Every single one. Every year from the first game until about now, I begin to believe that FSU has become our biggest rival. We've played them last too - which makes them fresher in my mind. My cold reptilian mind. The mind that believes, until now, that FSU is the team I most want to beat. That FSU is the team I enjoy seeing lose most. That FSU most makes my ever-loving skin crawl.

Then this week comes. By Tuesday of this week, every season (every single one), I wake up and realize something. I love FSU. I wish them well. I want to give old Booby a break. I want to hug their mothers and rake leaves for their fathers. Because every year, by Tuesday of this week, I realize something that will never change. Something that I will never give up the ghost on. Something that gnaws at me like a blood sucking leech out to drain me of my blood. Something that gets into the marrow of my bones and makes them sore and brittle. Something that rings in my ears and burns in my throat. Something that stings my eyes. Something that smells foul and putrid. Every year on about Tuesday of this week, I wake up with an attitude. With my hands balled up into fists. A very, very bad attitude.

I get up from the bed. Clenching, sweating, frothing, ringing, sore, brittle, burning. I slowly survey the gnarled, discolored, agitated countenance staring back at me in the mirror. I polish my teeth. Every single one of them, one at a time, with great care, over the course of an hour or more, until the jagged edges gleam. I smile slowly, finally admiring myself and enjoying the sound of my own rapid heartbeat. It is the sound of fury. At long last, I unfurl my tail and brush my scales and I know. I know the one thing that, in the end, will never, ever change. It's Georgia week. And I hate them. I hate them most of all. God Bless Jan Kemp. God Bless FSU.