Anything could happen in the world right now — and as you well know, a lot could. But it wouldn’t change the topic of my column for this glorious day in my annals of college football lore. For the second time in my lifetime, the University of Meeeechigan Wolverines are college football champions.

And without recognition or a nod demanded by local (and non-local) Cornhusker fans —OK, a slight nod and a huge wink — we’d have rattled you in 1997 the same way we did the gallant Huskies in your “greatest Nebraska victory to never happen.” After all, beating Peyton Manning isn’t that big a deal. Ask Tom Brady.

But back to the topic at hand and a trip down memory lane. After all, it’s the only topic allowed in a sports-laden version of an inside-the-mind-of-yours-truly column that also could be headlined: Why does Craig root for all those Michigan teams when he lives in Colorado? To state the obvious, I didn’t grow up here, I only moved here 23 years ago. And I’m old. I’m very loyal to the local medical professionals who saved my life this past summer so I can grow even older. But let’s take that journey into yesteryear to find out more. If I haven’t lost the local homers by this point. Because I’m an unabashed Michigan homer.

My loyalty to the University of Michigan didn’t begin with going to football games. It actually resulted from another medical emergency. When I was in fifth grade, I developed a testicular torsion that required emergency surgery at the University of Michigan Hospital. As memory serves, Michigan’s Children’s Hospital — not sure if it was C.S. Mott Children’s yet — was a wonderful experience in spite of enduring testicular surgery as a 9-year-old and all that goes with that. Especially when your schoolmates find out and one’s penis is a thing of wonder to young boys.

I remember my dad picking me up on discharge day and driving through the campus down fraternity row on a perfect Michigan fall day so he could buy tickets to some upcoming basketball games. I also remember my dad being a little embarrassed when I guessed Oregon State University when he pointed to the OSU letters on the upcoming schedule. Needless to say, I got my first lesson in despising that team from Ohio on the half hour car ride home. OHOWIHATEOHIOSTATE was thick in my dad’s blood.

Over the next 30 plus years, my Saturday afternoons in fall were filled with Michigan football until my move to Colorado in 2000. Nothing — and I mean nothing — compares to a sunny, crisp, fall morning and heading out to the Big House for a game. Even the scant amenities and funneling bathroom lines and seat numbers constantly painted closer together to pack more folks in could dampen the memories. Then again, you’ve probably never had an Italian sausage with grilled onions and peppers from the Kowalski Quality Hut outside Section 5. Row 53, seats 24 and 25, to be exact.

While growing up in a house with four boys so close together in age was always about sports, my career and where I lived are also intertwined with Michigan sports.

Why do you love the Tigers, Craig? It might be family nights where my dad knew a guy who’d save us a parking space close to the stadium. Maybe it was meeting most of the 1968 and 1984 Tigers on my job getting their tuxedos for a celebration of their championships. Maybe it was Al Kaline, my boyhood hero who later became my customer at that same store.

Why do you love the Pistons, Craig? That’s easy, the Bad Boys who finally got over the hump of the Celtics and Lakers back in the late 1980s after being so bad for so long. I met Rick Mahorn (and saw why he was feared), James Edwards, Isaiah Thomas and a few other players when I worked at Neiman Marcus back in the day. But it was, foremost, those back-to-back championships.

Why do you love the Red Wings, Craig? I started watching them on Channel 50 if I could get the antenna adjusted back when Mr. Hockey — that’s Gordie Howe for you late-to-the-NHL Avs fans— played for them. Or Hockey Night in Canada with Don Cherry. Or laughing at the story my dad always told about my mom realizing there actually were blue and red lines on the ice after watching games in black and white. But it’s also from drinking from the Stanley Cup at Dick O’Dow’s bar and then hanging with the team until the sun came up. Beating the living you-know-what out of the Avs never hurt, either.

Why do you love the Lions, Craig? I honestly don’t know. Nor does any Lions fan. Then again, times seem to be a changin’. But growing up, I was constantly reminded their last championship was on my parents’ wedding day. I don’t expect their next one — if there is one — will be on mine. LOL.

I could have done this all in a few words. It’s how I talked to my dad, and I cherish the memories. And, boy, would he be happy today.