Still Gotta Come Through Chicago

20 Years ago, and Next Thursday

Happy Friday Chicago!

Lee Corso is finally retiring from College GameDay. After nearly 40 years on the show, his final broadcast will be Week 1 of the 2025 college football season.

The writing has been on the wall for years, but the finality that came with Thursday’s news still brought on a wave of bittersweet sadness.

I’ve watched the show less and less over the last few years, as it has gone from the perfect Saturday morning segue into the football weekend to what looks like a parody of the show it once was. My love for it started before Kirk Herbstreit began taking Ozempic (allegedly), before he began calling NFL games, and before he started calling anyone that disagreed with his takes the “fringe” fans. This was before the panel was forced to laugh at Pat McAfee jokes and before the crowd was forced to chant something corny in the middle of a segment.

But I’ll leave the rest of my thoughts on where the show has gone to the side for now.

Corso was one of the first people I remember loving on television. His authenticity was evident to me as a kid, and it’s still evident now — even as he struggles through his lines. He was one of the first to figure out, perhaps by mistake, that sports fans are drawn to people who very obviously love the sport in the same way they do.

Along with “not so fast, my friend,” Corso popularized the saying “closer than the experts think.” I would argue that will be Corso’s legacy.

The quote becoming so ubiquitously used is of course a credit to Corso, but more than that, it’s what his most famous quote is actually saying. No, not that this game or that game will be closer than what the “experts think,” but that Corso himself was not an “expert” in the first place.

In doing so, he was reaching out to us. He was saying, I’m with you — we may know less, but sometimes we know more. Corso was an outstanding football player, and then was a coach of multiple Division 1 football teams. If anyone was an expert, he was. But his call to credibility was to the fans, not to the people that considered themselves experts of the sport we love.

In the 2000s, there wasn’t a show that captured the magic — the now-fleeting magic — of college football better than College GameDay.

I’m so nostalgic for that era of that TV show, in fact, that I’ve promised friends of mine that one day I will get my hands on a physical tape of a full, wire-to-wire Saturday ESPN broadcast from the early 2000s. Will it be the day Notre Dame lost to USC in South Bend, in 2005? Maybe. Will it be a day in which we forgot all of the results of that day’s games? Some random Saturday in October 2007?

I’ve written about that idea here before, but today, I’ve decided it has to happen.

Nostalgia is a sad drug, and unfortunately my drug of choice. It’s a tricky one, and will leave you chasing the ultimate high of the past that is, of course, uncatchable.

But like most drugs, it can be a hell of a lot of fun for one day.

Because this is my idea, of course no one is going to love the thought of it more than me. That means it will be hard to gain a critical mass to enjoy the day with me. I can’t have people losing interest around 11am.

Then it came to me. Bachelor party.

When you get married, it’s one of the only times in adulthood you can make people do what you want to do.

So, on my bachelor party, this is what we’ll do.

I’ll outfit my house in 2005 decor, invite people in, and refuse to let them leave as the ESPN tape rolls on the DVD player I bought off Ebay. No one will know the results of those days games (except for a few), so everyone will be allowed to place wagers on them.

Cigarette breaks are allowed. Go ahead out to the backyard, if need be. But you must come back in to enjoy each time slot’s game. And you must be sitting for all two hours of College GameDay (it was shorter back then). We’ll desperately anticipate Corso’s headdress pick and cheer no matter which side he chooses when the unveiling comes.

Okay, bear with me, and step further into my imagination.

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8:15am

The first batch of guys knock on the door. “There they are!”

“This was a great idea, man.” “I thought so too,” I respond.

“I didn’t know you and your lady were this serious.” “Yeah, well.”

As college football has been pulled away from me in my early 30s, my friends have too. Countless obligations have meant the group gets together less and less.

They feel bad about that, and they feel bad that they didn’t know much about my clearly budding relationship with a serious girlfriend.

But they also don’t know that my soon-to-be wife, well, she doesn’t exist at all. There’s a reason no one has met her yet. And there’s a reason I made her up out of thin air, and that was to get all of the boys together for a throwback college football Saturday before it was too late.

I promised myself I would marry the next girl that looked at me longingly back in 2025, so I could start putting the wheels for this day in motion. After a couple of years of zero longing looks, and a few awkward proposals on arranged first dates, I decided to go another route.

“I’ve been busy, man. You guys are too! Hell, I never hear from you guys anymore. I promise you’ll meet her soon. I’ll show you some pictures later, but I’m about to start rolling the DVD. What can I get you guys? Coffee? Beer?”

