Was this the Year of the Corrupt Ruling?

Sports can be a hard thing to watch sometimes. This is true for a variety of reasons; every once in a while you'll see your favorite team get beaten by 40 points, or witness a player pull a Joe Theismann and suffer a graphic injury on the field, or get stuck in a bar where they're only showing hockey. But for me, the most infuriating aspect of sports is the fact that the spectator is positively powerless to do anything when he witnesses something he wants to change. Want universal instant replay in baseball? You'd better wait until Bud Selig is good and ready to implement it, and not a moment sooner. Want a college football playoff? You'll have to pry it from the cold, dead hands of the millionaires who run the BCS bowls. No matter how badly you want these changes, in the end, you can either stop being a sports fan or continue to watch begrudgingly, knowing that the product isn't as good as it could be but being aware that it's either a faulty product or nothing.

Usually, these desires for change stem from simple disagreements with the system in place. I think it's ridiculous that there is no replay in baseball, but I don't think all of baseball is ruined because of the absence of this feature (in fact my favorite team, the Kansas City Royals, arguably hold their only championship due to the very absence of instant replay during a famous botched call in the 1985 World Series). This makes it more tolerable to deal with these disagreements. And I can take solace in the fact that it appears likely that within the next 10 or even five years, there likely will be universal replay in baseball. However, sometimes these frustrations stem from something far more sinister. Having the curtain pulled back and being exposed to the darker side of sports, whether it's steroids in baseball, post-retirement medical hardships in the NFL, or alleged corruption in international soccer, is the ultimate way to remind fans that those who participate in and operate sports are all too human, and their human failings can be all that's needed to partially (or entirely) ruin the fan experience.

This year, we got yet another dose of this harsh reality in at least one form: corrupt and self-interested rulings from athletic bodies. I have long argued that the U.S. Congress, despite cries from some that they "should have better things to do," should take a keen interest in the goings-on of sports bodies, since most of them are allowed to operate as monopolies and thus should be held to a certain level of scrutiny. Obviously this should go beyond the circus we saw during the Congressional steroid hearings, which were largely an excuse for John McCain to get his name in the paper and for various senators to nab photo ops with Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa; they should be legitimate inquiries into the business practices of leagues like the NFL and MLB, leagues which have no legitimate competition, and these inquiries should be followed through upon. This is doubly true for the NCAA, when such a large percentage of its members are public schools that run their sports programs on public financing. To those who believe Congress shouldn't get involved in these matters, perhaps some of the rulings we saw this year, particularly from the NFL and NCAA, should serve as a wakeup call and a signal that when left unchecked, these leagues take it upon themselves to treat its workers (or "student-athletes") unfairly in the interest of the almighty dollar. These rulings, which took place over the final quarter of 2010, were more than enough for a full year of corruption.

The first glaring example of this bias was the NFL's ruling on the status of Houston’s Andre Johnson after an on-field incident with the Tennessee Titans' Cortland Finnegan in November. After some back and forth between both players, they eventually went at it in a full-on brawl following a play in the Texans' eventual 20-0 win. Video clearly showed Johnson ripping off Finnegan's helmet and landing several hard punches to his head before they were separated and ejected from the game. Most pundits assumed both players would be suspended for at least one game for their actions; heck, the NFL had already suspended the Steelers' Ben Roethlisberger for four games earlier in the year for sexual assault accusations, and Roethlisberger was never even charged. There was even almost direct precedent for the incident; in 2006, Albert Haynesworth, then of the Titans, removed the helmet of Cowboys center Andre Gurode and stomped on his head, subsequently receiving a 5-game suspension from NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. Since previous incidents of helmet removal and subsequent attack were punished that harshly, one would have imagined the fate of Johnson would have been similarly severe, especially given the example it set for the league's younger viewers.

