Death to the BCS: An Anglo-Saxon Boast

My AP English class recently read the famed tale of Beowulf, the story of a Viking hero who rescues the Danes from the horrible wrath of the monster Grendel.

After reading this epic piece of literature, our assignment was to compose a boast, or a rousing speech, in old Anglo-Saxon form.

The boast had to contain a problem, a quest, and a solution to said problem. As a keen observer of college football, I chose the most controversial topic I could think of: The BCS.

As you all know, the BCS computers have been the subject of much scrutiny since the system was put in place in 1998.

Many Longhorn fans will agree when I say that the BCS has managed to be—for lack of a better term—inaccurate in its selection of teams to compete in the five BCS bowl games.

The first BCS rankings of the year were released on Sunday. Florida was first, Alabama was second, and the Longhorns came in third.

However, the Sagrin computer ratings, a key component of the overall BCS formula, have the Longhorns 15th behind a one loss Utah team and a two loss Arizona tea that was ranked 37th in the Harris Poll and 40th in the Coaches Poll.

Excuse me?

We are just halfway through the season and Texas is already beginning to feel the icy clutches of the BCS yet again.

Thus, I turn to my boast, which expresses my displeasure with the current system in place. (Keep in mind this was written from an emotional standpoint and is in no way a reflection of my objectivity.)

Death to the BCS

Lord McCardle, Hail! I,

your loyal servant and follower, intend to take

on a task of the most dangerous kind.

I have traveled many miles from the land of

the Forty Acres, where our horns are long and our

hearts are large. Our enemies are many, but our equals

are none. However, the world of college football is

A grand and noble realm, one filled with passion and glory,

and I would never wish ill tidings upon it.

I have ventured to the thundering Death Valley and the treacherous Swamp.

I have gazed upon the splendor of the Horseshoe and Happy Valley.

I have touched Howard’s Rock and beheld the Coliseum in all of its wonder.

I fear, oh Benefactor of Benevolence, that our realm is in

grave danger. As of late, the sacred kingdom of

college football has fallen under the spell of a most

notorious and cunning enemy: the BCS.

This secret council of devious and dastardly demons

dares to defy the will of the masses.

Hidden away in their cold, decrepit basements and behind their

partitions, these upstarts have succeeded in attaining a foothold

In our glorious kingdom. These mere profit hunters have

created a state of imbalance and uncertainty in this land.

These negligent nimrods have nullified all that was once good

about college football. No longer is victory on the field of

battle worthy of the ultimate glory.

We now live in a world where nothing less than absolute

slaughter is acceptable. Moreover, we live in a world where

one slaughter is compared to another, in the hopes of deciding

which slaughter is more grand and glorious.

A year ago, my lord, the kingdom of the Longhorns

defeated the Soil-Stealer's of the kingdom of Oklahoma

in a fight to the death. Victorious were the Longhorns,

but bereft of glory. The Sooners attained the highest honors,

though they failed miserably in combat.

Only a society such as the BCS could conjure up such chaos.

You know of what I speak, oh Tamer of the Tigers. It was

not long ago that your kingdom was forced to share power

with the cowardly Trojans, who never even faced you in battle,

yet dared to call themselves your equals.

A mere computer formula, not the strength of our armies or the

courage in our hearts, decides our paths.

I pledge to thee, my lord, that I will root out these usurpers.

My journey will be perilous, my challenges great.

I will venture forth to the castle of the BCS and force

its dreaded council to change its ways.

Our great realm was built on honor and integrity. The victor

on the field of battle, not the offspring

of some cowardly computer formula, deserves the ultimate prize.

By the sweat on my brow and the chip on my shoulder,

I will not fail thee!