My friends can sense a strange melancholy surrounding me on this warm and sunny August morning, one week before the actual 2027 college football season starts. The feigned melancholy is a ploy, though. They’ll know they best not leave early — not today, not when their friend is like this.

As the others begin to roll in, the energy picks up. There are decorations all over the wall — all from 2005. Beer banners with old Miller Lite and Bud Light logos, a Never Forget U.S.A. flag, and a dart board with Osama Bin Laden’s face on it. The TV screen in front of us is not a flat screen, but a big screen — one that weighs at least a half ton.

“You really went all out here my man.” “I actually got a good deal on this bad boy,” I say, tapping proudly on the top of the big-screen television, and failing to acknowledge the sad — but beautiful — 2005 time warp that I’ve created.

8:55am

All 15 men have arrived at the house. It’s a nice-sized piece of Americana. Screen doors lead out to a large backyard with a wheel swing. There’s two footballs laid out on the grass. Out front is a porch with a few rocking chairs that look at the backs of Bush-Cheney and Kerry-Edwards signs. The last thing I want is for politics to divide us on this perfect day.

Still charmed, everyone is ready for the DVD to be popped in, for College GameDay to start synchronously at 9am, nearly 22 years after this broadcast first aired. The weather is perfect.

“A little warm for October,” I say. “But we’ll take it.”

The chuckles continue.

On the DVD tape is a piece of old scotch tape that looks properly worn. It reads: October 15, 2005. I move toward the DVD player, and the chants ring out.

“Speech, Speech, Speech, Speech!”

I bring my shoulders up to my ears, and bring them back down with a sigh.

“Alright, I’ll be nice and tight because we’re two minutes until show time. Firstly, thank you all for coming here today and celebrating with me. The thing about the past is that, well, it’s only the past in your imagination. What you see here is not your imagination. It’s here. All I’m asking you to do is step over that artificial barrier behind you that you call the past. Use your hips to lift up your knees and step over that fence. But just remember, boys, once you step over that fence, there’s no stepping back. Let’s have a great day.”

I grab my beer.

“Cheers!”

The first cheers of the day commences, and the DVD pops in. Clapping begins once the soundtrack of College GameDay starts bumping through the RadioShack speakers alongside the big screen TV.

Welcome to South Bend, Indiana!

The day is off.

The night before, I spent my time hanging the banners, perfecting the nostalgia. My older brother came over, and I told him I needed his help erasing any evidence that this is 2027, or that this is a house I rented on Airbnb.

“Alright, but after this, you have to call mom and dad and tell them what’s going on with this marriage — they don’t know what’s with you.”

“Brother,” I say, grabbing his shoulders. “My older brother. Everything will be fine, I promise. For now, tonight, and for tomorrow, just be that — my older brother.”

He obliges, and we continue hanging the decor.

The next morning, College GameDay is in full swing. The commercials are as enjoyable as the broadcast, and the whole crew eagerly awaits Corso’s pick for Notre Dame-USC.

I’ve been quiet for a while, soaking in the enjoyment of others. “You boys ready for Corso’s headdress?”

“Yeah!” they whoop in unison.

Corso picks Notre Dame. And we’re off.

Next up is Penn State-Michigan, live from Ann Arbor, Michigan.

The beers continue flowing and the event gets increasingly raucous. All the while, the host — me — maintains an air of calmness, a slight smile and tight lips. The wagers went down on the #8 ranked Penn State, and stunningly, Michigan took them down — 27-25.

“This is awesome, man. Thanks for doing this. It really feels like 2005 in here.”

“It is,” I say, and I turn around to continue picking up the beer cans scattered around, all decorated with 22-year old advertising.

“How’d you get your hands on those?”

“The liquor store,” I say.

Beer games commence as the showdown in South Bend between Notre Dame and USC nears. My father won’t be coming, we’ve been estranged for a year now. But when Matt Leinart pushes Reggie Bush into the end zone, I plan to throw the Comcast remote across the room — at the wall — to recreate his presence.

Notre Dame-USC is a thriller. Tom Zbikowski returns a punt for a touchdown and I show my emotions for the first time all day — jumping up and down with glee, screaming with a high-pitch.

My friends laugh as I yell, “Dad, come down here, Zbikowski scored!”

“Is your old man here?”

“He’s not even that old,” I say, before walking to the bathroom.

