Well, it certainly feels like July out there, so I guess the college football “talking season,” as Sir Steve Spurrier used to call it, can officially begin.

But hold on.

There will be plenty of time for that.

Shoot, Southeastern Conference Football Media Days doesn’t even begin until next week, so it’s all rather frivolous until then. Granted, it’ll be pretty frivolous during and after that, too, but at least you’ll have some outlandishly silly comments and strange predictions to play with and properly dissect on social media.

There’s a time and place for everything.

But before moving on, how about some random thoughts on the college baseball season that just ended with LSU’s eighth College World Series championship?

Speaking of which, the championship game was “marred,” so to speak, when Coastal Carolina coach Kevin Schnall in the very first inning was forced to vacate the premises, tossed by home plate umpire Angel Campos.

It was certainly unfortunate.

I’m going to go out on a limb here, albeit a wishy-washy one, and proclaim that both Schnall and Campos were dead wrong.

Yeah, yeah, I know. The same rules should apply for the championship game as for the season opener.

But, come on now. It’s the national championship, national television, the biggest stage, the biggest audience, that the college game has going for it as it continues to grow in popularity, particularly with its postseason.

An ejection is technically  automatic when a coach argues balls and strikes, as Schnall was surely doing. But nothing is automatic until the umpire pulls the trigger, and nobody would have blinked if — yes, considering the circumstances — Schnall was given a little longer leash.

On the other hand, Schnall knows the rules, was given ample opportunity to settle down and shut up, He had nobody to blame but himself for having to watch the final eight innings on TV.

At least it was air-conditioned.

Other baseball thoughts:

The college game needs to — and I can’t believe I’m saying this — follow the Major Leagues’ lead and get rid of “the shift” — the stacking of three or more infielders to one side of second base.

I really enjoy watching it when a team beats the shift, either by bunt or happenstance. When the dust clears, it smells like … like  karma.

I know why coaches do it and it’s hard to argue with them — they’ve pored over their beloved metrics, which have replaced the sanctity of the law of averages.

They’re going to do whatever need be for the slightest edge.

But, dad gummit, it just doesn’t look right. It doesn’t look like baseball.

Neither does that funny-looking first base they now employ, which is actually two bases the usual white one in fair territory and other (usually green, but sometimes orange) sticking into foul territory. It’s there for the base runner to touch when there might be a throw to the base instead of the white half in fair territory.

But a mea culpa here. It did not ruin the game as I at first feared it would.

It did make the plays at first base cleaner for the most part.

At least one base runner did learn the hard way that the extra base is no longer a safe haven when diving back on a pickoff attempt.

Still, what I kept waiting on was a sinking line drive to dive right in front of the crease between the two. Fair or foul? Better have good eyes.

That could keep video replay occupied for hours on end.

I’m sure it happened somewhere, but I never saw or heard of it. So it must not be a big problem.

Nor, to my knowledge, did a single pitcher get busted for greasing, sanding or otherwise doctoring up a baseball.

It’s just not part of the college game. Never has been. They haven’t learned to cheat at that age. Even Gaylord Perry had to wait until he graduated Campbell and made the big leagues before learning the spit ball.

Yet before every pitcher entered or left a game this season — between innings or out of the bullpen – said pitcher and an umpire had to choreograph this silly song-and-dance, going through the motions of a charade search for slippery substances.

Your NCAA dollars at work again — solving a problem that doesn’t exist.

On the other hand, the pitch clock may save the college game.

You don’t notice it that much, but it does speed up the game.

The violators, however, have brought on a whole new list of explanatory signals from the umpires for us to decipher.

Sometimes they look like traffic cops going through their new gyrations.

Anyway, that’s it until next year, where I will continue my eternal quest to figure out what is — and what is not — a balk.