For Brock Huard, there is no shelter from the hype and he knows it.
Not even here - a morning's drive from home, holed up on a campus barren of football for more than half a century, bunking with a dormful of new buddies who were allthis and all-that themselves. He is still the one singled out, sought after, eyeballed, interrogated - and therefore teased, darted and dogged by his bunkmates.
"Make sure they spell my name right, Broccoli," says one.