I come back out in a change of clothes. A white t-shirt is underneath a purple American Eagle shirt that has always made me look less chubby than I am.

I start pulling down on both shirts to give my stomach maximum coverage, and then some. There’s no such thing as overly cautious when there’s a doughy, adolescent belly beneath your clothing.

Wandering over to my friends, I hear a conversation about work. Confused, I look at them. “Can you believe I got the meanest teacher in the whole school?”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. Rudy,” I say. “She yells at me even when I’m not talking.”

At this point, one of my friends runs in from outside, where he was relieving himself.

“I could have sworn that I just saw my parents walking together across the street.”

“So?” I say.

“Your parents are divorced buddy, time to get over it,” another friend says.

“I bet you did see them, why wouldn’t you? They live a couple of blocks over,” I say.

The group close enough to hear what I said looks confused, the laughter subsiding. The friend that saw his parents gets closer to me.

“What’s going on here man?”

I cut him off: “HALFTIME! Everyone outside!”

Everyone runs out and rushes for the footballs.

“I’ve got all-time QB,” I said.

A friend grabs the ball before me and tells another to go long. I slap it out of his hand.

“I said I’ve got all-time QB.”

Slowly but surely, people start getting lined up. I draw the play with my finger on my American Eagle shirt, my back to the defense, with intricate details on each route.

“On two. Ready? BREAK.”

The pass tips off of the receiver’s hands, and the defender catches it. He starts running the other way, before I stop him.

“You can’t run with the ball, what are you doing? You missed weight. Just because I don’t have stripes here does not mean you can run with it. We all know you missed weight.”

He drops the ball and tells me to shut up. But it’s his fault he didn’t run extra laps around the baseball fields at night, not mine.

Just then, my older brother comes out. He yells at me, “Caroline is in here!” That’s my crush’s name. He knows I hate when he mentions her.

I run in after him, chasing him around the house. My eyes begin to well up.

6:30pm

The day is going perfectly, before USC scores. And wins.

“You’re not allowed to push from behind,” I scream, over and over.

“It’s like the tush push,” a friend says.

“The what?”

I see a few friends talking in the corner.

“Your house has some bad reception. I can’t get a call or text out.”

Just then, I turn and see my older brother drinking a beer.

“What are you doing? Why are you drinking? You’re not even in high school yet, you frigging ass hole! I’m going to call dad.”

My older brother shakes his head at one of my friends. I turn to that friend, and see behind him the other one — the one that saw his parents earlier.

“What’s wrong? I’ve got milk chug shakes in the fridge if you want one.”

“I saw my parents walking out there man. What’s going on?”

“It’s only 7 p.m. You’ll be home soon.”

9:30pm

As Ohio State-Michigan State blares on the television screen, the numbers start dwindling. The drinking has taken its toll, and one after another guest is passing out.

I sit on the couch and eagerly await the last SportsCenter of the night, dipping in and out of consciousness. Alongside me is the one friend, who is slapping me repeatedly in the face asking what I’ve done with his parents.

I take the shattered remote I threw at the end of the Notre Dame game and begin to turn him down. It works.

Adam Sandler’s Click is the hardest I’ve ever cried at a movie, after all.

My friend, despondent, finally succumbs to the energy lost from his rage. He falls asleep on the couch, using a Green Day poster as a makeshift blanket.

“It will all be normal tomorrow,” he says.

Sunday, 7:30am

“Good morning, sunshine.” He hears me, and smells the Dunkin’ Donuts, before his eyes open.

“Man, yesterday was weird.”

“I just love Notre Dame football, man,” I say. “Sorry I got so emotional. Corso was great yesterday, wasn’t he? I’m just mad the Irish let him down.”

“No worries,” he says, unsure as he grabs a long john. “Hey, what’s on the docket for today?”

“Hope you brought enough layers. Kyle Orton versus Dante Culpepper in four hours. We’ve got to get down to Soldier Field!”

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Love you, Lee Corso!

Now let’s get into it.

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Because I spent two hours of my night writing a fictional story about my bachelor party, I’m left with little time here to dish on Chicago sports before it’s time to hit the hay.

As I consider the priorities, it’s become obvious that Bears draft talk is the way to go.

Over the years I’ve learned that newsletter readership is up during football season and after big Bears news. Surprising to me, and no one else, is that people like reading more about America’s most popular game, and Chicago’s most popular team, than 800-word diatribes about the Bulls front office (no one watched a game until Wednesday night).

