A moment of silence, please, for the end of an era. Come Jan. 3 America will wave goodbye to an occasionally corrupt, ridiculously flawed but immensely entertaining and theatrical system of choosing who plays whom for college football’s national championship.
In the spirit of reform–and because TV told them to–the bowl executive directors have devised a plan that will make college football virtually safe from controversy. That’s too bad, because controversy mixed with a generous dose of subjectivity is what made college football what it is: fall’s hot stove league and the best thing to hit campuses since coed dorms.
Beginning next year the all-powerful bowl alliance will include the Big Ten and Pac-10 conferences. That means no more quirky situations where No. 1 Michigan plays No. 7 Washington State in the Rose Bowl and No. 2 Nebraska plays No. 3 Tennessee in the Orange Bowl. Under the new and supposedly improved format, the undefeated Wolverines would face the undefeated Cornhuskers for the national title.
So there you have it–peace on earth, bowl alliance style. Except, what happens if three teams are undefeated next season? And who exactly is going to determine which team gets the sucker punch to the midsection? Or how do you deal with the possibility of separate No. 1 teams in each of the two polls?
Until college football moves to a pure playoff system–and that should happen shortly after Satan is doing double lutzes in hell–there is no real reason to tinker with a perfectly imperfect system of bowl bids. Embrace the quirkiness. Welcome debate. Encourage split votes.
Everybody is infatuated with who’s No. 1. But college football’s charm is built on more than a single number. It is built partly on the shoulders of those silly bowl men in the bad polyester suits. Without them and their arcane system, college football loses part of its personality.
Before the once-proud Cotton Bowl became as meaningless as the Motor City Bowl, there was an executive director there by the name of Jim “Hoss” Brock. Brock couldn’t remember a name to save his life. So he called everyone “Hoss,” including women, if he wasn’t careful.
Brock was a dealmaker, a power broker, a Gordon Gekko, but with a smile and a twang. He knew how to charm and twist arms at the same time. He was good. Very good.
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In 1984, while courting Boston College and Doug Flutie, Brock decided to visit nearby Harvard. Out of habit, he wore his Cotton Bowl-issued green blazer, complete with nifty Cotton Bowl pocket patch.
Brock barely had set foot on the Cambridge campus when some Ivy League knucklehead with a perfect SAT score and an inflated opinion of Crimson football breathlessly asked, “Are you considering Harvard for the Cotton Bowl?”
Brock didn’t miss a beat.
“Absolutely,” he deadpanned to some future secretary of commerce. “I’ve got y’all right here on my list, right under the H’s.”
And Brock was the same guy who once cooperated with a Sports Illustrated writer for a story, but only if his comments weren’t attributed. True to his word, the writer didn’t quote Brock by name, but it didn’t matter. Everyone knew where the comments came from, especially after the sentence began, “Well, Hoss, let me tell you something about the bowls . . .”
There aren’t any more Brocks left in the bowl business. There is barely any spontaneity left in the process at all. Everything is becoming so corporate, so TV-driven, so borderline antiseptic. Devising a scenario that matches No. 1 vs. No. 2 might make more sense, but it doesn’t necessarily make the season more interesting.
The beauty of 1997 is that three teams–Michigan, Nebraska and Tennessee–still have a chance at a national championship. If all goes according to plan in 1998, the number will be reduced by one. Is that a good thing?
College football is subjective by nature. The fans are subjective. The media are subjective. The coaches are subjective. The closer you move to a quasi-playoff system, the more you lose that subjectivity. I don’t know about you, but I like arguing about who deserves to be ranked where. I don’t have a problem with two different teams wearing championship rings.
Of course, I’m being selfish here. Less bowl mystery translates into less compelling bowl stories. Speculation and opinion–that’s what made college football so exasperating. And captivating.
I’m going to miss it.