It has begun. Several 50-year-old women in my workplace are carrying pom poms, and wearing earrings in the shape of a poisonous nut. Marching band music blares in the corporate elevators. "O-H," one of my co-workers chanted in the elevator. "I-O," another chanted in return, proving that cooperative spelling is one of the special little touches that make Columbus so charming at this time of year. Several of my neighbors now sport 8-foot inflatable Brutus Buckeyes in their yard.
Every year at this time several hundred thousand central Ohioans lose their minds. I've lived here most of my life, and I still can't get used to it. It is, and always will be, a bizarre phenomenon for me. Look, to the extent that I care, I want the Buckeyes to win their games, if for no other reason than it makes most of the people around me happier. But it also makes them crazier. I'm not sure if it's an even tradeoff.