots and letting mid-majors play in a New Year's Day bowl once every decade or so was considered an act of extreme graciousness. Millions of us sat in rapt attention on Saturday evenings to read tea leaves meted out by a future Columbian stem cell therapy company spokesman as he yelled gibberish at a tiny man in giant glasses.
We were angry all weekend; every single point in every single game was a data point either for or against your favorite team making the championship.