<table><tbody><tr><td colspan="3" class="storytitle"> Weekly Affirmation - Season of Soul Searching </td> </tr> <tr> <td class="primaryimage" valign="top">
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By Matt Zemek
CollegeFootballNews.com
Posted Nov 25, 2007
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Next week, the national conversation will rightly focus on the freshly-established BCS Championship Game, along with the other major bowl games. This week therefore offers an appropriate occasion for a final commentary on the larger world of college football, and it what means to all of us.
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ByMatthew Zemek
Mr. Zemek's e-mail: mzemek@hotmail.com
Short-Form Weekly Affirmation: Fast Track Gold Club
First, however, a few quick hitters on the national scene and the championship chase. One risks being obvious here, but at a certain point in time, it’s necessary to identify what’s right in front of your nose.
The first thing that needs to be said, front and center, about all the teams involved in the pursuit of New Orleans is that they are all doing what they’re being asked to do. The comments below on the various title contenders have little to do with the teams themselves; the Weekly Affirmation is concerned with the paper-thin resumes and soft schedules of these teams, which cheapens the national championship and detracts from the reputation of this sport (again!). The point of knocking these teams’ resumes is not to criticize the teams themselves, but to agitate for systemic reform—namely, a plus-one at the very least and ideally a Final Four after the BCS bowls. Now, on with the show…
If West Virginia plays turnover-free ball, it will almost certainly defeat whichever team it plays. With turnovers, the Mountaineers will just as surely be toast in a high-stakes BCS battle.
If Ohio State wins the national championship and you still (amazingly) think the BCS is actually a good system, ask Georgia and USC if they would have liked a shot at the Buckeyes. Ohio State will deserve to be in the Superdome on January 7 if Missouri loses to Oklahoma, but in the same breath, this team—a tremendous overachiever but still a shell of last year’s Columbus club—would wind up being one of the least impressive national title game participants in college football history. Same goes for a West Virginia team that did what it was supposed to do, but yet found precious little quality opposition on its schedule. For Ohio State to win a title without going through Georgia or USC would cast a long and dark shadow over this season, providing still more proof (WHAT?! The BCS debacles in 1998, 2000, 2001, 2003, 2004 and 2006 weren’t enough to make you hate this god-awful system that has destroyed college football’s integrity and smothered the sport’s soul?) that the Bull Crap Series is one of the worst creations in the history of mankind. Doctor, doctor, please get a plus-one to the house, stat! (Where did all the discussion about a plus-one go, anyway? Wasn’t there supposedly momentum behind such a plan? Good grief…)
Missouri is doing everything it’s being asked to do, along with the ‘Eers and the Bucks. However, just ask yourself this question: how much value should a team derive from beating a team it already lost to? If splitting a season series with Oklahoma is good enough to get the Tigers into the Big Game in the Big Easy (and the sad thing is that it would be hard to deny Missouri’s claim!), what does that say about the stature, heft and substance of the schedules possessed by America’s top teams? Kansas—nervous, inexperienced, and outclassed in the face of Missouri’s onslaught—proved to be less than an elite team after getting waxed in its first really difficult game of 2007. Therefore, Missouri’s achievements—a win over Kansas, a win over a solid Illinois team, and a split against OU—would represent the resume of a national title game participant. Again, we’d have a team contesting a title after going through a regular season with alarmingly few stiff tests. This is not what college football is supposed to allow.
Each major FBS program should play one top 40 team and one top 15 team out of conference, at the very least. This sport cries out for substantive and significant matchups that will allow any relevant football observer—the writers, the coaches, the Harris Poll folks, the computer geeks, and others—to make truly informed decisions based on an ample supply of evidence. In this and every other college football season (with precious few exceptions), the sport and its finest analytical minds simply lack enough legitimate evidence to make informed comparisons at the end of each season. Don’t pretend that eight conference games (nine in the Pac-10) and a few non-conference cupcakes offer a legitimate basis for saying that one team deserves to compete for the national title, while another one doesn’t. There is rarely if ever enough evidence to make a clear and convincing case for BCS title aspirants at this time of year. It’s a crime that won’t send people plunging into poverty or homelessness, but a crime it still is. Don’t you forget that.