The verdict? A $25,000 fine for both Johnson and Finnegan (an absolute slap on the wrist considering Johnson's $5.5 million salary in 2010) and no suspension for either player. At first, such a ruling might strike one as merely odd. But there was an ulterior motive: Johnson and the Texans were scheduled to play the following Thursday on the NFL Network's weekly game. The NFL Network, as you might have guessed, is owned by the NFL, and Johnson just happens to be one of the league's best and most marketable players. The Texans were already considered underdogs against their scheduled opponents, the Philadelphia Eagles, and the absence of Johnson likely would have made the game a sure blowout that far fewer people would have tuned into. The NFL Network is already struggling to take it to the next level in terms of revenue and viewership, and having Johnson play in the game went a long way toward that goal. So, while Albert Haynesworth got a five-game suspension for his transgression (a modern NFL record for an on-field incident), Johnson got zero games for an action with very similar details (ripping off an opponent's helmet and attacking his bare head following a play). Naturally, since the NFL answers to no one, they offered no real explanation for the disparity, and they correctly predicted that the average fan ended up watching the game due to Johnson's participation instead of avoiding it due to the NFL's hypocrisy. The NFL made some extra money, while they set a precedent allowing for their own players to be violently attacked on the field with little or no consequence. If that doesn't sound so bad to you, try viciously beating one of your work colleagues during a meeting and see if you just get slapped with a small fine.

Another, more visible ruling happened just days later in the world of college football. Cam Newton, the star Auburn quarterback who seemed well on his way to a coveted Heisman Trophy in only his first year playing NCAA football, had become embroiled in a scandal involving an alleged request for an under-the-table payout to the tune of $180,000 during his recruiting. As the facts came out, it was determined that Newton's father had approached Mississippi State, one of Auburn's SEC rivals, about receiving that payout in exchange for his son's services. Mississippi State, the story goes, turned down the request and reported the incident to the SEC and NCAA. The rest of the story apparently involves Newton then agreeing to attend Auburn for free, which seems unlikely for a variety of reasons, but we can ignore that for now; the important thing is that Newton's father (along with a non-family representative) was found to have requested a large amount of money for Newton's services during his recruiting, a clear violation of NCAA rules. According to NCAA Bylaw 12.3.3:

Any individual, agency or organization that represents a prospective
student-athlete for compensation in placing the prospect in a collegiate
institution as a recipient of institutional financial aid shall be considered an
agent or organization marketing the individual's athletics ability or
reputation.

Furthermore, the SEC has its own bylaws, 14.01.3.2 of which states:

If at any time before or after matriculation in a member institution a student-athlete or any member of his/her family receives or agrees to receive, directly or indirectly, any aid or assistance beyond or in addition to that permitted by the Bylaws of this Conference (except such aid or assistance as such student-athlete may receive from those persons on whom the student is naturally or legally dependent for support), such student- athlete shall be ineligible for competition in any intercollegiate sport within the Conference for the remainder of his/her college career.

Newton seems to be in violation of both of these rules, as again, a member of his family requested payouts from Mississippi State. The SEC claimed that Newton was not in violation of this rule, because no benefits actually changed hands; this is obviously a poor argument because in requesting a payout, one has obviously "agreed" to receive that payout, and that's all the bylaw requires. Moreover, the actual sanction that was handed down damns the NCAA and SEC further; they did rule that a violation had taken place, but they elected not to rule Newton ineligible; instead, they simply ruled that Newton's father, Cecil, was to have "limited" contact with the Auburn team, on the grounds that they couldn’t prove Cam Newton was aware of these dealings.

