The conferences that make up the BCS Coalition met today and decided that there will be no college football playoff in the near future. In other news, bright light is expected to peak over the dark horizon around 6:00 am.
I really don't understand why the SEC and ACC bother "convincing" the Big 10 and Pac 10 that it's in their interest to be in a playoff. It isn't. The PAC 10 is a fine football conference, and the Big 10 has a great football tradition. The Big 10 in particular has benefited from the current system, which has allowed its conference champion to make the big dance without having to run the gauntlet of a serious conference schedule. That is not to suggest that the Big 10 doesn't have some excellent football teams. Ohio State and Michigan are both top programs, but what makes a conference is not just the top two teams but how the conference stacks up from top to bottom. In terms of the top two, I think the big conferences (Big 10, Big 12, Pac 10, and SEC) are on par. The ACC is dragging those conferences due to the steep fall of Miami and FSU. But once you get past the top two, the Big 10 falls off. Illinois had a good year in 2007, but it needs to have more consistent years before it can be considered a power. Wisconsin is a pretty solid program, but name the big bowl game that school has ever won? Penn State just isn't the Penn State of old. Purdue has fallen mightily, hence Tiller's encouraged retirement. And then you have Minnesota, Michigan State, Iowa (which fell off the map after Ferentz's initial progress), Indiana (terrible), and Northwestern (no longer the hallmark of futilty, but still in Duke's league). The bottom half of that conference doesn't pose a threat to an otherwise dominant team. So the reality is Ohio State and Michigan only have to really get up for two or three games a year.
The Big 12 has much more depth. Great top two with Oklahoma and Texas. A much improved middle tier, with Missouri, Texas Tech, Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma State, Texas A&M and Colorado (and no, the fact that Kansas and Mizzou finished high last year isn't that meaningful -- one year does not a program make). And then you have the bottom three: Kansas State (which is improving), Iowa State (which isn't), and sacrificial lamb, Baylor. As Oklahoma learned, a team like Texas Tech, which may not be dominant, is still the kind of game that can trip you up. And that's exactly the obstacle Ohio State hasn't faced (the fact that Michigan was tripped up by App State is the exception that proves the rule).
The SEC offers a similar gauntlet. Last year, they had 10 eligible bowl teams, though only 9 were invited: LSU (national champs), Auburn, Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi State, Tennessee, Georgia, Florida, Kentucky, and South Carolina. And even Vanderbilt, which wasn't bowl eligible, was really close. LSU made it to the championship game despite slipping up against teams that weren't even in the top 5 of the SEC (Arkansas and Kentucky). Take a week off at your peril.
The PAC 10 depth isn't quite as good as the Big 12 or SEC, but it's much better than the Big 10. Teams like Oregon, Arizona State, and Cal are significant traps. The only thing the PAC 10 is missing is a counterweight to Southern Cal, which it just doesn't have.
The bottom line, though, is that the current system provides huge rewards for the conferences who make the title game, and the current system makes it much easier for Ohio State or Michigan to make the title game than their counterparts from other conferences. Given that fact, why would the Big 10 ever want to do away with the system? And given Southern Cal's dominance of the Pac 10, why would it make its path to the title game any more difficult?
Given the entrenched positions, it makes little sense for anyone to try to get those conferences on board. If you want to make them an offer, make them an offer they can't refuse. Cut them out of the title game. The SEC and ACC could pull out of the BCS (the Big 12 could as well, but the current position of that conference is that everything is just fine thanks for asking!). That would destroy the credibility of the entire enterprise and, I think, ultimately lead to its downfall. That might result in the return of traditional conference bowl venues, but so what? Frankly, I'd rather return to that system, or a modified one (SEC and Big 12, for instance, could agree to meet every year), rather than the current system. And it has nothing to do with the title game. It has everything to do with USC playing Illinois and Georgia playing Hawaii. I can live with some injustice in the title game; but as a fan of college football, I'd like to see good teams playing other good teams. The current system, in the way it allocates bowl choices, leads to awful matchups between overmatched opponents. And for every Boise State over Oklahoma, there is a UGA thumping of Hawaii that doesn't end until 2:00 in the morning.
