How Having Four At-Large Bids Is Destroying College Football

(Note: I published this a couple of weeks ago, before the bowls were announced. Contrary to popular opinion, the BCS made the Fiesta Bowl watchable (1) by not drawing Iowa to it, and (2) by pitting the BCS busters against themselves)

On Friday, the arguably most overrated team in college football, the Boise State Broncos, took the field amid a misty, overcast November evening and beat another arguably overly hyped team in the Nevada Wolf Pack. It was a night of frivolous beatings, miscues, scuffles and fake hand-offs.

And it was horrible. Utterly and unbelievably horrible.

What was obvious from the farthest bleacher seat back was that one team executed far better than another, and that team was draped in Dodger blue and an air traffic controller orange. The other team, to put it mildly, tried. It was shaded with tints of grey, which is the very color of trying. And in college football, you know what happens when you try – not much.

Nevada went deep into a playbook that wasn’t very deep. They ran scripted runs up the gut, zone reads with a lanky yet unwieldy quarterback, and shot numerous frowns toward a sideline that in turn shot back lost expressions with a hint of desperation. It didn’t matter how bad the Broncos were, the Wolf Pack were worse, and Nevada’s undefeated record in conference play suddenly underscored a larger problem in a college football landscape muddied with computers and MIT’s latest whiz-kids. The problem was this: it’s not that the BCS is unfair. It’s how the BCS is unfair. And it is unfair – to those within its bounds.

As the rankings stand today, three teams stand atop the college football world as the proclaimed indomitables – Florida, Alabama and Texas. This shouldn’t come as a surprise – Florida won the national championship last year, returned most of its players, and has a specimen in Tim Tebow, who is unquestionably a game-breaker. Alabama and Texas, looking to break Florida’s streak of dominance, consistently recruit at a top tier level and their efforts on the field reflect as much against quality competition. But behind these three teams lie three other teams - TCU, Cincinnati and Boise State – who have had an equal amount of success in what most consider lesser leagues. Less talent, less competition, less respect, is the running idea (or prejudice, depending on where you stand).

To most who criticize the BCS, this is their reason. The respect for these next tier teams isn’t as earned as it is for the top three. And many pundits like to point out that a team like TCU plays an infinitely tougher slate than a team like Texas, who more or less, feeds off a down Big 12, where the closest game it has is against a 6-5 Oklahoma squad which has lost out of conference twice. Better schedule, better results, better team, right?

In three words, no one knows.

But what we do know is that teams trend in college football. That is to say, no team is ever the same throughout the season – some get better, some worse, and some (like Florida State) get better and worse. You can argue that the Big 12 may be down a certain year. Oklahoma suddenly lacks willpower, Nebraska can’t move the ball, and the top crop isn’t what it used to be, but Texas having narrow escapes like 16-13 against a suddenly game Sooner squad suggests that games are still being played in the league, regardless of how a conference is trending.

Where trending becomes irrelevant, however, was on display last night in Boise, Idaho, behind a headset, a little lost in translation. His name is Chris Ault, and he’s a damn good coach with hall of fame credentials, but he is also 63 years old and coaches the Nevada Wolf Pack. And he was getting out-coached by a younger, more focused Chris Petersen (who is 45). Ault is part of an “aging” trend in the Western Athletic Conference. Dick Tomey is 71 and coaches the San Jose Spartans; Greg McMackin is 64 and coaches the Hawaii Warriors; Pat Hill is 57 and coaches the Fresno State Bulldogs; and Rob Akey of Idaho and DeWayne Walker of New Mexico State, both much younger, are in their first years of coaching at their respective schools. To put it short, the majority of coaches in the conference have been transitional coaches, either past their primes or recycled from better leagues and distributed to a smaller one. And because of this turnover from job to job, there is undeniably a product on the field that does not help to accredit a BCS conference.

And yet the BCS, for all its foibles in the social scene, allows for trending amongst college teams to become irrelevant, in turn allowing for poorer football and weaker scheduling. It allows for teams, as poor as Boise, to schedule essentially one-game seasons. The BCS has become the rich kid in class who doesn’t turn in his homework and isn’t as popular as he thinks. He’s spoiled, has lost friends, and is about to lose more. Oregon’s not scheduling Boise State anymore. Why would it? It’s not about losing the game – it’s about losing positioning in the BCS for playing a tough game on the road. And why would USC or Oklahoma or Ohio State schedule on the road in tough environments? The thinking behind a typical human voter is simple and yet stupid: you lose, you drop.