This ruling, it just so happens, was made the week Auburn was to play South Carolina in the SEC Championship game. This was not an insignificant game for the Tigers; South Carolina had already beaten Alabama, last year's BCS National Champions and then-AP #1, earlier in the year, and they had only lost at Auburn by eight when they played in the regular season. Not having Newton in the SEC Championship game would have meant lower ratings and a chance for a Gamecock upset, for sure, but it also meant something much bigger for the NCAA: the chance that TCU, the BCS #3, would move up to the second spot following an Auburn loss, making them the first school from a non-BCS conference to make the BCS National Championship Game. Replacing an SEC headline-maker with a Mountain West BCS-buster would have almost certainly meant lower ratings and less income from the game, as well as the possibility that TCU would defeat Oregon, prove that it deserved to be BCS National Champions, and fuel talk of a playoff. Removing Newton from the SEC title game seemed to grant this scenario a much greater chance of playing out, but allowing Newton to retain his eligibility provided for the big, money-machine SEC to once again drown out a deserving team from a mid-major conference and once again shut out non-automatic qualifiers from a title shot. Given the backlash against the Newton ruling, as well as comparisons to other athletes who seem to have been suspended or ruled ineligible for far less, one wonders how the NCAA would ever get away with such an openly self-interested ruling if they actually had to answer to someone.

The NCAA made a similar ruling last week, when it was discovered that several players from Ohio State, who are slated to appear opposite Arkansas in the Sugar Bowl, traded team memorabilia in exchange for services at a tattoo parlor. One of these players happened to be junior Terrelle Pryor, Ohio State's star quarterback. This case was far more clear-cut: the players clearly broke the rules, and the NCAA decided they would be punished with 5-game suspensions. The issue? Those suspensions will begin next season; all players will be allowed to play in the Sugar Bowl. Why? According to an NCAA statement:

In relation to the decision last week involving rules violations with football
student-athletes at Ohio State, several current student-athletes were
interviewed as part of our fact-gathering process. They indicated they were not
aware there was a violation and learned of the issue based on later rules
education, which was confirmed by OSU through interviews and supporting
documentation.

Essentially, the argument is that Ohio State players should be held to a lower standard because they were improperly educated about this NCAA rule. This is bunk for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which is that it's Ohio State's job to educate its players about these rules, and Ohio State should not be rewarded with having these players for the Sugar Bowl due to their failure to properly educate these players. But the more bizarre insinuation is that somehow, this explanation is a justification for allowing these players to compete in the Sugar Bowl but not the first five games of next season. Supposedly, in the eyes of the NCAA, the rules come first; if the infraction warrants a five-game suspension, then players don't get to pick and choose which games they miss, lest the penalty be rendered meaningless. But that seems to be exactly the case here, especially in the case of Pryor, who is now expected to simply play in the Sugar Bowl, then immediately declare for the 2011 NFL draft and essentially incur absolutely no penalty for this infraction. Obviously, having Pryor and his teammates compete in the Sugar Bowl, one of the most prominent bowls on the postseason calendar, will be an enormous boon to the ratings, and it will make the game far more competitive. Is it just a coincidence that the NCAA has suspended these players for five games but will allow them to play in the one that will be by far the most lucrative and important? And what kind of message does this send? By this logic, shouldn't one of these players be able to petition to miss Ohio State's games versus Akron, Toledo, Colorado, Indiana, and Purdue next year, rather than the immediate first five games (which include Miami and Michigan State), because those are the least "important"?

This week, the NFL, not to be outdone, continued its own pattern of self-interest by failing to take any significant action against Brett Favre for allegedly harassing and sending lewd photos to TV personality Jenn Sterger while they were both employed by the New York Jets. They did fine him $50,000 (a sum so laughable for Favre, he probably paid it in cash straight out of his wallet), but that was apparently for his failure to cooperate with the investigation, not for what he allegedly did. The entire investigation was suspect at best; these allegations came to light months ago, but the NFL dragged its feet in issuing any sort of verdict while collecting the vast amounts of money that came from having Favre continue to play each week. Finally, after what seemed like Favre's 900th injury of the year (a violent hit by Chicago's Corey Wootton that some believe ended his career), the NFL finally came out with this ruling, explaining that there wasn't enough evidence to suggest that Favre did anything improper. Never mind that, as pointed out above, Ben Roethlisberger was suspended four games for conduct for which he was never charged, and the evidence that was leaked to the Internet (lewd recordings which clearly sound like Favre, nude photos which reportedly were sent from Favre's cell phone) seems extremely damaging. Allowing Favre to get out relatively cleanly absolves him of wrongdoing, which all but assures that the surefire Hall of Famer will continue to generate tons of publicity for the league; meanwhile, failing to suspend him means that there's even a chance Favre will suit up in his final game for the Vikings, which would bring a lot more money and ratings for the NFL than a game featuring the incomparable Joe Webb. Favre has always seemed to get special treatment from the NFL and its announcers; this was just the sordid icing on the cake.

