Nick Saban vs. Dabo Swinney and the Battle for the Soul of College Football

PHOENIX — The smiling, dancing, life-loving head coach wants to talk about jet skis. He's not glowing about his prodigious young quarterback or a defense that was successfully reassembled in a matter of months. Instead, Dabo Swinney, days before a game that could ultimately push his program into another stratosphere of acceptance, is reliving beach volleyball games at the Orange Bowl.

“We were the only team to be on the beach, a week in Miami, and we played pretty good,” Swinney said.

He cracks another smile. Always smiling. Swinney doesn’t look like a man who is being asked to slay a mighty giant. And he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with what happens next.

Instead, he sounds like himself. The stakes, as high as they are now, have not reshaped what brought him this far.

“It would be sad to come up here at a national championship setting and be all stressed out,” Swinney said. “Stressed about what? I mean, I'm too blessed to be stressed. I mean, I really am.”

That is one way to look at it. But there is another way.

Less than an hour after Swinney was guided off the podium, Alabama commandeered the Phoenix Convention Center for its latest media-day appearance. If the Crimson Tide do not make it to this room, the perception would be that something went horribly wrong.

Led into the room by Nick Saban, a different message was delivered. It came from the man Saban tasked to completely recalibrate his offense.

Lane Kiffin has picked up quite a following these last two weeks, looking completely at ease in his role. He looks happy with how far he’s come, although comfort and enjoyment are distant cousins in this instance.

“I don’t think fun is a word used around our program much,” Kiffin told the group of reporters circled around him. “We’re not here to have fun, we’re here to win.”

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At its very core, the national championship intrigue starts here. It begins with two programs that have vastly different personalities—starting at the top.

From the coaches to the offenses to the defenses to the history to the mentalities and expectations, Alabama and Clemson are stark contrasts in almost every way imaginable.

One is as well-known and immutable as the Rock of Gibraltar. The other is a sudden, breathtaking jolt of electricity.

In one corner stands the constant—the most diabolical assembly line in sports. Through no choice of its own, Alabama has become the tyrant. It did not ask for that title, but it doesn’t truly mind it, either.

Operating with a style that is as deliberate as it is devastating, Alabama’s game plan is both recognizable and impossible to duplicate. The mindset is that you will eventually tap out or pass out. It really doesn’t matter what comes first.

The symbol for this team is Derrick Henry—a 242-pound running back who somewhat brilliantly ties the whole thing together. Henry exemplifies everything Alabama hopes to be: physically unmatched and completely original.

“When I think of Alabama football, it’s the toughest team out there,” quarterback Jake Coker said. “No matter what happens, you’re going to know you played Alabama.”

In the other corner stands the confident young challenger—bobbing up and down with a different kind of vigor. Completely unfazed by our unwillingness to embrace new powers, Clemson has decided it’s ready for that next step without asking for approval—dancing, laughing and celebrating the whole way.

It has made this quantum leap forward through a variety of factors, starting with its incredible young quarterback. With Deshaun Watson, anything seems possible. He is the team's heart and soul. He is the symbol for what Clemson is and what it’s trying to become.

He is the piece that Alabama—as exceptional as it is in so many places—cannot match. Few can.

The defense has unquestionably done its part, as has under-celebrated running back Wayne Gallman. This is much more than one player on the verge of greatness, something that can be easily lost. This is years in the making.

Along the way, they have danced. The head coach has not hidden his feelings or his personality—celebrating each victory as if it’s the most important yet. In many ways, that is completely true. It’s how we arrived here.

Clemson is on the Alabama path. The Tigers are simply much earlier in the climb, adding their own flavor along the way.

“At Alabama, they ask you to win the championship every year,” Swinney said. “At Clemson, it’s only every other year.”

Alabama would like to keep it that way for as long as it can. It would like to, one more time until the next time, squeeze the life out of its opponent until it says enough. It would like to, once again, surpass unfair expectations.

Clemson would like to officially announce its arrival. It would like to slay the beast and become a beast of its own, showcasing a much different personality on the grandest of stages.

If the Tigers win, they will dance until they can no longer stand. It will be a party that will be heard all the way back in South Carolina. It won't stop for weeks.

And Alabama?

“We’d probably have a 7:30 a.m. staff meeting,” Kiffin told reporters, cracking just enough of a smile for us to wonder whether he was joking.

All quotes obtained firsthand unless otherwise noted.