Where is the impetus for a good game? Perhaps the computers have it right and not the people? Is it possible?

It can be (and it should be) argued that the impetus is probably lost in those three teams ranked four through six. As the media swoons to re-embrace these saccharinely sweet, Disney-inducing underdogs, it’s forgetting how much these teams are (at the present) enervating college football, engendering more BCS karma, not helping it. It’s shouting at Pete Carroll to stop playing Ohio State, to not give us any more drama at the last possible second. It’s telling Oklahoma that its prospects would best be served walloping on Creighton at home when nobody is watching. It’s rewarding weaker teams for lesser slates and diminishing better teams for tougher ones. In a word, it’s absurd.

And it’s the reason the BCS was brought into existence. To prevent bad games from being scheduled. But the mouse has had a cookie (read, Oklahoma-Boise State in the Fiesta Bowl two years ago), and now it wants a glass of milk. For the sanity of the system, BCS, cut back the at-large bids to two and to put the milk back in the fridge. Draw the line somewhere, or else suffer the consequences of watching Boise State vs. Iowa in what might be the most unwatched Fiesta Bowl in history.

For the love of football, BCS – be more like your old intransigent self. Demand perfection, snub it when you don’t see it, and screw the hapless. You’re a bastard, to be sure, but damn it if the game doesn’t need you now more than ever.

Truck Driving

It should have come with license and registration, but it wasn't, and the truck ran rampant again in Stanford Stadium this Saturday night. It had so many axe stickers on its dashboard you swore the driver he was heading to Canada. But he wasn't. He was heading to New York, and had the perfect stage for it. Play the perfect team (a lousy 6-5 Irish defense susceptible to the run all year long), at the right moment (late Saturday night on a national broadcast), and do it after a terrible slate of weekend games (which most rivalry games tend to be now).

Jimmy Clausen, the Notre Dame quarterback who had predicted his own fortune and fame, could only cringe and blink his blackened eye. Alas, the golden statuette was not his. And he could see the haloing affect of its aura hover over the opposing sideline.

In short, Toby Gerhart locked up a ticket to the Heisman ceremonies.

And after the game, when asked about the legitimacy of his candidacy, the stoic yet intellectual Gerhart practically stood aside from the podium and let Jim Harbaugh speak for him. "He did it right there. On the field. That’s why Toby Gerhart deserves the Heisman trophy.”

It’s hard to argue with the battering ram personality of Jim Harbaugh. Notre Dame’s players took the misguided suggestion of one Lou Holtz to a new level when their players literally became numbers instead of names. Gerhart absolutely demolished a safety attacking him at midfield in the fourth quarter, and then plowed four other numbers garnering an eleven-yard run for a first down. When the sportscasters saw it, they knew it.

“Toby Gerhart is my Heisman candidate,” ESPN analyst Todd McShay said after the game. “Although Colt McCoy is a narrow second, and will get one more game to showcase his abilities.” McShay might be right about McCoy’s likelihood of getting last-second love, but on paper, Nebraska is a good match-up for Texas, and a bad match-up for McCoy.

If there is any other worthy candidate for the Heisman trophy (and by worthy, I mean a player with all-American ability) it’s got to be Ndamukong Suh, Nebraska’s leviathan of a defensive tackle. He’s an out-of-your-mind kind of talent. The upcoming Big 12 championship will undoubtedly match strength for strength as the Texas offensive line – the real credit to McCoy’s success – takes on the likes of Suh. But believe it or not, that’s a war Suh can win. He’s that strong. And if Jordan Shipley, McCoy’s bail bond, doesn’t guide McCoy out of stormy weather (which McCoy has braved all season long), it will be hard to bear the golden light of New York for the Texas senior quarterback. In short, he’ll probably be invited, but even then McCoy will have a lot to prove. As of right now, he’s the default Heisman, whereas Gerhart is the actual Heisman.

Now, I’m not convinced the Heisman trophy will play out the way it should. It seemingly never gives a damn about teams west of the Rockies unless it’s little ole USC. But I’m reminded, from time to time, that although the concept of a self-made man may be a myth, true talent typically prevails. That is to say, at this point in the race, it’s a three horse race. One horse of which will not be invited. It’s McCoy, Gerhart and Suh. And of all the entrants, Suh, the one with the least chance of winning it, has the greatest chance of impacting it. If I’m a betting man, and I’m watching the Big 12 championship this weekend, I put my money on the real contenders, not the default ones. I think Suh and company gives McCoy hell all game long, and that eventually Texas wins with the acrobatic Shipley and not with the not-so-real McCoy. And because of that, Toby Gerhart – a true talent – should drive his truck to New York in a shiny new suit and leave with a shinier one.

