When our one-sided conversation ended in March, I vowed the third season of “What Just Happened?” would be lighter than last year’s version, which was the perfect accompaniment to a preseason ACL tear. At least for this season’s first installment, I am going to live up to that promise.

I am optimistic, without even faking it, about the Missouri football team.

This is not my natural state, and, no, before you even ask, I have not been taking fistfuls of mood-altering prescription drugs over the summer. I just had what you might call an epiphany in late July after an unfortunate bungee cord accident. More on that later. For now, let’s explore the reasons for optimism.

This is Barry Odom’s fourth season as head coach, and it’s the first time he’s entered a season without skepticism about his credentials or speculation about his job security. There isn’t a looming “or else” scenario about the coach running in the background as the season begins. He has projected a looser image. Three years ago, Odom would have been too tense to allow all access to a Barstool Sports personality, much less play the straight man in his improv comedy videos. There’s not a right or wrong place to reside on the seriousness scale that ranges from Leach to Saban, except that you should be yourself, and I think after trying to be blander than he really is, Odom is now comfortable to do it his way as a head coach.

The biggest story of Missouri’s offseason was getting the business from the NCAA. The second-biggest story was how the postseason ban affected the roster. It didn’t. In an environment grumpy coaches have compared to free agency, MU players mostly ignored the transfer portal despite being recruited by opposing coaches. Sticking together through disappointment is consistent with the response of the team the last two years after losing streaks. That shows the players, especially the seniors, are fully onboard. The reward for their perseverance was a new $100 million home with lots of water features, so they made out OK.

More tangibly, as I look at this roster, I think it’s back to the baseline level of Gary Pinkel’s tenure. Eight Missouri players made the coaches’ preseason All-SEC teams, including three first-teamers — linebacker Cale Garrett, tight end Albert Okwuegbunam and offensive lineman Tre’Vour Wallace-Simms. When a strong crop of talent coincides with a favorable schedule, Missouri has a chance to win in double digits, and this is one of those years.

Now, hold that thought for a moment, because there are potential pot holes. The most glaring roster deficiency is the lack of a pass-rushing defensive end, which makes it hard to create turnovers and contain competent passing offenses. And, of course, the season could go right to hell if quarterback Kelly Bryant, who is going to be carrying the ball often, gets hurt.

I usually at least consider worst-case scenarios — things like, “Let’s take another look at what happened to Kelly Bryant, and, oh dear, we won’t be showing that replay again” — but I had a moment of clarity in my driveway that has stuck with me.

I attempted to secure two kayaks in the bed of a truck with a very tightly stretched bungee cord. I did not succeed. As I was peering over the spot where the fastening was supposed to happen, the cord slipped free, snapped back and hit me in the face. I initially thought the hook had plucked the right eye out of my head. But the sharp end of the hook just grazed the squishy stuff and landed a direct hit on the brow. Although I couldn’t see much out of the eye, within a few minutes, I had worked my way through all the grief stages to acceptance.

I distinctly remember thinking: The real surprise is I made it this long with all my original outward-facing equipment and appendages intact. When you think about it, almost everyone you run across, even if he or she is really old, has both of their original ears despite those things just flapping in the breeze like soft targets for low-flying drones or ninja stars.

After receiving a little eye welding to fix a torn retina, I can see almost as well as before, although I have to remind myself to not swat at the white moths that flutter in my peripheral vision. It’s possible I am just being followed by moths.

The point is, worst-case scenarios rarely happen, so a more logical way to predict the future is to expect things to go halfway decent. With clear eyes, I am picking the team with the confident coach, the committed players and the friendly schedule to win the games it should win and finish 10-2.

Brand new for 2019, this feature will be an attempt to stay positive and rationalize a decision that seemingly defies logic. In honor of the fading light of another summer, this week’s defense of an indefensible position is the purchase of the Phil Steele preseason football magazine.

Round about the MLB All-Star break, the grocery store’s magazine aisle has always beckoned. Even though I knew these publications were repositories of reheated spring football summaries, I would buy a Street & Smith, an Athlon and a Lindy’s and leaf through them by the pool until the pages warped with humidity and residual sunscreen. At some point along the way, I stumbled upon a free copy of Phil Steele’s College Football Preview. I was fascinated with this crime against typography, and I soon lost interest in those other magazines with their splashy photos, feature stories and sparing use of incomprehensible abbreviations.

Phil’s mandate is to pour the most information possible into the magazine, until each of its 352 pages is a wall of words. Even under magnification, the tiny type is a little hard to follow because of all the abbreviations and lack of punctuation. And even if I can follow, I wonder what possessed him to include most of it.

For example, here’s the start of his recap of Missouri’s 2018 season, which feels like it was written by a robot and run through a link shortener: “Missouri scored 6 td’s FG first 7 poss vs UTM Lock out leading 45-7 13:14 left 3Q, 51-14.”

Look, this magazine isn’t for everybody. If I had to guess, it’s mostly for problem gamblers without internet access.

But in the dog days of summer, when I see it on the magazine rack, inevitably boasting on the cover that it’s the “most accurate magazine” and “jampacked with information,” well, I can’t resist. In an environment where print publications are struggling to survive, Phil has done it his way for 25 years against any advice from design consultants.

Don’t change a thing, Phil.

Missouri begins its football season tomorrow night in the thin air of Wyoming, where the elevation is more than 7,000 feet. After hearing that Missouri football players have been choking down beet juice to enhance their bodies’ ability to function at high altitude, I decided to find out for myself what they are going through.

The unpleasantness began when I purchased the beet juice. A 32-ounce bottle cost $7.99. I normally don’t spend that much on bottles without “bourbon” on the label.

I brought it home, cracked it open and took a whiff. I would describe the smell as “beety.”

I poured myself a glass and took a swig. It came at me kind of sweet at first, like its purple cousin, grape juice. Then it asserts its true self with the flavor of corn silks. It exits with lingering notes of garden soil.

All in all, way better than I expected for a product whose secondary purpose is to dye Easter eggs. In the final analysis, if the choice is between drinking beet juice and having my heart explode on a football field, give me the beet juice.