Ugh. Sounds like time to move on to an essay.
Long-Form Weekly Affirmation: Premium Members
This week's essay begins and ends with a question that is meant to connect college football to the lives we lead: just what are we chasing in our devotion to college football? Phrased differently, how do we define and limit the value of this sport within our own human journeys and experiences? In just one week, another regular season will be in the books, and since bowl games lack the stature and cachet they used to possess, you'll slip into that wistful mental posture that begins to confront life without college football once the first week of January slips away. These days, right now, are--for many of you--the final delicious moments of an Autumnal sojourn that, once again, has come and gone much too quickly. Before you face the end of the regular season and nine months without a full plate of Saturday fun, it's worth thinking about the real meaning of college football in your own life.
Just what are we chasing? What are we pursuing? When the fortunes of our teams--and, by extension, the schools they represent--rise and fall, what does that mean for us? How deeply does this sport cut into our psyches and reveal our true feelings about everything under the sun? How much do outside events--in which other people, and very young people at that, compete on the gridiron in games that are then evaluated to produce rankings systems conceived by people with computer formulas in their brains--affect our own moods and manners? These are questions worth asking--of ourselves, our significant others, our friends, and the fans we run into at bars, tailgate parties, and stadium aisles.
Just what are we chasing?
And why is a columnist seemingly obsessed with such a question?
After this week of Thanksgiving and the reflections that accompanied it, I can't shake the notion that the retirement of Lloyd Carr--coupled with the impending BCS firestorm that's going to leave at least a few times crying foul on the night of December 2, 2007--has made me even more uncertain about the reasons why we care about college football. More specifically, the sport's current upheavals--one in Ann Arbor, one in the BCS standings--have forced this columnist to go even deeper in the honest search for what's real, and what's fake; what matters in life, and what doesn't.
Say what you want about Lloyd Carr the coach (I'll defend his record to my dying day, that's for sure), but Lloyd Carr the man is and always has been above reproach. The loyal Bo Schembechler assistant-turned-head coach embodied the meaning of integrity for his entire career in Ann Arbor, which stretched back to 1980. You didn't need to see last Monday's press conference live to appreciate the fuller measure of the man. As a columnist myself, I found that reading Mitch Albom's coverage of Carr's exit for the
Detroit Free Press conveyed the significance of the moment, and the magnitude of the man at its center. This isn't just because Albom is an acclaimed and gifted writer who--by virtue of working for a Detroit paper--enjoyed extra access to Carr and the people around him. No, I found Albom's coverage of the Carr retirement to be far more than adequate because of Albom's own personal journey, made famous in his memorable runaway bestseller,
Tuesdays With Morrie.
You know Mitch Albom's basic life story, right? Hard-charging columnist, talking head, and do-everything personality runs the rat race, only to find that the big-time lifestyle erodes his character and harms his meaningful relationships. Morrie Schwartz, his old mentor at Brandeis University, is found talking to Ted Koppel on a
Nightlinebroadcast about a severe illness, leading the wayward Albom to seek out his teacher. The reunion marks the beginning of a life turnaround for Albom, as a series of Tuesdays spent at Morrie's side reminds the hotshot columnist about the things that really matter in life. Ever since that reunion, Albom--still doing voluminous and first-rate work as a columnist and also as a novelist--is now much more grounded, empathic, sober (in the sense of being aware, levelheaded and clear-eyed about life), and other-centered. In many ways, Mitch Albom is (now) America's best and foremost representation of a sportswriter who makes meaningful connections between these (in many ways) ostensibly trivial games and various dimensions of the larger human experience. In week one, the Weekly Affirmation mentioned the late, great David Halberstam as a source of journalistic inspiration. Now, in the next-to-last week of the season, before the BCS demands our complete attention, this column points to Mitch Albom as another profound example of how sportswriting can and does serve a much larger purpose than merely evaluating Xs, Os, victories, and championships.
What's real, and what isn't? Just what are we pursuing here?
