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Sweat trickled down my temple as brake lights bled into a garnet river before Doak Campbell Stadium. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel - kickoff in 18 minutes and trapped in gridlock purgatory. That familiar panic bubbled: missing the opening drive again. Last season's opener haunted me - hearing distant roars while staring at taillights, disconnected from the sacred rituals unfolding mere blocks away. Ten years of season tickets meant nothing when you're imprisoned in a metal box. -
Rain lashed against the bus window as I watched brake lights bleed into a crimson river on the highway. That familiar dread pooled in my stomach - another two hours of existence reduced to counting license plates. My thumb scrolled through social media graveyards until it stumbled upon GyanTV's icon, glowing like an emergency exit in the gloom. What happened next wasn't learning; it was time alchemy. Suddenly, a neuroscientist's crisp British accent sliced through the drumming rain, explaining s -
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