Enough. We're never going to get a playoff, but there is no reason that other conferences have to participate in a system rigged in favor of the Big 10 (and, to a lesser degree, the PAC 10). Those conferences are astute in looking out for their own self-interest; it's about time the ACC, Big 12, Big East, and SEC started doing the same.
http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/news/story?id=3375352&campaign=rss&source=ESPNHeadlines
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Best Sporting Event in America
The Masters is not only the toughest ticket to find; it's also the best TV afternoon of the year in my humble opinion. Superbowl -- that's nice. College football? In terms of quantity, it's the best around. But in terms of just watching an event as a fan, and being able to become so absorbed in the action, the Masters is, for my money, the best single sporting event of the year, and Sunday at the Masters is sacred in my household. No nagging between 3:00 and 7:00. The trash can wait. No, I can't play with you right now, son. The Masters is on, and one day you'll understand, hopefully in the absence of years of therapy.
As to the final round, a lot of people will criticize Tiger Woods for the talk about the grand slam. What some don't realize is just how amazing this guy actually is. He putted like he was a stormtrooper, hitting everything but the intended object. His drives were okay but wayward at times. He had par on EVERY par 5 on Sunday afternoon. And yet through it all, he lost by only three shots.
The fact that he played so poorly, by his standards, and yet came in second, explains why he is so great. Immelman missed the cut in Houston. Tiger lost his last two events but finished right near the top both times. What separates Tiger, in addition to the amount of times he wins, is how impressive he is even when he loses. And that's where he's starting to catch up with the Golden Bear, who I believe had 19 top 3 finishes in majors.
As to the final round, a lot of people will criticize Tiger Woods for the talk about the grand slam. What some don't realize is just how amazing this guy actually is. He putted like he was a stormtrooper, hitting everything but the intended object. His drives were okay but wayward at times. He had par on EVERY par 5 on Sunday afternoon. And yet through it all, he lost by only three shots.
The fact that he played so poorly, by his standards, and yet came in second, explains why he is so great. Immelman missed the cut in Houston. Tiger lost his last two events but finished right near the top both times. What separates Tiger, in addition to the amount of times he wins, is how impressive he is even when he loses. And that's where he's starting to catch up with the Golden Bear, who I believe had 19 top 3 finishes in majors.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
My Personal Sports Obsession
While there may be no such thing as a "typical" childhood, I think it's fair to say that there are some who hewed a little closer to the idealized norm than others. Count me among the others. I wasn't out in the backyard playing catch with dad. I was playing football, basketball, baseball (or, more accurately, wiffle ball) with all the other latch-key kids in the lower middle class neighborhood where I grew up.
Dad wasn't around. And Mom wasn't driving me to piano lessons. Mom was working, doing her very best to make chicken salad from the chicken [insert imagination] she earned from working multiple jobs. Like a lot of other latch key kids, I was supervised by my grandmother, which is to say, I was hardly supervised at all. My male role models were uncles who, during various stints of bad fortune (fortune being defined to include the obvious consequences of bad behavior), resided with us. Unfortunately, my maternal grandfather apparently had a dominant bad fortune gene, as all four of his male descendants resided with us at some point when I was growing up.
I learned a lot from my uncles. And more than just learning "what not to do," though one uncle taught a masters course in the subject, one he apparently feels the need to repeat on a near annual basis. But the other uncles -- two in particular -- were, despite their obvious flaws, good souls to whom a young child with no other guidance would clearly gravitate. They didn't teach me how to work in the shop; they didn't help me with math problems. They engrained me with an overwhelming, and no doubt unhealthy, love for sports.
Okay, okay, so they probably shouldn't have exposed me to "teasers," "parlays," "juice," and all the other accompaniments of the (illegal) gambling trade. I'm also no parenting expert, but it was also probably not the best idea for them to actually let me bet on football games, at least until I won so many NFL games in a row that they cut me off "for my own benefit" (even as a young child, I never bought that BS; they clearly didn't place the bets, hoping that they could teach me a valuable lesson other than the one I learned, which is to place bets in Vegas where you get a receipt). Let's put aside, though, moral questions about whether exposure to such material was healthy for a young child (I don't remember when I made my first bet, but I'm sure it was before the age of 8). It would be a serious misconception to think that my uncles cared about sports because they had money riding on the games; they bet on the sports becaue they loved them so much. And that's just not something you can fake.
They both had a virtual encyclopedic knowledge of all the major sports, which at the time were football (professional and college), baseball (pro), and basketball (pro and college). They were also astute fans of golf and tennis, despite the fact that neither had ever been to a country club (at least the non-custodial versions). Moreover, despite the fact that neither of my uncles was a particularly talented athlete, they were both competent basketball, golf, and tennis players. I remember going to watch them play in industrial league basketball games, where one of the uncles was one of the stars of the league. And occasionally, they would let me tag along on a trip to the local muni cow pasture that was generously called a golf course.