It's precisely because Mitch Albom experienced a profound personal awakening that he could write with such wisdom, depth, clarity and humanity about Lloyd Carr. (A simple Google would lead you to Albom's full collection of Carr columns over the past few weeks.) In his reflections on Carr, Albom did what this columnist sincerely tries to do each week (though not nearly as well as the master in Detroit): remind all of us why we should care about sports, and--within that context of caring--to value the things that really matter in competitive sports. College football might just be a game, but you wouldn't be reading this column or visiting this website--and sportswriters like me wouldn't even exist--if our culture viewed sports as unimportant.
Athletic competition--especially in the from of the violent sport of college football--is not the same as war, and should never be confused with truly life-and-death elements of the human experience. Yet, college football evidently matters to a lot of Americans; otherwise, we wouldn't have the proliferation of blogs, talk shows, podcasts, magazines, season preview annuals, recruiting services, content providers, and other entities that engulf the college football industry. If college football was merely just a form of relaxation or innocent and leisurely diversion, these Saturday spectacles wouldn't be so thoroughly scrutinized by so many people. There's something very deep, primal and subterranean about college football passions that is almost impossible to express. This particular sport has a way of pushing people's buttons and eliciting emotions with origination points that run so deep inside so many souls that we aren't even remotely aware of the extent to which we are consumed by college football. Perhaps the long wait from early January through the end of August makes us half-mad, leading us to vent our emotions for the following four months with overflowing intensity. That's probably part of the equation, but it certainly doesn't tell the whole story.
The question of this essay needs to be asked with a little more specificity and detail: in light of Mitch Albom's journey as a sportswriter, and in light of Lloyd Carr's exit from the coaching stage without receiving full due for his accomplishments, just what are we chasing when we follow this sport? Even more particularly, what were Lloyd Carr's harshest critics--inside and outside the media--pursuing when they insisted that Carr be fired, in some cases as early as three or four years ago? What are people pursuing when they insist that a coach be fired as soon as any adversity emerges on any team or at any school? What were Notre Dame fans chasing when they ran Ty Willingham out of South Bend? What were Ole Miss fans pursuing when they ran David Cutcliffe off the ranch a few years ago in Oxford? What got under the skin of Syracuse fans when they grumbled about Paul Pasqualoni a few years ago? What so fully irritated Pittsburgh fans when they hounded Walt Harris a few years ago? What were Miami fans pursuing when they cried for the canning of Larry Coker? The fans at these (and other similar) programs are now in manifestly worse positions than they were before. As the saying goes, "Watch what you wish for; you just might get it." But aside of the fates encountered by these programs, the deeper and more important question is, "what are we pursuing when we seek the blood of coaches and demand that the guillotine fall on the necks of men who have generally won and served universities with honor?" What makes so many people--perhaps very sane and cerebral at their 9-to-5 jobs during the workweek--so agitated when the subject is the state school's head football coach?
In one of his columns on Lloyd Carr, Albom came up with a stunning gem of an observation that should reverberate in the soul of any fan or journalist who is eager--too eager--to jump on a head coach when things go even slightly wrong... as was the case with Albom before Morrie Schwartz permanently changed his life. As a sportswriter who used to be full of himself but then came to see--through his Tuesday sessions with an old, beloved teacher--a way toward a more compassionate and healthy way of living, Albom could speak with total honesty when he wrote the following sentences, which once applied to his own mindset:
"It's amazing, in modern sports, how the build-up to a coach's departure can get so noisy, so angry, so inflamed -- but as soon as it happens, things get nostalgic. None of those buzzing bees who wanted Carr fired was in sight or earshot Monday (at the retirement press conference). It's as if these folks go underground as soon as the prey is taken, like locusts momentarily satiated, until someone new comes for them to come after.
Well, that's someone else's worry now. When asked what advice he would give a new coach, Carr's first response was "be able to take a punch."
