The Collision at the Coliseum was more like a fender bender.
It was just a lot of Hollywood hype. The A-listers on the sidelines made it interesting, but the two teams on the field pretty much performed the way we thought they would.
Even Buckeyes fans, some optimistic prior to kickoff, mostly resigned themselves to another lackluster performance after being highly ranked and the inevitable sneers from their SEC brethren.
Were the Trojans that good, or were the Buckeyes that bad?
Maybe the teams' reactions to the game are a telling sign. The Trojans were kicking themselves over some lost opportunities, while the Buckeyes were looking ahead to nine more games to play. One wants to get better—the other is in denial.
Make no mistake: The Buckeyes are a very good team. But they are as predictable as their coach, and therein lies the problem.
Methodical, plodding, clock-chewing drives with no deep-threat bombs are Tressel's meat and potatoes. Rarely is anything spicy served up.
Contrast the two coaches' personas, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Jim Tressel's "safe" attire includes gray pants, starched shirt, and a vest. He's a serious coach with a furrowed brow of concern on his face at all times. Old school—like the Buckeyes' offense.
Pete Carroll, on the other hand, wears a pair of khakis and a coach's shirt with his longish, unkempt hair carelessly waving in the wind. He's smiling, chatting with his players, and genuinely "into" the game. His offense is almost an image of himself: free flowing, unpredictable, and devil-may-care.
Within two minutes of the first quarter, the inevitable happened. Three yards and a cloud of dust. Nothing has changed. Time has stopped.
The Buckeyes didn't open the playbook and instead bored us to death. Twice, the Buckeyes were facing big third-down conversions, and twice, Tressel opted to hand the ball off to keep his team within field goal range. Better to play it safe.
Their lone scoring drive took almost two-thirds of a quarter and after 17 plays, only got them three points. "I'm glad we got out of there with three, but when you're that close, you have to get seven," said Buckeyes receiver Brian Hartline.
Indeed, Brian.
The Ohio game last week was no fluke. The Buckeyes weren't keeping it simple to avoid showing USC its hand. They only have one hand and cannot deviate from it: Grind it out and take the ugly win.
The problem for Tressel is this: He has a classic pocket passer in Boeckman, but his O-line isn't built to handle the speed of more athletic, attacking defenses, like those from the SEC or Pac-10.
It's vanilla vs. Cherry Garcia ice cream.
Spin it all you want, but the Buckeyes' clinging to traditional football is there for everyone to see. While Boeckman was taking five-step drops to find open receivers, Mark Sanchez was hurling his body at James Laurinaitis to make a block for one of his teammates.
Would Boeckman ever do that? Against a Nagurski Award winner?
While coaches don't like their quarterbacks to play risky, the players will tell you differently. A QB who takes a hit for their team is their hero. He's one of them, not the guy who wears a red "don't touch me" jersey in weekly scrimmages. He's a gamer—he's a risk-taker. He wants to win.
Enter Terrelle Pryor.
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