Listen, I’ve spent the last 48 hours dissecting grainy high school film of a three-star long snapper from rural South Dakota, and I’ve come to a singular, undeniable conclusion: The dynasty is back. I don't want to hear about "rebuilding years" or "scholarship limits." We don't rebuild; we reload the spice rack and let the gumbo simmer. I walked past the practice facility this morning and the air didn't just smell like grass and sweat—it smelled like a New Year's Six bowl invitation.