No Such Thing as Elite in Age of Parity

I love countering quality argumentation. It’s why I am continuing to lose popularity amongst those who know me, and will eventually suffer a death by forced exclusion from rationality (once I argue enough). I am a terribly acerbic person. I even hate it (or maybe love it?) when I argue with myself.

But I love it when I hear the following (really, these first four words burn my brain, and I’m left with no alternative but to counter):

Notre Dame is elite. It shouldn’t join a conference.

And to his credit, one Yahoo sports columnist, a Mr. Dan Wetzel, argues his point quite eloquently. “The Fighting Irish may be the nation’s most despised team, but ignoring its institutional advantages and assuming the Irish will never again amount to anything is folly,” Wetzel argues, “The program has tradition, a massive fan base and unequaled media attention. The school’s will to win is considerable, with all the necessary budgets and facilities.”

He’s right. The school is the biggest buck sign in the nation, and has all the amenities and rich traditions that ensure it will prosper.

And yet,

No other school in the nation continually makes itself a mockery than the Irish. And why is that? Probably because of all the reasons he gave. Count them on your fingers. One, it’s a smart school. Very few recruits go to academic schools, given the opportunity. The idea of multiple intelligences, pioneered by the developmental psychologist Howard Gardner in 1983, has permeated so much into our everyday fabric that even something as trivial as football can be considered an intelligence. Look at Brett Favre. He’s the greatest specimen out there flinging pigskin. And he’s not overly bright. Has made two gaffes recently with not knowing when to quit. He wasn’t ready, and he now knows it.

Two, the program has tradition. Does Cincinnati have tradition? Does Boise State have tradition? Does Oregon have tradition? No, they don’t. And yet those are three programs that have consistently been in the top ten over the last three years. Dominance in the age of equity can only be pushed rarely and sporadically. Florida State ruled the ACC for the nineties. And then it got old fast. A couple of seconds ago, Bobby Bowden decided to retire. He should have done it years ago.

Time, it would seem, is both the benefactor and malefactor for the Irish. They want to live in it, but even when they do, it pushes them toward the brink.

Now, this is not to say that Wetzel is wrong – he argues that Notre Dame can regain its brand equity, and that’s shooting fish in a barrel as an argument. Of course it can. Beat up on the service academies, never travel unless it’s to a recruiting hotbed like California, and do whatever to ensure that holding calls on the opposition are always enforced both before and after the game. But to say Notre Dame has advantages is to state the obvious and what’s “obvious” is never as obvious as it seems.

Consider the third point – Notre Dame has a desire to win. Well, so did Connecticut two weekends ago. So does Missouri, so does Georgia Tech. So what? Every school has a desire to win, regardless the basin of money it’s pulling from. The classic example is Boise State. Incredibly poor, and yet fields a quality team year to year beating opponents much richer than it could ever be.

Boise State is the classic explanation why Notre Dame will never be elite. Not now, not for a long, long time. Elite teams are a myth – just ask USC after losing two coaches. Money doesn’t make teams in a global era – quality coaching does. And as teams and conferences shift like tectonic plates, it would be wise for Notre Dame to do the same. Because as they stand right now, is there really any difference between them and the service academies? One could argue there is. One could argue Navy is a better program than Notre Dame and has been for some time.

Point is, this line of reasoning for Notre Dame’s supposed reemergence has been made time and time again. And it’s always old. It was old when Bob Davie got fired. It was old when Ty Willingham got fired. And it’s old now. Wetzel’s arguing semantics at this point and digging up the annals of Notre Dame’s past to substantiate his argument. The better argument lay in the anagnoresis the administration in South Bend will have to go through. If they decide to hire a new coach, they better decide upon a new vision as a school. Do they decrease or maintain the academic standards? Do they focus more on football and less on advertisement? Advertising has only hurt Notre Dame over the course of the last decade. It can help again, but as most marketers know, it's WHEN to advertise that can really impact how others view your product. Until the school stands in the mirror and reevaluates who, what and where it is, tradition will be nothing more than a bad marketing tool.

