The last time I went cold turkey on college football was the weekend of Sept. 24, 1994, when Colorado quarterback Kordell Stewart chucked the ball through the Ann Arbor sky and saw it carom into the outstretched hands of CU wide receiver Michael Westbrook 64-yards away. The Michigan Stadium scoreboard operator had no choice but to punch in the final numbers: Colorado 27, Michigan 26.

It was one of the most memorable plays of the decade and I would have been there at sideline's edge if not for a teensy-weensy scheduling conflict: my wedding. I sagged when I heard the news of the comeback, pouted when I saw the replay.

Two days later, holed up in Chicago's stately Drake Hotel on my honeymoon, I fired up the computer laptop and started tapping away.

"What are you doing?" said Cheryl, the daughter of a Chicago police commander, the sister of a couple of Chicago firefighters.

"Got to write the weekly notes column, babe," I said, without looking up.

That was almost seven years to the day and I still can't believe college football meant so much to me. Or that Cheryl didn't pooch punt me into Lake Michigan.

I've always had a soft spot for Saturdays. I'm a sucker for one foot in bounds, Wisconsin's Fifth Quarter, Neyland Stadium, the Notre Dame Victory March, Student Body Left, wide right, dotting the i, A&M jokes, Lou Holtz fretting about "the University of Boston College," pregame flyovers at the Air Force Academy, roasted peanuts outside Jordan-Hare, frat rats and their bedsheet banners, the drive from Harrisburg to State College, the triple option, Virginia's unis, conference calls featuring Bobby Bowden, Steve Spurrier or Bill Snyder, Army-Navy, the Big House, cowbells in Starkville, "Whoa, Nellie," and moments like the one in '94 -- Stewart to Westbrook ... then silence.

It was quiet again this past weekend as all 58 Division I-A games were postponed or canceled in the wake of last Tuesday's terrorist attacks. Saved from the embarrassment of endorsing games were several major conferences, including the SEC and its commissioner Roy Kramer.

Kramer, with the blessings of the league's 12 presidents, was all set to tee it up when the NFL announced its decision to forego its Week 2 schedule. The SEC did a U-turn and Kramer started backpedaling as if he were covering Randy Moss. Kramer's heart might have been in the right place, but timing is everything, and this wasn't the right time to be pretending that sucker punches don't hurt.

This was a weekend for hanging the flag above the garage, for humming a few bars of, "America The Beautiful," for stopping by St. Mike's and logging some knee time, for hoisting a cold one and toasting the memory of those lost and the heroism of those still looking. It was a weekend of perspective, when the best part of you prayed for peace and tranquility, and the worst part of you hoped the mad mastermind responsible for this bloodshed be forced to spend five minutes in a very small room with the surviving members of New York's Hook and Ladder companies.

In a lesser sense, it was a time to understand that college football is a sweet diversion, nothing more. So I promise not to tweak the inferiority complexes of Kansas State followers, or plunge a Dixon-Ticonderoga pencil into my eye when Lee Corso makes another outrageous prediction, or ever, ever use the word, "courageous," to describe anything involving football, with the exception of Penn State's Adam Taliaferro, San Jose State's Neil Parry or Washington's Curtis Williams.

Next Monday is the 7-year anniversary of Stewart's throw, followed by the anniversary of a sportswriter and his perfectly wonderful South Side wife who can keep a baseball scorecard, carry three Old Styles without spilling a drop and care for two equally wonderful daughters.

I'll do what I always do that day of the year: apologize ... again for working on our honeymoon. After all, it was only football.

Gene Wojciechowski is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. Movers and Shakers appears each Monday. E-mail him at gene.wojciechowski@espnmag.com.