(Note: I wrote this a year ago, before the Gators lost Dan Mullen. The Gators were, offensively, a sight to see in 2008, and without Mullen, and the likes of Harvin and Murphy, this proved not to be the case in 2009)
The third valve is watched most closely by a linebacker, who in turns signals to a free safety, and every fan on the field knows the quarterback's got a chance to take it himself, or possibly toss it to his tight end, but seriously, where is the ball going? Not a single clue in the house. The coach, solid as a rock, stares down the field. Every damn receiver is open. Somewhere in heaven, somewhere in hell, there are more Florida receivers, breaking the coverage imposed upon them by higher laws. Is the cat in the box or not? The fans quiet before the storm, which seems like it could break on every second down with six to go. Waves. Turbulent, biblical waves crash the shore of the Florida State defense. They gang up slowly, accumulate, and explode. A blue crush of Gators rolls ceaselessly like a hurricane. Everything's clicking. Runningbacks vault over the defensive linemen like Spiderman springing off a skyscraper. The turf becomes a gymnast's mat. Triple axels, toe loops, salchows - the Gators are displaying Olympic panache. The balls are dropping like bombs from the phalanx that is the offensive line. Toes are gently touching the remotest green patch of grass not dusted up in chalk. The scoreboard is getting lighted up more than it would be with General Electric. Pure human voltage. Some idiot on television asks if that quarterback is the best player in college football. Now? Ever? And the answer is just enjoy the show.
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