Watching Florida's Offense

(Note: I wrote this a year ago, before the Gators lost Dan Mullen. The Gators were, offensively, a sight to see in 2008, and without Mullen, and the likes of Harvin and Murphy, this proved not to be the case in 2009)

The third valve is watched most closely by a linebacker, who in turns signals to a free safety, and every fan on the field knows the quarterback's got a chance to take it himself, or possibly toss it to his tight end, but seriously, where is the ball going? Not a single clue in the house. The coach, solid as a rock, stares down the field. Every damn receiver is open. Somewhere in heaven, somewhere in hell, there are more Florida receivers, breaking the coverage imposed upon them by higher laws. Is the cat in the box or not? The fans quiet before the storm, which seems like it could break on every second down with six to go. Waves. Turbulent, biblical waves crash the shore of the Florida State defense. They gang up slowly, accumulate, and explode. A blue crush of Gators rolls ceaselessly like a hurricane. Everything's clicking. Runningbacks vault over the defensive linemen like Spiderman springing off a skyscraper. The turf becomes a gymnast's mat. Triple axels, toe loops, salchows - the Gators are displaying Olympic panache. The balls are dropping like bombs from the phalanx that is the offensive line. Toes are gently touching the remotest green patch of grass not dusted up in chalk. The scoreboard is getting lighted up more than it would be with General Electric. Pure human voltage. Some idiot on television asks if that quarterback is the best player in college football. Now? Ever? And the answer is just enjoy the show.

Mountain Highs and Lows

It is widely considered a travesty that the world of college football is demographically myopic. Only two conferences really matter to most pollsters - the Big 12 and the SEC. Out of these two leagues, only five teams are typically considered BCS worthy on a year-to-year basis: Florida, Alabama, LSU, Texas and Oklahoma. And only Alabama has not won a BCS trophy in the modern college football era (starting in 1998, from then on). With a Tide-rolling win this Saturday night, that trend could be reversed. Why? Because anyone watching last weekend's game in College Station knows the truth: Texas has too many flaws to win the national title.

But there's another team in Texas. It's purple, shoots blood from its eyes, and has the coolest name ever invented in the sporting culture - the TCU Horned Frogs. The Horned Frogs, like Texas, are undergoing a remarkable season - an undefeated season - and should Nebraska pull the upset over the favored Longhorns, there is little debate on the whether TCU will go to the national title. In short, it will.

But playing Devil's advocate is a fun game, and although many in the media speculate that it should, playing to the sympathies of many a rural spectator, I tend to think otherwise. There is an overlying notion that the Mountain West isn't far from the Big East in terms of overall strength. People single out the Big East conference due to it's relative obscurity in the college football world - it's more of a basketball conference and only has eight teams. But what is mostly forgotten about the Big East is that it too has a high success rate in bowl games, which is the best way to determine a conference's overall strength. The Mountain West, on the other hand, seems top-heavy.

Take three years ago. West Virginia dusts off Oklahoma by 20 on the road (virtually a home game for the Sooners). A year before that, it cruises past Georgia, the SEC champion, in Atlanta. Those were solid wins. Contrast that with Utah beating Alabama (in Baton Rouge) and Utah beating Pitt (in Tempe), the leagues are fairly comparable.

But taking a look at the lower halves of the conferences shows the following:

The Big East went 4-2 in 2008. It went 5-0 in 2007 and won the Bowl Challenge Cup. Over the last six years, along with the SEC, it has managed to provide more different winners in BCS games than any other conference (3 different schools per conference). There's depth to be had in the Big East. Every year, the league is up for grabs. That's a good trait to have.

The Mountain West, conversely, does have a good bowl record, but it screams Utah in its signature bowl victories. Utah has won twice, and very convincingly, but nothing suggests that BYU, TCU or other teams have kept up their ends of the bargain in big games. Those teams win smaller games in San Diego or Las Vegas, and do it against reeling programs (Oregon in '06, UCLA in '07). In short, the results stand for themselves - Utah, as a school, should join the Pac-Ten conference. It's academic enough, just as talented, and it's orbiting the rest of its league.

And if Cincinnati wins at Pitt (which is not a given), they're the team that is statistically more deserving of the game. Although the pollsters might not see it that way, Oregon State and four ranked bowl-playing teams (Pitt, WVU, South Florida, Rutgers) from its own conference is a sturdier slate than Clemson, Utah, BYU and Virginia.