It's noticeable that these rulings all seem to be football-related. This year, other leagues seemed to deal with their problems in a much more honest and forthright manner. The MLB suspended the Cincinnati Reds' Edinson Volquez, a 2008 Cy Young candidate, for 50 games following a positive drug test, and cracked down on Dominican leagues by suspending a flurry of players who tested positive for banned substances; the MLB could have stood by and allowed some of these players to become stars, but instead it did the right thing and cracked down. Meanwhile, the year started off with the NBA suspending Washington's Gilbert Arenas, one of its most bankable stars in a fairly large market, indefinitely for bringing a gun into the locker room. These incidents seemed to show that these leagues were willing to sacrifice a bit of cheap financial gain for the sake of integrity. Meanwhile, the NFL even boasts some borderline controversial violations, like the allegations that it unfairly targets the Steelers, and in particular James Harrison, with postgame fines. The fact that such controversies are able to take a backseat to more egregious ones should be proof positive that the league is rapidly losing any semblance of integrity toward its fans and players (its much-derided push to expand the schedule to 18 regular-season games and failure to properly care for disabled league retirees only exacerbates these revelations). Although the football season doesn’t even begin until late August, it has so far provided enough crooked actions to make 2010 the Year of the Corrupt Ruling.

And yet again, as fans, we find ourselves unable to do anything but stare through the proverbial glass and watch it all unfold. Since these leagues have no direct competition, they make their decisions free of any significant penalty. And because they answer to no one, they lack any reason to substantially explain their rulings, knowing that being more secretive allows them to make more questionable rulings, and that the average fan will continue to watch no matter what happens. From a business perspective, it's hard to blame them; they know how to keep the cash flowing, even if it means selling out their teams, players, and fans when it benefits them. But from the perspective of those who love sports, and who care above all else about fairness and legitimacy, these incidents of corruption pull back the curtain to a point where it can never be recovered.

How could the Red Sox give that contract to Carl Crawford?

In the interest of full disclosure, I am not a Red Sox fan by any means. Despite having grown up in Northern New Jersey, right across the river from New York City, I am, in fact, a diehard fan of the Kansas City Royals, for reasons I will not get into in this post. I am also an avowed Yankee hater, and my hatred of the Evil Empire is second only to my love of the Royals. If I can't see the Royals win the World Series (and for the foreseeable future, that seems like it will be the case) then I at least want to see the Yankees not win the World Series. I want to see them go 0-162. I want to see them not reach base once over the course of an entire season. Aside from the Royals' successes, which are few and far between, I enjoy nothing more than the Yankees' failures, for better or worse. In this regard, then, while I am not a Red Sox fan in a technical sense, I feel some connection with the team as they are the Yankees' rivals, and their success usually means the Yankees' failure.

This offseason, one of my happiest moments was seeing the Yankees offer a positively ludicrous contract that essentially boils down to four years at $56 million plus incentives for Derek Jeter. For a guy who will be 37 next year, whose bat speed and foot speed have gotten markedly worse and who hit career lows in batting average, OBP, and SLG last year, that is an absurd amount of money, and likely at least $30 million more than he would have gotten on the open market. Granted, it was an economic quirk; because of the Yankee fanbase's loyalty to "The Captain" and their proclivity toward buying tickets and merchandise because of him, Jeter was essentially worth a lot of money only to the Yankees, but he was worth a lot to them. So one imagines that even if this contract makes New York worse on the field, they at least have a chance to earn much of it back by selling a lot of #2 jerseys. This didn't stop the rest of the baseball-loving world, i.e. the Yankee haters, from crowing about the complete waste of money the Yankees had just committed. Many of those fans, of course, were Red Sox fans.

