I was thirteen when my dad took me to my first game in Tiger Stadium in 1980. I remember being in such awe of the moment that I missed most of what happened that day. I remember walking by tailgates hearing radios telling of Herschel Walker’s superhuman exploits earlier in the day and wondering just who that guy was. I sat in the stands on the visitors side and the only single play I remember is a huge run Hokie Gajan made up the middle. Did he score? I don’t remember. I just remember him bulldozing his way through the Rebel defenders like a Mack truck.

The whole day was too much for me to take in. I was in the holy land of Tiger football ... the place John Ferguson had described to us each Saturday night as we listened on dad’s white Motorola radio ... and it overwhelmed me. The moment was so large, it did not hit me until the fourth quarter ... I was there and this was happening.

This magical season was the same for me as a much older Tiger fan.

Games rolled by one by one and the amazement built with each victory. A week before the Bama game, I had a dream that we would beat them, so I watched the game for the first time in years with confidence, fervor, and unshakable faith that this was “the year.” This new offense with a backyard football “just stop them twice and we'll outscore them” mentality was so refreshing that it seemed too good to be true.

I had another dream a few nights before the Clemson game that we would lose by one point. Not believing it, I went back to sleep to try to force a do-over ... there was not another dream.

The game approached with more than a bit of dread. When things got tough in the first half, I walked out of the room to try to calm down and set to organize some things for work in the next room. Watching that kind of end to this season would be like watching the crucifixion of Jesus himself ... just too much to bear.

But that seemed to be the talisman this year ... walk out of the room and these Tigers roared to life and you would be ashamed you missed it.

Once I had calmed down, I came back in and was thrilled to see Burrow and company had turned things around. I gave Joe a smile and a mental salute as I sat down to watch what remained of the championship game in the final minutes before halftime.

After the ejection of Clemson’s neanderthal linebacker, they seemed to lose their ability to stop LSU and I resigned myself to the fact that my dream was a lie. The Tigers had it all in hand. I did not scream or yell all night (except when Jethro was ejected ... a GTFO seemed appropriate).

It was like I was that thirteen year old all over again overwhelmed in the moment and the spectacle of this team and its heroic players. It was like the whole season was a long dream and I was slowly waking up wanting more. I smiled thinking how much I wish I could have shared this season with dad.

Sadly, as all things seem to be, it was over too soon. I am mighty proud of Coach O and the way he kept the Tigers grounded in reality. That had to be a Herculean task in itself. I pray Joe and his draft-eligible teammates can heal quickly before they hit the combines and the NFL draft.

Records and replays can try to explain what we have just witnessed, but we will never really know and appreciate it until we fall off the summit of college football greatness again. So, with that being the case, here’s to hoping we never lose enough to realize how great this season, team, and staff actually were.

Personally, I detest the word “surreal” and its overuse. But without it, I see it takes a lot of backstory to explain our sense of disbelief over an outcome.