BYU released an Initial Availability Report for its road game at Iowa State, which is like sending a weather forecast that says ‘cloudy with a chance of hamstrings.’ The document arrived sealed in optimism, stamped ‘initial,’ and immediately asked for an extension. Fans printed it out, framed it, and prepared for it to be outdated by the time the ink dried.

As a connoisseur of systems and the moment they trip on their shoelaces, I watched the report lurch forward like a freshman lugging a tuba into finals week. BYU categorized bodies with the precision of a Swiss watch that occasionally screams. The math said three starters are probable; the memory said that in November, probability has the ankle flexibility of a cinderblock.

Iowa State, a meteorological concept with a football team attached, responded by nodding at the sky. Ames is where winds do Pilates and corn fields hold grudges. The Cyclones consider every opponent questionable because the barometric pressure can’t be trusted.

BYU’s statuses included Available, Doubtful, and the new Big 12 classic: Spiritually Probable, Logistically Uncertain. One linebacker is ‘day-to-day with a philosophical hamstring,’ which means he can run but only if he believes in forward motion. A kicker is listed as ‘probable pending the existence of a stable universe,’ which, given special teams, feels fair.

Travel plans were clarified, which is to say no one knows anything until the bus leaves Provo. The offensive line will hydrate, meditate, and sit very still like museum statues built out of shoulder pads. For comfort on the crusade to Ames, the team bus was retrofitted with ergonomic bus seat footrest for athletes, a phrase that sounds like a spa day but squeaks like a rubber duck in a thunderstorm.

The coaching staff consulted analytics, film, and a Ouija board that only spells ‘tempo.’ A graduate assistant ran stochastic models until the algorithm started asking for hazard pay. At one point a coin flip landed on its side and the coordinator listed it as ‘limited participation.’

The trainer, wearing latex gloves and the patience of a saint on hold with customer service, announced three receivers are ‘game-time decisions’ and one is ‘decision-time game.’ Another is ‘probable if his grandma is watching,’ because nothing heals like unconditional love and the threat of a casserole review.

Weather was upgraded from breezy to emotionally manipulative, the kind of wind that learns your middle name and uses it. Iowa State calls it home-field advantage; farmers call it Tuesday. BYU issued sideline contingency plans including layerable gear and a windproof sideline poncho with hidden snack pockets, a technological marvel destined to crinkle louder than a third-and-long.

Deep in the footnotes, the report defined ‘initial’ as ‘until reality intervenes,’ which is refreshingly honest, like admitting your GPS has a drinking problem. Kickoff may move the needle, and also the kneecaps. Availability, after all, is just potential energy with a helmet on.

On paper, it’s Cougars versus Cyclones, a house cat stalking a weather event. One prefers pouncing; the other prefers rearranging counties. The key matchup is between BYU’s ankles and Iowa wind, a rivalry older than grass stains.

In the sacred junction where math meets memory, I charted expected yards per ligament and regret per snap. The numbers whispered that ‘probable’ is a mood, ‘doubtful’ is a lifestyle, and ‘questionable’ is how your hamstring politely unfriends you. Add tempo, subtract daylight, carry the corn, and you arrive at a score that winks.

So yes, the Initial Availability Report has been released, laminated, and left to age like a banana on a radiator. By kickoff it will be version 7.2, featuring new patches and fewer illusions. And if all else fails, Iowa will remain available, the wind will be probable, and every knee will be day-to-day with a side of casserole—initially, of course.