This all of course, could be a moot point if TCU wins its bowl game, championship or not. And given the way the Horned Frogs have played, that's a good possibility. But before the BCS caves in to the demands of the MWC conference commissioner / "district attorney" Craig Thompson, and his justified albeit irrational demands for a playoff and BCS equality, let's watch to see how New Mexico does, how San Diego State does, how Wyoming does year in, year out.

The point is, TCU is probably a good team, and that helps the Mountain West. But does the league deserve to have a BCS bid? No. The depth of the league is fodder for preseason wins elsewhere in stronger conferences. What should be examined is the validity of adding a TCU or a Utah to the Pac-Ten. Should the conference expand - which it should, undoubtedly - these schools are the best of the rest (and in other sports, not just football). Utah obviously makes geographical sense, and a Texas footprint for the conference would be enormous. Whether the staid, laid-back Pac-Ten office does this is anyones guess, but after watching college football take a year off from all the drama and have things play out the way most thought they would - the Big East, the weakest link in the system, is still a step above the Mountain West and the Pac Ten clearly should reevaluate where it stands in regards to expansion. This is what the landscape is telling us.

Distributors and Managers

It’s simply amazing how the majority of college football doesn’t get quarterbacks. The concept of a pocket passer is simply too great to break for the traditionalists who enjoy the game for it's bypassed purity. All year long we hear about how great someone is at “distributing the ball” and “managing the game” and yet, for the life of me, I’ve never seen a quarterback do both of those things simultaneously. The general consensus says, if you get the ball to your playmakers (a distributor) you're great, and if you manage the game (a manager) you aren't losing the game, which, although kind, is less than great. It's easy to get the simplicity of the argument, but I disagree wholeheartedly with it. I think managers are great, and I think distributors are posers.

Distributors are wonderful to have on a team, but by no means are they necessary for a teams’ success. Case one is Kellen Moore of Boise State. He’s a fine distributor, but against quality defenses, namely TCU and Oregon, he’s thrown seven interceptions. He’s simply put, more a decent quarterback with nice fundamentals than he is a gamebreaker. Colt McCoy, case two, conversely, has won two games decided by three points or less, but in games decided in the waning seconds of regulation, he’s thrown an interception in a loss (Texas Tech) and mismanaged the clock (against Nebraska) on route to a fortuitous victory. He gets ahead of himself when it matters, and it’s why he lost the Heisman. Sam Bradford, case three, has lost every game decided by three points or less. And he won the Heisma

n.

Managers, however, get the job done. And they do it well. People have asked me what I mean by this and I say it’s obvious when you see it. Andrew Luck is a manager. Greg McElroy is a manager. Tim Tebow is a manager. And Jeremiah Masoli is a manager. They get the crucial wins, and are pivotal to how a team performs. They have “it.” Stanford will be without Luck for their match-up with Oklahoma in the Sun Bowl. Chalk that up as a loss for the Cardinal. Tim Tebow has never lost a game decided by three points or less. He always is in the know, and is widely considered a coach on the field. So is Greg McElroy who hasn’t ever lost a game in his life. That’s simply outstanding. Chalk them up for wins. And Masoli is, simply put, a winner as well. He too has never lost a game decided by three points or less. He just gets it done, particularly when it matters most (during the Civil War, at the end of the Oregon-Arizona game). If it's a closer game in the Rose Bowl than people imagine it will be (which undoubtedly, given Oregon fans' enthusiasm, it will be), Masoli provides the difference, typically, ensuring the win.

Have you ever seen Moore, McCoy or Bradford will their team to wins like Masoli has? No. Nor have I.

The common misconception, of course, is that fundamentals win games. People love to ascribe to this myth, particularly in the Midwest, and so players like Kellen Moore, Colt McCoy and Sam Bradford are fun to watch. But what happens when the play is broken for Texas? Where does McCoy scramble to? He doesn’t. He gets sacked by Ndamukong Suh. What about Boise State? Where does Moore go? He goes belly up against TCU’s Stephen Hodge or Jerry Hughes. None of these players get it done against quality defenses. Bradford gets hurt, twice in a year, proving he’s got more carbon filament in his body than a rusty, bent rod of wrought iron steel.

And it simply amazes me that those three names are always in the Heisman discussion. They're not needed in the argument; the players are empty space taking up seats others are more deserving of. How often has a Heisman-winning quarterback won the championship game? Never? How often is "efficiency" the best barometer for greatness? Rarely? Thus, my argument in two questions answered is thus: distributors? They can take home the trophies. Managers? They win the fucking game.

Long live McElroy, Tebow, Masoli and Luck. To the victors, go the spoils.