When they weren't working or playing sports, they were watching them on TV. They weren't the type of sports fans who simply love the home town teams. They loved watching every team play. They watched the local MLB game of the week; they watched the Braves on WTBS and the Cubs on WGN; they watched the local NFL games on Sunday and were steadfast followers of Monday Night Football. When a golf tournament came on, or when Wimbeldon was on TV, that was what was on the tube at my house. Thus, despite not having the means or access to play golf or tennis with any regularity, I grew up watching Watson duel Nickalus, with McEnroe trying to unseat Borg. I imagined myself chipping in on the 17th hole of Pebble Beach (and had the dice game to match); I pictured myself arching my back and hitting the slice serve of McEnroe. And I would periodically venture down to a local basketball court to try to emulate Larry Bird's fadeaway jumper.
When I was a child, I knew that I'd be a professional athlete. It wasn't a question. It was simply a matter of choosing the sport, and that was going to be difficult because I loved them all (except soccer, which, at the time I was growing up, was basically reserved for unathletic kids who were terrible at other sports). Unfortunately, I probably should have been forced into a soccer program, as my athletic prowess never came close to equaling my love of athletic competition. I moved from sport to sport, trying to find the one that would allow me to fulfill my dream of becoming a professional athlete.
Sadly, slow and not particularly well-coordinated aren't exactly hallmarks of professional athletes. I became a competent, and in some cases, even above-average, athlete in a number of sports. If there was a decathalon for sports mediocrity, I might not win, but I'd threaten to make an appearance on the medal stand. I was a decent football player; I was a great outfielder but not a particularly effective hitter (something about wanting to avoid the speeding object headed in my direction); I was a decent tennis and golf player but had no formalized training so my unorthodox strokes inevitably led to inconsistency; and I was a fair basketball player but didn't have the speed, ball-handling ability, or "jumps" to ever threaten anything other than a three-on-three contest.
As reality set in, and as I focused on not repeating the mistakes of other family members, I slowly gave up my dream of being a professional athlete and focused on my career. The over-exposure to sports was not without some professional benefit, as apparently all the arguments we had over sporting questions turned me into a skilled-debator, which ultimately led to college and then law school.
I've been practicing law for over a decade. It is a noble profession. And it is an important one. It is also an extremely difficult career where success is often defined by one's willingness to sacrifice our most sacred and utterly finite treasure, time.
Having grown up without much in terms of financial security, I never gave serious thought to actually capitalizing on my love of sports and channeling that energy into building a career around the thing I love most. And once down the path, having acquired all the financial obligations that come with a family and professional career, it became apparent that there was no going back. It's not that I do not enjoy the law. Far from it. It's just that the law can never be Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe playing that 4th set tiebreaker; it can never be Bird to DJ under the basket; it can never be Kirk Gibson limping around first base on his home run trot; it can never be Cal Ripken hitting a home run on the night he broke Lou Gherig's record; or Ben Crenshaw winning the Masters the week after his mentor died. It can't have the grace of Michael Jordan, or the unspoken joy of Walter Payton. It can never be "Do you believe in Miracles?"
Why do I love sports? Because I don't have to ask myself why, I just do. I always have.
Dad wasn't around. And Mom wasn't driving me to piano lessons. Mom was working, doing her very best to make chicken salad from the chicken [insert imagination] she earned from working multiple jobs. Like a lot of other latch key kids, I was supervised by my grandmother, which is to say, I was hardly supervised at all. My male role models were uncles who, during various stints of bad fortune (fortune being defined to include the obvious consequences of bad behavior), resided with us. Unfortunately, my maternal grandfather apparently had a dominant bad fortune gene, as all four of his male descendants resided with us at some point when I was growing up.
I learned a lot from my uncles. And more than just learning "what not to do," though one uncle taught a masters course in the subject, one he apparently feels the need to repeat on a near annual basis. But the other uncles -- two in particular -- were, despite their obvious flaws, good souls to whom a young child with no other guidance would clearly gravitate. They didn't teach me how to work in the shop; they didn't help me with math problems. They engrained me with an overwhelming, and no doubt unhealthy, love for sports.
