One of my favorite memories growing up was getting in the car on fall Saturdays and heading to my dad’s best friend Ed’s house to huddle, along with his family, around a 1970’s era TV and watch Buckeye football. It was a ritual complete with great food and “The Best Damn Band in the Land” album on the turntable, echoing through the house.

One particular Saturday, we arrived early. So early, that Ed’s son and I decided we would head down to the park to start a pick-up game of our own. We were dominating like the Buckeyes did each Saturday in the 70’s, until I landed wrong on a tackle and hurt my arm.

Playing it safe, we decided to head back to watch the game. When I let my dad know about my hurt arm, he and I were on the same page: The Buckeyes were playing … the hurt arm could wait. And

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