Football-wise, it’s been a terrible year. After a shameful showing by the Orange and a Super Bowl most memorable for the 800 pre-game stories about Jerome Bettis coming home, the campus is depressed. But at last, the snow has returned, and we can take matters into our own hands.

There is simply nothing better in the universe than impromptu snow football. No roommate or coworker can resist the invitation to rush outside and partake of the ‘Great American Game.’ The slippery slush underfoot puts all players, from the speediest jock to the most timid titmouse, on level ground. Snow’s cushiony softness makes it safe to play full-on tackle, so there is no need for girls-do-two-hand-touch silliness. The exception is pavement. Also, playing in the street sucks because every five minutes somebody yells ‘CAR!’ right in the middle of a scoring drive, and then it turns out the car is simply turning or parking. Snow football makes any catch worthy of the highlight reel, because who can catch a wet ball with thick gloves on?

Especially rewarding is the post-game ritual. Never does a dry pair of pants feel more delicious than after stripping off freezing, soaked jeans. Then you grab a mug of Mom’s hot cocoa – OK, Dunkin Donuts – and collapse to share battle scars and glory tales. That ache in your muscles means you’ve earned a fat slice of cake at Kimmel tonight.

If nothing else, snow football makes for a great excuse to get all over that special someone in the name of ‘tight coverage.’