Last week, I began my draft coverage. All I covered was that I did not want Ashton Jeanty, for a variety of reasons.

This week, it’s time to step up to the plate and become more declarative.

Let’s just get this out of the way. It may sound like I am talking out of both sides of my mouth, given all I said about Jeanty last week, but I would be genuinely thrilled if Penn State tight end Tyler Warren landed in the hands of the Chicago Bears on Thursday.

Here’s why.

1. There’s arguably not a better coach in the league at navigating the usage of stud tight ends than Ben Johnson. As the tight end has become more and more prevalent in the NFL, the Bears have not kept up. Basically, the Bears have had two game-changers at that position in their history. One was Mike Ditka. The other, the Bears traded for a second-round pick before he had reached his prime.

2. Tyler Warren is one of the best college football players I’ve seen over the last 5 years. Penn State lined him up all over the field, and wherever he went, he was effective. No matter the defense, one thing remained true about Penn State’s offense: Warren was unstoppable.

3. Under Ben Johnson, it is nearly impossible for me to imagine a scenario in which Warren isn’t immediately successful. The Bears need a third pass catcher behind D.J. Moore and Rome Odunze. Cole Kmet is fine — but that’s all he is. Fine. Anyone who thinks Kmet is a deterrent here is still stuck in the mud from years past. Super Bowl-winning teams have great tight ends, not ones from Chicago that we’re all happy for. Even with Kmet, there’s plenty of room for him and Warren in Johnson’s offense.

4. Warren had nearly 1,500 yards from scrimmage last year in a college football season. Despite my dislike for Penn State, I watched him with joy and damn near glee week in, week out. He’s not the best blocker in the world, but he’s physical and athletic enough to be taught. He’s the type of player that would immediately be successful, like Jeanty, but at a position that promises a longer future.

Warren does scare me, as he’s such a bruiser that he’s regularly getting banged around. He didn’t miss games in college, but his tenacity actually seems like it could work against him at times.

I’ll draw out the caveat here. If any of the top players at more premium positions fall — like the offensive lineman Will Campbell, the defensive lineman Mason Graham, or maybe the offensive lineman Armand Membou, the Bears should jump at those prospects.

It’s worth reiterating that premium players at those positions are worth more — at the top of the draft, in free agency, and in the game.

But if the Bears don’t love the other guys up there — Walter Nolen, Shemar Stewart, or even the cornerback Will Johnson, landing on Warren, I think, would be a more-than-fine outcome. And an exciting one.

So, what am I saying?

Number one, I believe that grabbing a tight end of Warren’s caliber is far more justifiable than grabbing a running back of Jeanty’s caliber. There’s a high-risk, relatively low reward on Jeanty. There’s a high-risk, high-reward on Warren.

I don’t think any of those surefire top linemen will be there when the Bears pick. If they traded back, I’d be fine too.

But I also think that the Bears, after what they did in free agency, will be chomping at the bit to take Warren if he’s still there at no. 10. If they take him, they have plenty of time still to take a running back and another defender in the second round.

It’s unlikely you’ll get a guaranteed starter on the offensive line in the second round, but then again, in this draft, there’s no guarantee the guy you take at 10 will be either. That’s unless one of those top guys falls.

If the pick is one of the Michigan guys — Graham or Johnson — I’m fine with it. If it’s one of those top-2 offensive linemen, I’m fine with it too.

But if the draft goes as expected, and Warren is still there at 10, I’d have to act peeved that the Bears weren’t able to continue solidifying the trenches with their first pick.

If Warren is there, I think he’ll be the Bears Sam LaPorta, a guy that may become more central to their offense than even Rome Odunze in the coming years.

Basically, I think the Bears are in a great position.

Let someone reach for a quarterback between 1 and 10, let someone take a receiver that doesn’t belong at the top of the draft. If that happens, the Bears can backfill their offensive or defensive line with a stud.

If that doesn’t happen, take Warren.

In all likelihood, one of those two scenarios will present themselves.

#BEARDOWN

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Sorry for cutting this short, dear readers.

Next week, I’ll dive back into the Cubs. They beat the Dodgers in a series and snapped the Padres home winning streak, but also lost Justin Steele (as predicted) for the season and have a bullpen that won’t stop outdoing itself.

I’ll also write my postmortem on your Chicago Bulls.

Until then, keep Lee Corso (and maybe me?) in your thoughts.

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Thank you for reading another edition of Still Gotta Come Through Chicago. Comment below, tell a friend to subscribe, and I will see you all next week.