(This is quite possibly the hardest thing I have ever had to declare, but if the truth must be known, I LIKE THE BCS!!!  There, I said it.  I like the BCS!  And while that alone doesn't make for a good column, the spellbinding account of how it came to be certainly does.)

           The year was 2005.  The month: December.  I was an idealistic young man on his way to becoming America's next great sportswriter as another college football season drew to its' magnificent close.  With spirits soaring, I retired for the evening to my study.  My mission was to construct the mandatory opus without which no blogger's body of work could be complete- a requiem for the BCS.  I called for my butler to bring me my pipe, as I knew my ruminations would extend beyond the witching hour.  But little did I know this was not to be an ordinary night.

            As a cloud of mild cherry tobacco smoke began to rise, so too, did my understanding of what makes the BCS such wonderful diversion.  For in that cloud, I saw a shape- murky, at first, but then unmistakable.  It was a pigmy-sized man in a football uniform, his head much too large for his body.  With lungs of helium, he shouted through his facemask...

 

"I am Balthazar Cornelius Somethingorother," he proclaimed, "and YOU are a non-believer!"

 

"What manner of chicanery is this?" I asked in skepticism.

 

"SILENCE!" he bellowed, "You and your ilk would opt to have a playoff system in college football!"

 

"But of course," said I, "It is the moral and logical course of action".

 

"YOU FOOL!" he cried, "Have you no appreciation for what is already yours?  Open your eyes!  Were you not on the edge of your seat as Texas edged Ohio State in week two?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And was Penn State's last-second defeat at the hands of Michigan not a thriller for the ages?"

 

"I suppose."

 

"Were the national championship hopes of USC not nearly wrestled away from them in a hard-fought battle against Notre Dame...and then again five weeks later against Fresno State?"

 

"Alright," I said, "The BCS is has its' charms, but-"

 

"BUT WHAT?  If a playoff system did exist, could you ask for a better final game than that which is scheduled on January 4th?"

 

"Well, you have a point there", I conceded.

 

"When the likes of Auburn and Utah are denied their shots at glory, are you not still enthralled by the process?"

 

"Yeah, so?"

 

He lowered his eyes toward the ground and his voice to a whisper.

 

"My dear boy," he said, shaking his head, "You still don't get it"

 

"Get what?" I demanded in frustration.

 

His eyes then rose again, stabbing at my very essence.

 

"Observe what is happening around you," he pleaded,  "Listen to the voices as they grow in number.  Your playoffs have been here all along.  They begin in September and finish in December.  Your precious national championship is not decided in early January- it is decided every week!"

 

I was instaneously struck by every known emotion.  My knees crashed to the floor only to find that my tears were already there.

 

"How could I have been so senseless?" I wailed, "All those wasted years!"

 

"Have I taught you nothing?" he implored, "It is not for you to bemoan the things in life that are not.  Your purpose as a human is to embrace the things that are.  I HAVE SPOKEN!!!"

 

And with that, he disappeared. 

 

I was profoundly changed on that fateful night.  I am now more at peace with my surroundings, and myself, and needless to say, I have renewed my love affair with college football.

 

All thanks to my imaginary metaphorical friend.

Copyright 2005, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"