By MoMo
Style and Culture Writer
Blatant Homerism
Parity in college football seems to grow every year. Teams from conferences such as the WAC and MAC once were afterthoughts. Now, they want to prove they can play with some of the big boys from the Big 12, SEC and Pac-10.
This just fuels the raging fire surrounding the always controversial BCS. College presidents and even politicians are stating their cases to anyone who will listen about the pros and cons of postseason bowls and playoffs, searching for a reasonable solution.
Look, just like Andrew is NOT the father, the BCS is NOT the problem.
The real problem is that these new-money teams think they deserve an invite to the old-money party. Nish nish… New money stinks!
(I bet they all carry fake Nike bags to save costs so they can look cool and fit in with the old guard.)
My issue with these newcomers pounding on the door of college football’s aristocracy? They think it’s so cool that they worked their way up from nothing. What a bunch of crap!
Everything about what I call the “Boise State Syndrome” screams, “I play for a fake traditional powerhouse because I wasn’t good enough to get offered a membership to the BCS Country Club.” OK, so these mid-majors often have a signature win every season against a big name, and my hat is tipped to them for these “accomplishments.”
What they don’t seem to get is that the upper crust could care less. The major conferences have old-school rivalry games and legitimate tests week in and week out. These far outweigh pointless games against pipsqueaks.
Unfortunately, the voters love to string along college football’s nouveau riche to keep things interesting. They vote them just high enough in their polls to make the mid-majors think they have a chance. It’s like the Little Engine That Could: “I think I can, I think I can…” Listen, you can’t, so please shut up and go away. Nobody with a brain wants to see a South Florida or a Utah in the national title game against anyone from a major conference.
This has been bothering me for years now. Luckily, I ran into USC coach Pete Carroll this summer while vacationing in San Tropez. Who better to weigh in on how awesome it is to be one of college football’s elite?
“Look, my team is rich as hell. I wear awesome suits and fly on private planes,” he told me. “I don’t wear tacky blue- and orange-colored uniforms and play on Smurf Turf. I play on a real football field with grass that our indentured servant cuts. I live in Hollywood and party with celebrities like David and Victoria Beckham, who come to all of my games. Not because they like football, and not because they know anything about it, but because we are freaking awesome and high society. That’s what it’s like to be old money, yo.”
Carroll knows the truth: Coaches that inherit top programs are hand-picked by God.
They have blue blood coursing through their veins that will ensure their success for decades to come. They expect to win every year. Their table is set. All they have to do is show up to dinner.
“Effort?” That’s the special ingredient of the poor.
