How's This for Improbable? Magic Miles Fails in the Clutch

There are two kinds of odds in the world. There are those that most of us live by -- the 50-50 chance Jon or Kate are on any random television channel at any given time, or the 100 percent certainty that it will rain any day you're without an umbrella -- then there are those that Les Miles lives by.

For the LSU coach, whose seemingly never failed to convert a fourth down, there's a certainty to things.

Miles could play Russian Roulette with a cannon and still walk away in one piece. He could fall from an airplane and somehow land unscathed in Angelina Jolie's bedroom. And if the house always wins, that's only because the LSU coach decided not to play.

We're not sure how it's scientifically possible, but every bone in his body is in fact made from a rabbit's foot.

And yet then there was Saturday, when Miles' improbable good fortune turned into inexplicable confusion and a whole lot of standing around wondering what just happened in the Tigers' 25-23 loss to Ole Miss.

And that was just the players and coaching staff. Those who watched were even more stupefied.

(Video of the now most infamous finish of 2009 after the jump.)

It began, like most Magic Hat moments, with an unlikely rally.

With 1:17 left, the Tigers scored on a 25-yard touchdown pass, to pull with two, 25-23. After twice failing to convert a two-point attempt, the Tigers were forced into an onside kick. For the average coach, this maneuver has roughly a 20 percent chance of working.

Being Les Miles, of course, it worked perfectly.

Two plays later, with 50 seconds still on the clock, Jordan Jefferson found Brandon LaFell, who ran to the Ole Miss 32-yard line.

From there, LSU failed spectacularly.

After an incompletion, the Tigers lost 16 yards on a sack and a backwardsmoving pass play. The third-down play ended with 26 seconds left on the clock, yet the Tigers let 17 seconds run off the clock unaware they hadn't called a timeout, the still moving clock somehow an unhelpful clue.

Yet on fourth down after successfully stopping the clock with nine seconds left, Miles' magic struck again. Jefferson found 6-foot-4 receiver Terrance Tolliver at the 6-yard line with a single second remaining. The clock stopped momentarily to move the chains.

And then, with one second left, LSU did the least logical thing possible. Jefferson spiked the ball. The game ended. The Rebels celebrated. And a nation of college football fans tilted their heads in confusion with the sort of expression your dog might get if you asked it to solve a quadratic equation.



While Jefferson's e-mail will be flooded sort of language Quentin Tarantino would find overly blue, the blame belongs on Les Miles' shoulders.

Those 17 seconds Miles let run off the clock, unaware that the timeout hadn't been called were the better part of the difference between victory and defeat. Miles, and his special teams coordinator Joe Robinson, didn't have the field goal unit ready to kick in the event of the completion, which, given Miles' magic, should've been predictable. There was no subsequent play ready even though the Tigers were coming out of a timeout, the second in two plays. There was apparently no on one the sideline telling a first-year starter at quarterback that there was not enough time to spike the ball from the time the referee marked the ball ready to play and started the clock.

There was just chaos. And when the Tigers needed a leader to take charge, there was no Les Miles.

His whole career, Miles, the only man to win a BCS title with two losses, has been defined by the improbable.

Nothing was more improbable -- or unforgivable -- than what happened in the final seconds Saturday.