BAMANEWSBOT
Staff
One of the most important figures in the recent history of college sports died last night, unloved, unmourned and, like most revolutionaries, unappreciated in its own time.
Polite society rarely dances on the graves of teenagers, but a transcontinental conga line quickly formed for this one. They danced waving copies of a prophetic manifesto:
Death to the BCS.
The decedent was 15. Its final act was to leave for an ungrateful public a lovely parting gift to be opened Jan. 6 in Pasadena, Calif. ā top-ranked Florida State vs. No. 2 Auburn in the BCS National Championship Game.
Born 1998 at Birmingham, Ala., the Bowl Championship Series was elitist, mercenary and almost universally maligned. A Sports Illustrated poll found that 90 percent of sports fans opposed the coalition.
Yet for all its flaws, the BCS transfigured the sportās feudal bowl system and gave college football a logical, systematic way to answer the ultimate question of any athletic endeavor:
Whoās No. 1?
Itās a question that college football had fumbled for more than a century. While other sports decided their champions on the playing field, college football awarded its crown via the ballot box, through media and coaches polls.
Athletic events arenāt supposed to be popularity contests. Though some seasons produced an obvious standout, far too many begat champions that were decided by subjective reckonings. Thwarted fans said voters were biased.
To make matters worse, the polls sometimes disagreed. Co-national champions were crowned 11 times in 50 years, depriving college football of the clarity and finality that is taken for granted in sports that stage a tournament to determine whoās No. 1.
Major college football, which dates to 1869, will stage its first tournament in 2014.
Only four teams will be invited. Thatās not nearly enough to suit most fans, but itās a start. Credit the BCS with an indispensable assist.
Without the BCS, weād still be mired in the opinion era. The BCS built a bridge from the theoretical to the empirical; from āWhoās got the most votes?ā to āWho scored the most points?ā
So letās have a little sympathy for the devil. He was slow to change and riddled with imperfections, but he served the sport well while he lived.
The Bowl Coalition, a BCS antecedent, was invented in 1992. Prior to that, the top two teams in the Associated Press poll met in a bowl game only eight times in 56 seasons. Since then, No. 1 and No. 2 have squared off 16 times in 22 years.
Those clashes were meant to assuage public demand for a playoff. They inflamed the desire instead.
The new four-team playoff will in turn swell the cry for an eight-team playoff. Or more. But letās be careful here.
An eight-team playoff requires three games to crown a champion. Most of the participants will have played 13 games already, which means the finalists will endure a 16-game season.
You know who else plays a 16-game season? The NFL.
This coincidence wonāt pass unnoticed. An ethical, legal and public relations nightmare looms if college football starts asking student-athletes to play the same number of games for which professionals are paid thousands and millions ā in cash, not in scholastic barter.
Expect the clamoring for an eight-team tournament (at least) to commence immediately. But more isnāt always better.
You can never expand a tournament enough to eliminate the grousing of those who donāt get in. Just ask the poor folks who pick the teams for March Madness. The
NCAA basketball tournament has doubled in size since the 1970s, yet every spring the selection committee is lambasted for leaving a few teams out.
The new football committee will get its ears blistered whether the field is set at four or 16. So the sportās mandarins might as well draw the line at four.
They wonāt ā the demand is too great and the money is too lucrative ā but I suspect they will regret it. An NFL-length season is too nakedly commercial. It will be the straw that breaks the back of collegiate amateurism, a conceit that strains credulity to the nth degree already.
The BCSā two-team playoff wasnāt perfect, but it certainly was adequate. The teams that finished the season ranked Nos. 1 and 2 have, by and large, been recognized as deserving.
Were they perceived to be head and shoulders above Nos. 3 and 4? Not often. This year, for example, many still believe Alabama is the best team in the nation. Iām hard-pressed to disagree. But Alabama had its shot two weeks ago and lost to Auburn fair and square.
The best team doesnāt always win the national title. No. 1 seeds routinely bite the dust during March Madness, including those that entered the tournament as heavy favorites. But when the championship is decided on the first Monday in April, fans donāt sit around saying, āYeah but such-and-such was really the best team.ā They accept the new champ and move on.
Why should football be any different?
Nobody liked the BCS. Yet thereās been very little quibbling about the actual BCS champions.
Which can only mean one thing: The BCS, despite its many flaws, did the job it was charged to do.