Okay, okay, so they probably shouldn't have exposed me to "teasers," "parlays," "juice," and all the other accompaniments of the (illegal) gambling trade. I'm also no parenting expert, but it was also probably not the best idea for them to actually let me bet on football games, at least until I won so many NFL games in a row that they cut me off "for my own benefit" (even as a young child, I never bought that BS; they clearly didn't place the bets, hoping that they could teach me a valuable lesson other than the one I learned, which is to place bets in Vegas where you get a receipt). Let's put aside, though, moral questions about whether exposure to such material was healthy for a young child (I don't remember when I made my first bet, but I'm sure it was before the age of 8). It would be a serious misconception to think that my uncles cared about sports because they had money riding on the games; they bet on the sports becaue they loved them so much. And that's just not something you can fake.
They both had a virtual encyclopedic knowledge of all the major sports, which at the time were football (professional and college), baseball (pro), and basketball (pro and college). They were also astute fans of golf and tennis, despite the fact that neither had ever been to a country club (at least the non-custodial versions). Moreover, despite the fact that neither of my uncles was a particularly talented athlete, they were both competent basketball, golf, and tennis players. I remember going to watch them play in industrial league basketball games, where one of the uncles was one of the stars of the league. And occasionally, they would let me tag along on a trip to the local muni cow pasture that was generously called a golf course.
When they weren't working or playing sports, they were watching them on TV. They weren't the type of sports fans who simply love the home town teams. They loved watching every team play. They watched the local MLB game of the week; they watched the Braves on WTBS and the Cubs on WGN; they watched the local NFL games on Sunday and were steadfast followers of Monday Night Football. When a golf tournament came on, or when Wimbeldon was on TV, that was what was on the tube at my house. Thus, despite not having the means or access to play golf or tennis with any regularity, I grew up watching Watson duel Nickalus, with McEnroe trying to unseat Borg. I imagined myself chipping in on the 17th hole of Pebble Beach (and had the dice game to match); I pictured myself arching my back and hitting the slice serve of McEnroe. And I would periodically venture down to a local basketball court to try to emulate Larry Bird's fadeaway jumper.
When I was a child, I knew that I'd be a professional athlete. It wasn't a question. It was simply a matter of choosing the sport, and that was going to be difficult because I loved them all (except soccer, which, at the time I was growing up, was basically reserved for unathletic kids who were terrible at other sports). Unfortunately, I probably should have been forced into a soccer program, as my athletic prowess never came close to equaling my love of athletic competition. I moved from sport to sport, trying to find the one that would allow me to fulfill my dream of becoming a professional athlete.
Sadly, slow and not particularly well-coordinated aren't exactly hallmarks of professional athletes. I became a competent, and in some cases, even above-average, athlete in a number of sports. If there was a decathalon for sports mediocrity, I might not win, but I'd threaten to make an appearance on the medal stand. I was a decent football player; I was a great outfielder but not a particularly effective hitter (something about wanting to avoid the speeding object headed in my direction); I was a decent tennis and golf player but had no formalized training so my unorthodox strokes inevitably led to inconsistency; and I was a fair basketball player but didn't have the speed, ball-handling ability, or "jumps" to ever threaten anything other than a three-on-three contest.
As reality set in, and as I focused on not repeating the mistakes of other family members, I slowly gave up my dream of being a professional athlete and focused on my career. The over-exposure to sports was not without some professional benefit, as apparently all the arguments we had over sporting questions turned me into a skilled-debator, which ultimately led to college and then law school.
I've been practicing law for over a decade. It is a noble profession. And it is an important one. It is also an extremely difficult career where success is often defined by one's willingness to sacrifice our most sacred and utterly finite treasure, time.
Having grown up without much in terms of financial security, I never gave serious thought to actually capitalizing on my love of sports and channeling that energy into building a career around the thing I love most. And once down the path, having acquired all the financial obligations that come with a family and professional career, it became apparent that there was no going back. It's not that I do not enjoy the law. Far from it. It's just that the law can never be Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe playing that 4th set tiebreaker; it can never be Bird to DJ under the basket; it can never be Kirk Gibson limping around first base on his home run trot; it can never be Cal Ripken hitting a home run on the night he broke Lou Gherig's record; or Ben Crenshaw winning the Masters the week after his mentor died. It can't have the grace of Michael Jordan, or the unspoken joy of Walter Payton. It can never be "Do you believe in Miracles?"
Why do I love sports? Because I don't have to ask myself why, I just do. I always have.
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