BCS: The Grinch Who Stole the Championship

Somewhere between late August and early December, Americans everywhere will experience one of the most popular sports of all: NCAA football.

With that comes a metamorphosis which supplants all logic and reason—the BCS equation that decides the postseason, largely regardless of what's happened on the field of play.

Year in and year out, football fans enjoy some of the most exciting, intense, nail-biting games the competitive sport has to offer.

But in December, the game that enthralls so many millions turns into a three-ring circus, as computers and reporters who never played the game decide who gets to play for a national championship, and who is relegated to the other 30-plus meaningless bowl games.

For BCS enthusiasts, the whole "equation" has been a huge success.  The BCS brought us Miami-Ohio State, USC-Texas and Virginia Tech-Florida State.  They will point to these games (and even stretch to include a few others) and say, "The BCS is working.  It's not perfect," they will concede, "but it usually gets No. 1 and No. 2 right."

"Usually gets No. 1 and 2 right."  Isn't that what the old system got us, too?   Usually.  Translation: "Sometimes, the BCS gets it totally wrong."

There are many problems with the BCS.  First of all, much is based on the polls.  By and large, the polls are popularity contests.  Reporters (most of whom never played tackle football) vote on who they think are the best 25 teams in the nation.

These reporters live in specific areas of the country and see their hometown teams play a lot.  Subsequently, there are a whole lot of teams they don't get to see at all, but still have to vote for.

Beyond the polls, there are computer rankings.  That's right: shiny, plastic, desktop boxes with wires and motherboards who figure out who the best teams are for us. 

If this doesn't sound crazy to you, consider the fact that, since the advent of "The Beast" (aka the BCS) 10 years ago, the equation twice sent teams to the title game who didn't even win their conferences.

Nebraska ('01) and Oklahoma ('04) actually backed into the game.  Both were thrashed at the end of the regular season, but still got the invite to play for a title—and lost miserably.

In numerous other seasons, teams played for the national championship though they didn't belong there—and all of America knew it.  Florida State ('00) and Ohio State ('07) both got invited to play in national championship games despite the fact that other teams were more deserving, and both lost...convincingly.

Another big problem with this BCS system is the fact that it was formed in a  reactionary manner.  To wit: the BCS was formulated to clean up the mess the Bowl Alliance made in 1997.

No. 1 Michigan was bound for the Rose Bowl because of a contractual agreement: they won the Big Ten, and the Big Ten champ always plays the Pac-10 champ in the Rose Bowl.  Their opponent was No. 9 Washington, by virtue of their Pac-10 title.

No. 2 Nebraska had to play a lesser opponent due to the Rose Bowl tie-ins.  Pollsters chose No. 3 Tennessee as Nebraska's opponent, and when Nebraska and Michigan both won their bowl games, both laid claim to the title.

In the months that would follow, the BCS was formed, even though all the NCAA had to do was to do away with the conference bowl tie-ins.

With each passing season, the BCS encounters hiccups along the way, and it gets tweaked.  In 2000, a one-loss Florida State team got to play for a national championship, leapfrogging a one-loss Miami team who had beaten them earlier in the season.

"Strength of Schedule," an important BCS component at the time, was to blame.  FSU played a tougher schedule than Miami, so they got the nod.

When the 2001 season started, the strength of schedule component wasn't just de-emphasized—it was virtually done away with altogether.

Without it, Nebraska was able to lose their final game of the regular season 62-36, not even play in their conference championship, and still get into the national championship game.

In 2004, Oklahoma, despite losing their conference championship game, got to play LSU for the title, rather than USC (who had the same record).

With each one of these "glitches," the BCS powers that be tweaked their beloved yet flawed system.  Ironically, the tweaks would cause other problems in years to come.

Why not a playoff system?  This question has perplexed college football fans for decades.

There are so many good teams, so many up-and-comers, so many feel-good stories, and so many inflated pretenders.  A single elimination tournament would answer all these questions.

Naysayers will conclude that a playoff system will drag out the season, take away numerous paydays from schools, and be a logistical nightmare for traveling fans.  But these are all arguments of convenience.

The BCS guarantees that two big-name, traditional powerhouses will meet every year in a trumped-up championship game.  A playoff would undoubtedly allow some lesser-known, maybe less popular teams into a title match—and that's not good for business.

The BCS is all about money, and we know this.  But what if a playoff system could be adopted that would (a) keep the current bowl system (which allows just about any team with a winning record a payday); (b) keep the season at its current duration; and (c) be scheduled so that fans can still see their teams in person?

The playoffs could take the top eight or 16 teams and put them in a tournament.  This playoff could begin immediately following finals in mid-December.

The top seeds would host the first round at their stadiums.  The second round games could be played at the same locations, be home games for higher seeded teams, or take place at various neutral sites.  Semifinal and final games could rotate among the existing BCS bowls each year.

While this tournament is going on, the other bowl games can still be taking place all over the country, as they weren't going to determine the national champion anyway.

Instead of using a poll or a computer, or the flip of a coin, why not use a method other NCAA sports use with frequent success?  The RPI rating scale seems to work for college basketball and baseball.  Why not in football?

With an RPI in place, this will create more regular season showdowns between non-conference powerhouses, since the RPI rewards teams who play tough opponents.

With the current BCS equation, teams only need to get to their conference championship game, so scheduling tough out-of-conference opponents is suicide.

The more people try to manipulate the season and set the stage for the perfect No. 1 vs. No. 2 game, the more they mess it all up.  Other sports don't seem to have this problem, and though it's obvious, it must be said: those sports have playoffs.

BCS lovers say that playoffs will render the regular season meaningless, that two-loss teams will be playing for the title (didn't the BCS just give us that?), and that the tradition of the bowls will be destroyed (i.e., it won't be profitable).

It's ridiculous to project (but not hard to believe) that as soon as the BCS brass realizes a way to make a playoff system MORE profitable than the BCS, we suddenly will be hearing about how great playoffs will be for the game, how it will raise the intensity of the regular season, and will bring a fitting end to every season of the greatest game in America (i.e., it will be a huge payday for everyone involved.)

Cha-ching.