(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"

            A great team environment or athlete is not unlike Chrismakwanzakah.  Possessing the golden touch of an alchemist, each has a propensity for the extraction of superlative generosity.  Alas, like messiahs and shooting stars, their presence blesses us with only the rarest of frequency.

            The ethereal qualities that create this magic are as celebrated as the holidays themselves.  That is why, after a scathing initial blog, I have surrendered my will to the spirit of the season.  Let us now rejoice in a discussion of a few of our favourite protagonists and the things that make them unique.

 

The New England Patriots

Here, we see a group of warriors with a fervent belief in the teachings of their coach.  He preaches the gospel of selflessness, and the results (3 Super Bowls in 4 years) are well documented.  Still, none of this is as true a testament to their resolve as their performance this very season.  Early season losses of both games and personnel had the pundits wondering if their magical ride was over.  Well, 4-4 is now a playoff-bound 9-5, and with or without Rodney Harrison, they are appearing more and more like the Patriots of yester-year.  In the fashion of true champions, they have scoffed in the face of adversity and stayed the course.  Do not be surprised if they win their remaining games against the Jets and Dolphins, and do not be surprised if they make a deep post-season run (a Super Bowl victory this year would no doubt be their sweetest of all).  Even a non-fan like myself can appreciate what they've done.  But if all of the above isn't reason enough to embrace them, here is another: Now they're the underdogs.

           

Greg Oden

Like many of you, my main exposure to the Lawrence North HS center has been his recently televised game on ESPN against Dayton Dunbar.  True to the hype, he was nothing short of dominant, logging 23 points, 17 rebounds, and 9 blocks, one of which was so immense he nearly lost his fingers to the propellors of a plane flying above the arena.  Still, the highlight was his pre-game interview, where, when asked about his plans for the game, all he talked about was playing defense.  Defense?  Somebody pinch me!  He sounded too good to be true, and upon further investigation, he is!  Among his favorite players are Tim Duncan because "he is quiet off the court" and Carlos Boozer because he "gets those dirty points, them offensive rebounds."  As a high school junior, he could have been the first person selected in last year's draft, and, if not for the NBA's new age restriction, would have been a lock for the top pick this year.  Not that any of that matters- he wants to go to college (did I mention he has a 3.5 GPA?).  Ohio State, who will instantly become a force in the NCAA tournament, certainly isn't questioning his decision.

 

Lance Armstrong and US Postal / Team Discovery

Lance's story of survival and philanthropy is well documented.  This year alone, the Lance Armstrong Foundation has raised over $13 million for cancer research and education.  But to truly discuss this man is to discuss the ultimate individual in an underrated team sport.  Lance would go to enormous lengths to tell you his seven Tour De France victories were not accomplished alone, and it would still be an understatement.  His iron will notwithstanding, Lance was a product of the smoothest-running machine the Tour has ever known.  Watching them work together is like watching Picasso as he brushes a masterpiece.  His swan song this year was as much a testimonial to the work of his mates, team director Johan Bruyneel and the multitude of engineers, technicians, mechanics, and chefs as it was a formality.  They serve as a model for envious units to chase as they ride on their own page, far ahead.  And though Lance is gone, "Le Train Bleu" will ride on.  Watch them next summer as a new piece, most likely Yaroslav Popovich, fits neatly into Lance's old spot to become the next yellow jersey threat from the sporting world's most powerful dynasty.

 

            With the harmony of caroling troubadors, our special athletes demonstrate that the Chrismakwanzakah spirit is alive indeed.  As I prepare to sign off, I am consumed by a warm and fuzzy feeling.  I now extend unto you my seasonal felicitations and bid you adieu.

           

Copyright 2005, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"

Red Sox faithful, because you have my empathy, I will give you fair warning:  Here is your last chance to look away before your hearts find themselves in the soles of your shoes.

The Yankees have done it again, I say.  With the acquisition of Johnny Damon, they have struck yet another blow in the endless pummeling that is their "rivalry" with the Boston Red Sox.  If you listen closely, you can already hear the sound of Manny Ramirez whining. 

The stats that flash across the TV screen tell it all.  With Damon in the lineup, the Yankees will improve their batting average at the leadoff spot from .289 to .312 and their RBIs from 146 to 166, while dropping the number of double play grounders from 35 to 12.  Never mind the drop in home run production from 39 to 30.  With names like Jeter, A-Rod, Sheffield, Giambi, and Matsui batting behind him, the Yanks will take the not-so-bad with the more-than-good.

Upon hearing the news, I reacted in quiet awe with a smile and a shake of the head.  It is little wonder why the Pinstripes are so widely reviled- possibly more so than they are loved.  They are good, they have always been good, and they will always be good.  It's just not fair!  And now, they have gone and made themselves better, and it doesn't appear that Boston will be able to keep pace.

Yes, the unthinkable has happened.  With a stroke of King George's mighty pen, the balance of power in the AL East has shifted...or so it would seem...

The truth of the matter is, Yankee power had never really shifted away in the first place.  A squandered 3-0 AL series lead appears to be nothing more than an aberration in the natural order of the cosmos.  Like Halley's Comet, these things are bound to happen every 86 years or so. The erstwhile Yankee killer is going to the Bronx, and the Bambino's spell remains as strong as ever.

Hence, we are left with the frustration of the Non-yankee nation.  It hurts because they buy any and all players of value from any and all teams.  It hurts because they use them against those teams to trounce their way into the playoffs.  It hurts because they take veterans in their primes, play them into the ground, and then shun them for new ones a few years later.  And most of all, it hurts because you can't fault them for it.

If you are a Red Sox Fan who has managed to read this far, I have one question for you: Is this not the very behavior a fan should want his or her organization to exhibit? 

All the Yankees do year in and year out is what every every organization should want to do for its' fans- assemble a winner. The Yanks always put a quality product on the field and so long as a Steinbrenner is in charge (Junior is on the way), that's all they will continue to do.

It is no secret that New York has more money to throw at prospective players than Paris Hilton has boyfriends, but that is the way Major League Baseball likes it.  It makes things more interesting in a controversial BCS kind of way (but we'll save that blog for later).

            When the Yankees are good, the only things more massive than big Stein's ego are TV ratings and MLB profits.  And that is why, as Yogi might say, "the status quo is the status quo".

            So take heart, baseball fans.  After all, it has been a few years since the Yankees have won it all, and if the Sox of Red and White are any indicator, every dog can have its' day. 

But remember this one thing- only in New York can a fan keep a straight face and say, "There's always next year".

Copyright 2005, Aidan Acuff, "The Sports Intellectual"

Dear comrades, a dark hour has befallen us as ignorance once again shines like a beacon for all to see.  Both sport and society now hang their collective heads so as not to witness the regression of no less than a century.  Such is the extent of the ramblings of an obtuse individual.  Such is the extent, in fact, that I, The Sports Intellectual, have been given no choice but to journey forward with my blogging debut.

And so I say unto you, NAACP loudmouth J. Whyatt Mondesire, misguided harbinger of lamentable rhetoric against the eternally undeserving Donovan McNabb, stand like a man and prepare yourself for the cyber thrashing you so richly deserve.

Here, sir, are just a few reasons why NAACP CEO Bruce Gordon just scolded you like the black Rush Limbaugh that you are: