Hey, Gramps. Or maybe you would prefer Granddaddy, because that's the way you're always referred to in Rose Bowl literature, as "the Granddaddy of Them All."
Love you - I'd have to, or I wouldn't have dropped by 57 straight times, planning to make it 58 Friday - but you're becoming virtually unrecognizable.
Once, you mattered. Once, you were young and vibrant and special. Once, you had tradition. Of course, once there were only four college bowl games on New Year's Day.
Now it seems like there are 40. Or 400. Now you're just another one of those postseason games played everywhere - Yankee Stadium? - and at every moment.