January Madness: Finding a College Football Playoff That Works

Surveys of college football fans have found upwards of 90 percent would like to see a playoff in college football.  The only problem comes when the type of playoff is specified—then the support doesn’t stay as consolidated.

Without addressing the problem of convincing the university presidents to commit to a playoff, or getting the bowls to release their iron-clad grip on college football’s postseason, what is the kind of playoff that will most closely capture the magic of March Madness, without harming the meaning of the regular season?

The NCAA basketball tournament is great because of three reasons:

The championship is proven on the court.

Sure, media pundits and athletic directors seed the tournament—but once you’re in, it’s win or go home.

Open access / Clear path.

Every school in the country knows how to punch their ticket: Win their conference.  For some it’s the regular season, for most it’s the conference tournament—but every coach can stand in front of their team in November and say, "If we win these games, we’re in."

Cinderella gets a shot at the big boys.

One of the most important parts of March Madness, what makes every March special, are the "Cinderella" teams—the Davidsons, the George Masons, the Gonzagas.  They might not win it all, but they don’t need to.  They just need to beat one team to throw a wrench in the whole thing. No one can argue that the NCAA would be what is today without them.

So what kind of football tournament would capture these elements?  What kind of rules would provide enough access to teams without rendering September and October a meaningless preseason?

The NCAA should create a tournament that invites the eight highest-ranked conference champions to a single-elimination tournament.  No conference would have a guaranteed invitation, and there would be no set list of the eight conferences to be invited every year.

If the ACC or Big East had a down year, and the champions of CUSA, the MWC, and the WAC were all ranked ahead of the ACC champion or Big East champ, the BCS conference champs would stay home.

If a team from the MAC or Sun Belt caught fire and went 12-0 or 11-1, they would get a shot, much as 12-0 Utah in 2004 or 12-0 Boise State in 2006 did.

A tournament of eight Conference Champions would capture the magic of March Madness because:

It gets proven on the field.

I have no problems using AP or BCS polls to seed the tournament, but using rankings and votes as the only criterion for a tournament invitation is foolish.  No one knows which teams are really the top two, or top four, or top eight.  The AP writers don’t know, and the guy that fills out the coach’s poll for him doesn’t know.  That’s why every sport on the planet determines its championship on the field.

Everyone knows what they have to do.

Not only is the tournament itself proven on the field, but access to the tournament is as well.  In August, when training camp starts, every coach could stand in front of his team and say, “If we win all our games, we could win a national championship.”  Many coaches, inside and outside the BCS conferences, can’t say that to their kids now.

The whole point of inviting only conference champions (rather than inviting some number based on a poll) is that the access is proven on the field.  Teams that lost early but got hot (like Georgia last year) might complain, but everyone had a chance.  If a team can’t win its conference, it shouldn’t be in a national championship tournament.

The Cinderellas get their shot.

Utah, Boise State, and Hawaii have all been invited to play in BCS games.  No one knows how far 2004’s Utah team or 2006's Boise State team would have advanced in a tournament, but few will argue there’s no chance Utah or Boise could have won at least one game.

The NCAA basketball tournament is so special because the big teams invite the challenge: “You think you can beat me?  Step onto the court and prove it.”  The current BCS structure, and any tournament that only includes BCS schools, would be an elitist money-grab that says, "Our athletic budget is bigger than yours. Get off our field.”

Here’s what we would have had in 2007:

1. Ohio State

8. BYU

4. Oklahoma

5. USC

6. West Virginia

3. Virginia Tech

2. LSU

7. Hawaii

The highest ranked non-champions, (like Georgia or Missouri) may complain that they have been left out, or that they are clearly better than Hawaii or BYU—and they might be right—but including non-conference champions (through an at-large format) kills the regular season.

You can’t give Georgia a second chance without rendering their first chance meaningless.  They had their shot.  Why should they get another?

SEC teams may also complain that having only one school is unfair to their amazingly strong conference.  But in this format, the best teams from the best conferences are rewarded: They get the high seeds.  That’s what strong conferences and good teams deserve.

Also, eight teams mean every week still matters.  You can’t win your conference by taking a week off or getting much better halfway through the season.  A 16-team tournament means you’d have several two and three and even four-loss teams in, with conference rematch games possible.

Finally, an eight-team tournament means those conference championship games that the ACC, SEC, and Big XII have invested so much in are now bids to the really big dance.  They would have all the spirit of March’s championship week in early December.

How many SEC fans would travel to Atlanta to watch an SEC championship game if both teams would be playing in a 16-team tournament a few weeks later?  How many SEC fans would travel to Atlanta with a berth in an eight-team tournament on the line?

Perhaps as travel costs continue to skyrocket and the economy teeters on recession, enough financial motivation will finally exist for the college football brass to give the fans what they want.

Hopefully, when they do, they’ll give them something that will be as special as March Madness.