In an earlier column, I wrote that I was going to try my best to give college athletics a chance. I have been disillusioned with portals and the way NIL has been handled and I just couldn’t figure out how things worked.
And so I started watching games. Basketball, football, baseball, soccer. The games themselves were extremely entertaining and I enjoyed it. But other than the UNC women’s soccer national championship, I was unable to understand the importance and impact of the games.
And then we get to the football national championship. In my lifetime, we went from the champion being crowned by a vote of some guys (and in my mind, guys is gender neutral) taking a vote, to a two-team playoff, to a four-team playoff and then, inexplicably to a 12-team playoff.
The only possible rationale behind a 12-team playoff is to satisfy television interests. Home field advantage and byes are extremely unfair in the sport of football. And that’s how it worked out.
Am I missing something grand? Is anyone really more satisfied with the 12-team playoff than with the 4-team playoff? The complete abandonment of any pretense of student-athletics was quickly confirmed by the playing of the semi-finals on Thursday and Friday of the first week of the new semester. Who in the heck are they kidding?
But it’s easy to just sit and complain. I have a suggestion. How about an eight-team playoff featuring the champions of the top eight conferences? A team has to be the champion of their conference to be eligible.
It should satisfy the television moguls who threw millions of dollars to the power conferences. It would make each one of their conference regular season games more valuable. And if you are concerned about the independants—which in football means Notre Dame—then have them join a conference or watch the playoffs on TV at home. Why should they be able to pick and choose who they play when conference members have to meet formidable opponents with so much on the line?
This format would require seven bowl games on neutral sites. They can rotate their placement in the playoff format.
And all the other bowl games would finally get back to having some significance. Highly-ranked conference runners-up would make for some attractive bowl games.
And we don’t have to contort ourselves into a pretzel to figure out some way to get Alabama or Georgia or Notre Dame or Texas into the playoffs when they’ve lost their conference championship. You qualify for the playoffs by winning. Seems kind of simple to me.
And those guys voting can still have a role in this. You can have them announcing weekly conference power rankings to determine which are the top eight conferences. It’ll be fun.
Of course, none of this will happen. And we could even be faced with a 16-team playoff. With goodness knows how many teams getting byes and how many home games being played.
In last month’s column I was quite derisive of the idea of Bill Belichick being named the head football coach at UNC. It had not yet happened and I just really didn’t think it would. It did and does just not make a lot of sense for either UNC or Belichick in my view. But as I have made crystal clear above and in previous columns, I really don’t understand college sports and college football in particular.
I guess the best I can offer on this is what I’ve found to be the general consensus from everyone with whom I’ve spoken. This is either going to be really interesting and successful or a complete disaster. No middle ground.
And, quite frankly, I still have my doubts that it’s really going to happen. Though at this point, I really hope it does.
Attended the Arizona Cardinals – Carolina Panthers game last month with son Jeff, DIL Stephanie and grandson Burke. For some unfathomable reason, Burke is a rabid Arizona Cardinals fan. It was a wonderful experience. A pretty good game that went into overtime and featured much joy and dancing until the disappointment of the Panthers’ win. Life as a sports fan cannot get much more intense than walking to your car through a crowd of jubilant fans while trying to comfort your inconsolable 12-year-old grandson.
Snow invites comfort food. The struggle is real. Fat Boy Index; 284.
