List/Chicks/Sports: College Football's 40 Hottest Fanbases (and Storytime!)

Where does your school stack up on this list of College Football's 40 Hottest Fanbases? Oh, that's right, you didn't go to college. You needed to sow your wild oats after those brutally oppressive high school years and "find yourself."

You got a steady waiting job at the Olive Garden (just to "pay the bills") and picked up smoking. You fell in love with a chick, Christa, who you thought was the one, but found out she was cheating on you with the guy who sells you pot. You spiralled into a dark depression fueled by cheap liquor, Marlboro Reds, xanax and aderrol.

You kept showing up late for work (or not showing up at all if the party the night before was f*cking badass) and your boss fired you after he caught you stealing bottles of wine. Your apartment kicked you out for repeated noise complaints and being three months late on rent. Your buddy, Chad, let you crash for a couple weeks but he got tired of your sh*t really quick. (You ended that relationship when you angrily confessed that you boned his little sister several times during your senior year.)

You moved back in with your "goddam asshole parents." The stress you put on them turned them against each other and they fought every night. You were the cause of their divorce and your mom reminded you of that fact every chance she got. Your dad tried to be reasonable with you, but you just took advantage of his kindness by bumming money and promising to pay him back.

Months went by. You saw Christa at the Shell station while you were picking up a Hurricane High Gravity, a Tobasco Slim Jim and a pack of Reds. She was very pregnant. You hoped she wouldn't see you but she did. You made sh*tty small talk but couldn't help but notice that she looked you up and down at least three times while you were talking. Then she said that her and the pot dealer broke up because he was hitting her and, while that was the hardest thing she's ever had to go through, it was ultimately a good thing because it made her realize how good she had it with you. You couldn't believe you'd just heard that.

You ended up moving in with her and her cousin, Kourtney, and getting a job with her dad at the car dealership, working in the shop. Decent money, you guess. The kid was born a month and half later and you treated him like your own. He brought meaning into your life and made you feel like a man for the first time. You and Christa were closer than ever. Was this love you were feeling? Like, real love? It was scary. You panicked.

You grabbed your keys and jetted. You told her you needed to think. You convinced Chad to meet up with you at Buffalo Wild Wings so you could apologize over some beers. You decided to liven things up with some Jager Bombs. 2 became 4. Chad started looking at you like he was judging you and you decided to just get wasted. If was gonna be a dick again, whatever. F*ck him. "Another bucket of Coors!" Chad said he was cool. Halfway through the bucket, your "friend" peaced out. One more Jager Bomb. You spilled beer all over your jeans and went to the bathroom to try and clean up. Without thinking, you punched one of the mirrors. Your hand was bleeding badly. But it didn't hurt. Not enough. You used your shirt to wrap up your hand and walked out in your wife beater without paying your tab. Waitress was a bitch anyway.

You headed to your truck, not really caring if you made it home safely. As you dug for your keys, you heard a chick's voice. Uh oh. Here comes a bitch-out fest from Kourtney. Damn that girl is annoying. As you begin to yell, "LISTEN, YOU FAT BITCH, GET THE FU-," you realize it's not Kourtney. It's mom. You didn't put two and two together until the next day, but Chad obviously called her and told her that you had lost it.

She didn't even say anthing. She looked terrible. She'd obviously been crying for hours. She walked up to you and you tensed up, ready for a weak slap or a shaking by the shoulders. But it didn't come. Instead, she hugged you. She hugged you tightly. It was almost painful, yet still somehow comforting. Even though everything was obviously f*cked, you somehow felt a sigh of relief. And you could swear she felt the same.

Nothing needed to be said. And nothing was.

You woke up the next morning confused. It took you a good minute to figure out where you were. Mom's couch. Your hand was all bandaged and you were in your boxers and one of your dad's old shirts that you hadn't seen since you were a kid. Mom's old black lab, Tucker, was sitting there patiently, staring at you and wagging his tail. He'd probably been there for hours, just staring. Good ol' guy.

Mom left a note. "Went to work. Breakfast burritos in the casserole dish in the oven. Christa will pick you up when you're ready to go. Love you. -Mom"

You took Tucker out to the backyard and slumped down in the outdoor rocking chair. Any other day, this would be an ideal time for a cigarette. But not today. You sat there, rocking and watching the dog, for nearly an hour. You eventually picked up the cordless phone next to you and dialed. One ring. Then an answer. "Hey."