It is a little unnerving to know that everything comes down to this one day.

Everything that I've trained for, prayed for and anguished over will be decided -- today.

I feel like an Olympic diver who has trained his entire life and now stands quiet and still upon the cold concrete tower of the high dive staring down at the shimmering water far below. And if everything goes right this weekend I'll probably feel like the high school chess club president who managed to steal a kiss from a gracious prom queen. If not, there is no low to describe how I'll feel.

This weekend is when my alma mater, the University of Florida, plays the University of Tennessee in what will probably amount to be the biggest college football game of the year.

This is it. Four weeks and three games into the season and this is it.

I have prepared myself both physically and mentally for this day and I'm still not sure I'm ready. Many hours lifting weights, and the occasional aerobics class, has perfected my booty-shakin' fist-pumping in-your-face touchdown dance. Through an exhaustive exploration of ancient Chinese Zen football practices I have mastered the fine art of de-meating a chicken wing in record time; but I'm still working on my right arm strength and dexterity for tossing the savaged bones at the big-screen television if Tennessee does score. If I can't wing a wing at Volunteer quarterback Peyton Manning himself, I certainly want to bounce one off his satellite-assisted microwave-carried digital representation.

Miles of road work, hours of running hills and climbing stairs have prepared me for the long walk from my car to the doors of the sports bar in St. Louis where I will be watching the game. Plus, I can make it to the bathroom and back, including doing my business, in just under 1 minute 42 seconds. Even Carl Lewis can't break the 2-minute bathroom-run barrier.

Is it senseless to devote so much time to one Saturday afternoon's event? It is a mere four hours out of my entire life that we're talking about -- and dedicated to a sport no less.

Of course it's senseless. I realize how irrational I'm being. But I can't help it. If the Gators were to lose a game as big as this, to the Volunteers no less, it would be like I had swallowed one of those electric things you scramble eggs with. What are they called? An egg beater? Yeah, one of those, and it was sitting just above my stomach and just below my heart and someone wearing a bright orange "T" on their forehead had plugged it in and turned the dial to puree. Not a pretty thought is it.

How will I take it if the Gators lose? Will I stumble around muttering, "Wait till next year," like I did after we lost to Nebraska -- incidentally, I hear the Cornhuskers have scored again.

However I do it, if the Gators lose, I will survive. I might be a changed person, some of the childish glee and optimism might fade from my eyes. A part of me, some corner where Santa Claus, Batman and Luke Skywalker are yucking it up over a pitcher of beer and a pizza, might close off forever -- but I will get by.

But I don't want that to happen. I want to believe in miracles. I want to believe in heroes. I want the Gators to kick some serious Volunteer butt!

So go Gators!

~David Angier is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.