Mike Leach's Playoff Will Change World

Texas Tech coach Mike Leach is like the high school teacher you had who drove a Volkswagen Beetle, read quotes from an obscure Roman philosopher such as Marcus Aurelius to begin class, said things like, "I decided I'd rather teach a future U.S. Senator than be a U.S. Senator," and gave one question final exams. Basically he's eccentric, honest, and occasionally he breaks things down so simply that you're left scratching your head, overcome by the brilliance of his mad-scientist rantings.

To whit, Mike Leach continues to advocate for a 64-team college football playoff, most recently in an interview with a Web site called Bitter Lawyer.

"This business of a four-team playoff or an eight-team playoff is just stupid. I think you have to cut the regular season to 10 games. Then I think you need to invite a lot of teams (maybe 64) into a playoff, but you'd let the rest of the teams continue in an NIT-type deal so that they could play another six games or so, which they need to fund their programs. The simple fact is that we act like a playoff system in college football is a unique idea. It's not. Bowls are unique. All levels of college football except for [the Football Bowl Subdivision] have a playoff, and other sports do it too."

The rest of the interview with Leach, a 1986 Pepperdine law grad, is worth reading but, bang, right there, Leach nails the absurdity of the present system. This is why I love him, why he's my favorite coach in college football: He's not afraid to cut through the crap about virtually everything. Instead of advocating for a gradual change, Leach is out there on the penumbra of the football playoff argument, pushing on towards truth, justice, and the American way. See, even in the 21st century we can put up with an awful lot of weirdness in our lives; it's just what we've gotten used to. And bowls are weird, really weird. If I came up to you today and tried to sell you on the bowl system as a conclusion to the season, you'd punch me in the face.

And I'd deserve it.

Bowls are the antithesis of everything that America stands for, parochial leftovers from a time before there was an interstate system, the old motels without air-conditioning on the side of road, the modern day equivalent of when one man could decide to raise a regiment to fight in a war.

I picture bowl executive meetings as the modern day equivalent of Mad Men. Old white men drinking, clanking whiskey glasses, and tapping secretaries on the ass with their bare hands. Saying things like, "I believe Lois has got a new brassiere."

At some point, when we sit down on the couch and catch a replay of the Cotton Bowl from 2002, we're going to think, "I can't believe the bowls ever existed." Which leaves me with a great question, how many years will it take after the bowls crumble for the mere explanation of the bowl system to seem insanely antiquated? For instance, right now I have a 15-month-old son. Imagine if a playoff started in the next two years. He'd never remember the day when the bowls existed. One day he'd come to me and say, "Dad, what was a bowl game?"



And I'd pick him up, sit him on my knee, and say, "Well, it used to be that at the end of the season, 68 different teams all played one more game over a month from mid-December to mid-January. The bowls were all over the country and only one game really mattered. Everyone argued over who should play in that game and they had a computer program that determined it. And then the other 33 games didn't matter."

It will be every bit as challenging as explaining the doctrine of separate but equal.

In the meantime, Mike Leach's particular brand of madcap genius demands a reality television show. How has this not already happened? Anyway, in the interests of sending y'all off into the weekend with visions of sugarplums and playoffs dancing in your head, I went ahead and came up with 11 ways America would change if Leach's 64 team playoff came to fruition.

1. Every 52-year-old man in America would turn into a 19-year-old fraternity pledge. E-mails like this would arrive unexpectedly on servers across the country, "Road Trip: you, me, the Skunk, and the Fonz. Be there or be square!"

Skunk's email response would begin, "Muffdiver, I haven't heard from you since 1976."

2. Due to the swell in pride and excitement, the average female bust would increase a cup size. Later, science would confirm that Viagra is no longer necessary in the late fall and early winter, because every man is perpetually in his own power-I formation. Whoever makes Cialis will go bankrupt. Television advertising revenue for college football takes a hit, but recovers. No man wears khaki pants during winter.

3. Big Ten commissioner Jim Delany would cry himself to sleep every night. Because the Big Ten conference would go the first five years without advancing a team to the Sweet 16. Except for one year when Ohio State got to play Purdue and Wisconsin in the first two rounds and everyone talked about how awesome they were. That lasted until they lost to LSU 48-0.

4. Notre Dame would receive an automatic bid as long as the Irish won at least six games. So ... some things wouldn't change at all.

5. BCS computer nerds would take their quartiles and pixels back where they belong and return to playing World of Warcraft 16 hours a day. Their e-mails would change from, "The computer says Texas' body of work is crushed by their last second loss to Texas Tech," to "And then I decided that my orc avatar had a better chance of accumulating electronic dollars by working as an blacksmith. So now I'm an orcsmith, lol."

6. When Alabama lost to Bowling Green in a colossal first-round upset, Nick Saban would blame the fan base for not caring enough, assert that this loss was the Pearl Harbor of college football, and Alabama fans would nod and say, "Y'all, Nick Saban is every bit as smart as George Wallace."

7. Obama would call a full cabinet meeting and unleash the might and power of the CDC after computers in the network turned red to suggest a global outbreak of an unspecified and horribly infectious disease. Upon further examination, someone would note that the fever corresponded with the Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday of the college football opening round. 32 games! Yep, Pigskin Fever would be in full effect. In a matter of minutes, Lou Dobbs would go on the air and blame Mexicans.

8. Instead of struggling to remember which bowl game your team played in a couple of years after it happened, losses would become so painful that you'd swear off visiting certain states if your team lost to them. This will be particularly hard for the peninsula'd states. Try leaving Florida without heading though Georgia at all. (Note, I'm not suggesting the Georgia Bulldogs would beat Florida, let's not get crazy. But potentially Georgia Tech might.)

9. Anyone who was married during the second half of November or during the entire month of December would arrive to find an empty church. Unless someone from Stanford was getting married to someone from Duke.

10. You know those really annoying people who constantly update you about how their NCAA tourney bracket is doing because they're hoping to win $48 in prize money? They root for their bracket mindlessly even if a tremendous upset is brewing, and they can't explain what one-and-one means? These people will want to talk to you about football.

11. Texas governor Rick Perry would call a press conference to announce that he misspoke when he contemplated secession. In fact, he would say, "Let the record reflect that Texas loves America. All we were waiting on was for y'all to stop messing with us." This goodwill endures until UConn makes a miraculous run to the national championship that culminates with a blown call for a touchdown on the final play of the game. Then Texas and the rest of the South will secede from the Union and a new Civil War will ensue. Only this time with better guns and worse beards.