Yes, it's an unfair life and a hard world. Nothing worthwhile comes easily, either, and that's the way things ought to be. However, this doesn't mean that public figures should have to absorb punches just because they're public figures. As much as I will excoriate a public figure when s/he does something I believe to be very wrong and inappropriate, I won't rip someone just to make waves or create headlines, and somehow, that seems to be a motivation that causes a lot of people who are cerebral in their better moments to become unhinged on far too many occasions. At some point along the line, the intensity surrounding college football and the usual debates about its two overriding concerns--namely, how well should the program do on a consistent basis, and how well is the coach performing in accordance with those standards--has been cranked up to an alarmingly unhealthy degree. The Internet has dialed up the volume, and technology has exponentially increased the immediacy and totality with which coaches and programs are scrutinized. It is in this overheated, overhyped context that we have to step back and realize, once again: just what are we pursuing when we care about college football?
Lloyd Carr decided it was time for him to retire well before he actually stepped down. With that said, however, should a single soul in Ann Arbor have desired--independent of Carr's own thought process--to see Carr step aside as Michigan's coach? A number of other men have led their own programs with equal amounts of integrity and character, and some of them have done so with even more national titles and other prizes. But no one could ever exceed Lloyd Carr in terms of doing things the right way at a storied program loaded with its accompanying set of through-the-roof pressures. Bill Martin, Michigan's athletic director, wished he could clone Carr. I can't imagine another AD saying anything else in a remotely similar situation.
What are we pursuing when we love college football, folks? Are we insisting that our program must go undefeated each year? Do we have to win the big rivalry game 60 percent of the time, even if the rival has a legend on its own sideline and even if we still win 10 games a year and make January 1 bowl games? Are we, as fans, insisting that domination must be an annual expectation, no exceptions allowed? Where do graduation rates fit into the picture? What about the holistic well being of the young (very young!) men who play this sport for our entertainment? Does it matter if a coach loses four games a season, but teaches his players how to carry themselves in all facets of life, thereby equipping them for careers beyond football and challenges beyond sports?
The question should now be understood in its most profound sense: just what are we chasing or hungering for when we care about and follow college football?
The Lloyd Carr story allows us to now segue to the other annual element of this sport which generates publicity equal to the major coaching changes that periodically alter the landscape of college football. The item in question? The BCS rankings and their end-of-season controversies. As this season's multi-car pileup comes to a close and one team is sure to cry foul, it's worth asking, with a slightly different focus in mind: just what are we pursuing in these BCS debates? What are we chasing when we arrive at--and engage in--these annual late-November, early-December pissing contests among fans of different schools and conferences?
On a superficial level, it's understandable: fans won't just defend their own teams, but also the conferences that contain them. But while teams have their own personalities and leadership dynamics, conferences are too large and impersonal to be viewed in a particularly intimate way. Conference evaluations, from year to year, are certainly easier to make than a lot of individual team evaluations. Why is it, then, that statements about conferences are often taken just as personally as team evaluations? From receiving a lot of e-mails over the past seven years, I can testify to this reality: people get very, very wounded when you say something unflattering about their football conference. It's all because of these BCS rankings and the tiresome debates that emerge from them. No one wants to be left out of the big game--that's the American way, the American value system, the American psyche. If you're not in the big event, you're not much of anything. That's the way it is these days... and that's how it has been for some time.
Not that it should be, of course. So the question must be asked again: just what are we chasing with these BCS debates? One can't help but look at national presidential politics for a moment (irrespective of any particular party or candidate, of course; we'll keep this general and very non-partisan).
When we sit down, clear our minds, calmly analyze all the information available to us, and then determine the best objective candidate for a BCS title game, just how different is this process from presidential races? More specifically, one could ask this question to focus the debate: just how democratic is either process in this, the country most iconically associated with democracy (aside of Ancient Greece)?
Take off your partisan hats, folks, and try to see this as objectively as possible without perceiving any tilt toward one team (or candidate) or the other: in the BCS and national politics, an uneven playing field inherently exists, with the only difference being that in college football, the results can--once in a great while, in a sport played every year and not just every four years--actually produce a fair outcome. Let's try to be bracingly and brutally honest: every team and presidential candidate, while having an equal chance at the big prize on a theoretical level, does not enjoy equal competitive parity. Hopefully, we can agree on this without making too much of a fuss.
It would be dishonest to say that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama didn't enjoy a substantial built-in edge over the rest of their Democratic competitors. Similarly, it would be dishonest to say that Rudy Giuliani, because of his association with 9/11 (side note: this is not a commentary on whether this 9/11 link should or shouldn't be positive or negative; no e-mail on that subject, please--this isn't a politics column), didn't enjoy something of a built-in advantage over the Republican field. Taken as a larger group, it would be hard to deny that the top four or five contenders in the GOP race didn't enjoy a substantial edge over the lower-tier candidates (Paul, Tancredo, Hunter, Brownback, etc.). From the beginning, the deck is always stacked to a certain extent in presidential politics. There will be slight variations, but at the end, it will invariably come down to one of the top two or three candidates in each field, and more specifically, the ones with the most publicity and the biggest "brand names." After all, if a certain woman wins next year's general election, we will wind up having at least 24 straight years, and possibly (if Clinton is re-elected in 2012) 28, with members of just two families occupying the White House. Name recognition rules in politics, just as it always has in advertising.
Such is also the case in college football. Don't you try to deny it.
You know it, I know it, and the American people know it: if Kansas had Oklahoma's football tradition and Oklahoma had (well...) Kansas's football tradition, there's little doubt that KU would have been No. 1 midway through the season, long before Saturday's game against Missouri. But since the Jayhawks lack a brand name as a football school, they had to slowly make their way up the ladder before this past weekend's big clash against the Tigers. All of the big brand names in college football get the preseason poll leverage that enables them to stay in the national title race much longer than other teams. Only two clubs can make the title game, but the pool of potential winners is small... much smaller than any of us might realize. Hawaii, going into Friday night's game against Boise State, was undefeated with a schedule not that different from the one possessed by Kansas. Yet, the Warriors were on the fringe of the at-large BCS discussion, and completely out of sight with respect to the national championship debate. These are but a few of the many examples that routinely show--in each and every college football season--how the brand name programs have the deck stacked in their favor. The system might not be rigged--the course of events can always upset the apple cart--but it's certainly not fair, democratic or equitable. Not convinced of this point? Why, then, is it the case that whenever there's a really intense debate in college football, the only true democratic solution--play a game and determine the winner in a context of authentic competition, not subjective comparisons and verbal speculation--is rarely if ever staged?
Doesn't this sound a lot like national presidential politics?
There's nothing more inherent to real freedom--honest-to-goodness, full-blooded, democracy-breathing freedom--than the ability to choose from an appreciably wide range of options. An "A or B" choice between two entities that encompass huge and untidy collections of perspectives isn't much of a choice. When given a choice between just two (maybe three) competing entities in a country as diverse and complex as ours, that's really not much of a choice at all. In both presidential politics and the BCS debate (both in full flower right now on a talk show near you), the same basic scenario ultimately, inevitably and invariably emerges: voters (be they citizens in New Hampshire or writers and coaches in the college football community) wind up having to make a choice between philosophies more than between objective records of fact and merit. In presidential politics, we have the clash between who's genuinely better and who's electable; in the BCS, we have clashes among several worldviews, but perhaps most prominently, this football argument features a collision between a belief in the team that's most deserving of a chance to play for the title, and--on the other hand--a belief in the team that's most likely to play well in the title game and represent itself (and its conference) with distinction.
In both presidential politics and the BCS, we very rarely--if ever--get fully democratic solutions, with the one exception occurring in college football, when (luckily) two and ONLY TWO unbeaten teams get to decide a title at the end of the season. Not yet convinced? Just think for a little bit.
In multi-car pileup seasons such as this one, it's absolutely foolish to claim to know--on an empirical level or something close to it--what would in fact happen if two teams played on a given day in a given place. The lack of playoff or (at the very least) plus-one championship games in college football represents a clear lack of democracy that only makes these BCS arguments that much more of a shadowy shell game played by college football's administrators and power brokers. Why we invest so much anger and passion in an inherently undemocratic system is a question that we should ask ourselves with much greater frequency these days.
Is it any different in presidential politics? Hardly. Again, if you're not convinced, just pause for a bit and consider something very simple.