And a thankless job it was.
Rest in peace.
Polite society rarely dances on the graves of teenagers, but a transcontinental conga line quickly formed for this one. They danced waving copies of a prophetic manifesto:
Death to the BCS.
The decedent was 15. Its final act was to leave for an ungrateful public a lovely parting gift to be opened Jan. 6 in Pasadena, Calif. ā top-ranked Florida State vs. No. 2 Auburn in the BCS National Championship Game.
Born 1998 at Birmingham, Ala., the Bowl Championship Series was elitist, mercenary and almost universally maligned. A Sports Illustrated poll found that 90 percent of sports fans opposed the coalition.
Yet for all its flaws, the BCS transfigured the sportās feudal bowl system and gave college football a logical, systematic way to answer the ultimate question of any athletic endeavor:
Whoās No. 1?
Itās a question that college football had fumbled for more than a century. While other sports decided their champions on the playing field, college football awarded its crown via the ballot box, through media and coaches polls.
Athletic events arenāt supposed to be popularity contests. Though some seasons produced an obvious standout, far too many begat champions that were decided by subjective reckonings. Thwarted fans said voters were biased.
To make matters worse, the polls sometimes disagreed. Co-national champions were crowned 11 times in 50 years, depriving college football of the clarity and finality that is taken for granted in sports that stage a tournament to determine whoās No. 1.
Major college football, which dates to 1869, will stage its first tournament in 2014.
Only four teams will be invited. Thatās not nearly enough to suit most fans, but itās a start. Credit the BCS with an indispensable assist.
Without the BCS, weād still be mired in the opinion era. The BCS built a bridge from the theoretical to the empirical; from āWhoās got the most votes?ā to āWho scored the most points?ā
So letās have a little sympathy for the devil. He was slow to change and riddled with imperfections, but he served the sport well while he lived.
The Bowl Coalition, a BCS antecedent, was invented in 1992. Prior to that, the top two teams in the Associated Press poll met in a bowl game only eight times in 56 seasons. Since then, No. 1 and No. 2 have squared off 16 times in 22 years.
Those clashes were meant to assuage public demand for a playoff. They inflamed the desire instead.
The new four-team playoff will in turn swell the cry for an eight-team playoff. Or more. But letās be careful here.
An eight-team playoff requires three games to crown a champion. Most of the participants will have played 13 games already, which means the finalists will endure a 16-game season.
You know who else plays a 16-game season? The NFL.
This coincidence wonāt pass unnoticed. An ethical, legal and public relations nightmare looms if college football starts asking student-athletes to play the same number of games for which professionals are paid thousands and millions ā in cash, not in scholastic barter.
Expect the clamoring for an eight-team tournament (at least) to commence immediately. But more isnāt always better.
You can never expand a tournament enough to eliminate the grousing of those who donāt get in. Just ask the poor folks who pick the teams for March Madness. The
NCAA basketball tournament has doubled in size since the 1970s, yet every spring the selection committee is lambasted for leaving a few teams out.
The new football committee will get its ears blistered whether the field is set at four or 16. So the sportās mandarins might as well draw the line at four.
They wonāt ā the demand is too great and the money is too lucrative ā but I suspect they will regret it. An NFL-length season is too nakedly commercial. It will be the straw that breaks the back of collegiate amateurism, a conceit that strains credulity to the nth degree already.
The BCSā two-team playoff wasnāt perfect, but it certainly was adequate. The teams that finished the season ranked Nos. 1 and 2 have, by and large, been recognized as deserving.
Were they perceived to be head and shoulders above Nos. 3 and 4? Not often. This year, for example, many still believe Alabama is the best team in the nation. Iām hard-pressed to disagree. But Alabama had its shot two weeks ago and lost to Auburn fair and square.
The best team doesnāt always win the national title. No. 1 seeds routinely bite the dust during March Madness, including those that entered the tournament as heavy favorites. But when the championship is decided on the first Monday in April, fans donāt sit around saying, āYeah but such-and-such was really the best team.ā They accept the new champ and move on.
Why should football be any different?
Nobody liked the BCS. Yet thereās been very little quibbling about the actual BCS champions.
Which can only mean one thing: The BCS, despite its many flaws, did the job it was charged to do.
And a thankless job it was.
Rest in peace.
