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You Can't Stop Life. You Can Only Hope to Contain It.

The blog goes on another offseason hiatus this week, a temporary casualty of westward travel to prepare for a pending move, then a hop to the east for family business. These are good days.

By the time I return, the assessments - while remaining, of course, inherently absurd - they will not be so premature. We're closer now to the beginning of the next season than to the end of the last, and the glossy mags are showing up on racks already, tempting the jonesing fans with full-page action pics and neat top 25 boxes and the like until Phil Steele delivers the real goods some time this month. With the print competition unveiling its more lucrative product, my humble offerings fall within the wider field o' predictin', and will likely incorporate the company in some way.

Fundamentally, though, every preview should continue to make its goal honest relevance with a glaze of steadfast cynicism. Spring rebirth makes champions of us all. Reader Shawn Sparks reminds me of this with a classic slightly fudged to satirize the expectations of our alma mater, (with humbling accuracy, I might add), but optimistic partisans of all colors can heed its weary wisdom:

And throw more deep bombs, for christ's sake!

Anyway, it's June. A long way to go still. SMQ returns to the countdown next week.