Ever wondered why our presidential debates (primary and general election) are formatted the way they are? Ever wondered why debates couldn't be more free-form in nature? Ever considered why debates and, for that matter, public candidate forums and town halls, all involve such painfully scripted, calibrated and vague language? Just who decided that debates and other centrally important (or at least, visible) campaign events should acquire this particular format and design? It sure wasn't the will of the people--we can be confident of that. Did the people of the United States want the BCS? Were college football fans ever polled and asked what they preferred: old bowl system, BCS hybrid, plus-one, or outright four-team post-bowl playoff? Hell, no. The will of the masses is always ignored. TV and corporations call the shots, with lazy institutional media structures and organizations acting in ways that pad their revenue streams instead of serving the public. News talk radio shows playing up silly and inane aspects of Hillary Clinton's cleavage (or John Edwards's hair, or Mitt Romney's religion, or Fred Thompson's acting career) are rooted in the same media problems as are the proliferation of bombast-filled sports talk shows that carry on about the BCS as though this stuff actually matters.
You know it, I know it, and the American people know it: this stuff doesn't matter. The will of the average person, the ordinary Joe, the diehard fan, is never listened to. We shouldn't any longer delude ourselves into thinking that our voice actually matters. More specifically, we shouldn't think that our voice matters as long as our actions (and more specifically, our lifestyle habits, particularly relative to our consumption patterns as consumers) stay the same.
If you really wanted to affect the BCS race and the long-term health of the BCS as a whole, you know what you should do? You have to change your consumption patterns so as to undercut the BCS' revenue-making machines and the TV networks' credibility. This isn't a pleasant answer, but if you're truly tired of seeing your team or conference get screwed, and if you're finally and fully fed up with this undemocratic system, it does represent the way out of the darkness. Don't travel to your team's bowl game. Don't buy an ESPN-manufactured product of any kind. Believe me: while this idea is almost impossible to imagine, allow it to enter your mind: just what would indeed happen if a team's fan base was so intent on creating change that it boycotted one game, on one day in this very long life of ours? Just think about this. Picture the environment. Then picture everyone boycotting the ESPN broadcast of that game as well. Picture hotels and bars and all other sources of tourism and dollars drying up completely for one game, one day, one afternoon. Picture that possibility. Picture the Rose Bowl half-empty, as Ohio State--perhaps jobbed in the BCS title race and leapfrogged by West Virginia--had a fan base that decided not to travel to Pasadena.
Wouldn't ESPN, ABC, The Tournament of Roses, and the BCS execs react to such a scene by--pardon my French--soiling their undergarments?
You can laugh at such a scenario; it's very unlikely, of course. I realize that. But let's allow ourselves to think about what would happen if certain actions were taken by fans who realize how little a voice they actually have in this process. What would happen if our nation's citizens--over 300 million of them (now)--took to the streets to protest political realities and the lack of real democracy in presidential electoral politics? What would happen?
We might look at life and dismiss these possibilities without a second thought, but then again, it might just be that if you want to do something badly enough, you have to be willing to participate in difficult actions, perhaps over an extended period of time. More often that we care to admit, the solution to a very difficult and troubling life problem is something that goes against our instincts and shatters our comfort zones.
Disgusted with politics? The solution might be to become more politically active, against all inclinations. Disgusted with college football's BCS process? You might have to abstain from watching games in the short run, on TV or in person. Hate what TV and media outlets are doing in politics, college football, and all realms of American life? Well, stop watching TV on the networks you can't stand... but who cover politics and college football on a 24/7 basis and dominate the airwaves to begin with. The solutions to these conflicts might indeed run squarely against our desires to enjoy football games and other pleasures. But would they be worth it? It's a question that merits consideration, at the very least.
What are we really chasing, in college football and in life? What is the purpose of all that we do, all that we watch, and all that we care about? Where is all this taking us, and where SHOULD all this take us? These are important questions--for all facets or our lives--that we should continually ask ourselves in the upcoming months--January through August--when football will leave our radar screens... but perhaps not our consciences.
We'll see you next week, as we'll discuss the bowl matchups. You might like your own team's matchup, but maybe you'll feel that a boycott might be in order. The sweet taste of democracy in action could prove to be even more intoxicating than a plane flight and a seat at the 30-yard line for one stretch of roughly 200 minutes.</td></tr></tbody></table>