It positively baffles me, then, that so many Red Sox fans were celebrating a deal made just this week wherein Boston gave Carl Crawford the second highest average yearly salary for any outfielder in baseball history (behind Manny Ramirez, whose deal barely counts because it was $22.5 million per year for only two years with the Dodgers). Crawford got 7 years for a total of $142 million from Boston.

One thing to make clear is this: Carl Crawford makes the Red Sox a better team. But that means surprisingly little when dealing with baseball contracts and their relative sizes. I have no doubt that the Yankees are a better team with Derek Jeter at shortstop, even with his deflated numbers, than they would be with Ramiro Pena, who OPSed .504 in 167 plate appearances last year; however, that doesn't mean they should have paid the premium they did, as they would have also been better if they had signed, for example, Juan Uribe, who the Dodgers nabbed for 3 years, $21 million. Unlike the NBA, where one big splurge on a guy like Amar'e Stoudemire can turn perennial losers like the Knicks into a team that looks able to go deep into the playoffs, baseball is a game of prudent spending, as teams are large and no one player can make that kind of difference. That's why one shouldn't care about whether a player makes a baseball team "better," but whether he makes them better relative to his contract size, since teams need to parse their money out over 25 roster spots in order to build a truly competitive club.

Crawford is expected to hit leadoff this season for the Sox. Last year, Boston's Marco Scutaro led off 134 games, and for the season he hit .275/.333/.388, hardly impressive numbers. By comparison, Crawford hit .307/.356/.495 for the Rays last season; obvious improvements all around. Offensively, few would argue against the notion of Crawford making Boston better. But take a look at the differences between Crawford's stat line and Scutaro's:

.032/.023/.107

The most eye-popping difference to most is in slugging percentage. Crawford belted a career-high 19 homers last year to go along with his 30 doubles, giving him relatively impressive power numbers for a leadoff man. But the most eye-popping number to me is the one in the middle: on-base percentage. That is the number in which Crawford least improves over Scutaro, besting him by only 23 points. While I (hopefully) don't need to extol the virtues of on-base percentage, as it has been done quite articulately by many before me, it bears mentioning that OBP is chiefly important for players at the top of the order. If Crawford had been on the Red Sox last year, his .356 OBP would have ranked only fifth among regular starters, behind Kevin Youkilis (.411), David Ortiz (.370), Dustin Pedroia (.367), and Adrian Beltre (.365). Jed Lowrie, who missed the first several months of the year, also had an OBP of .381 in 55 games to end the season. Two other Red Sox had OBPs at a nearby .351: Victor Martinez and much-maligned left fielder Daniel Nava. Yes, Crawford would have had a positive impact on this lineup had he replaced Scutaro at the top, but statistically he may have had just as great an impact-- and arguably a greater impact, if Baseball Prospectus' theory of setting the lineup in descending order of OBP is to be believed-- if he had batted sixth, behind those four everyday players and Lowrie. Over $20 million per year for a player whose value arguably would have been greater in the bottom half of the lineup?

But something to also consider is that while Crawford's OBP last year would have placed him behind several others in the Red Sox lineup, that OBP, like many of his stats last year, exceeded his career numbers. Granted, it was not a career high, as he had an OBP of .364 the prior year. And it's certainly reasonable that Crawford is simply hitting his prime as an offensive player; he was only 28 last season, after all. But this contract will take him through age 35, an age where he will almost certainly be in decline. This isn't a problem if you're signing a guy like Alex Rodriguez, whose "decline" still means putting up numbers that most other players would be envious of. But the best year in Carl Crawford's career, 2010, saw him put up an OPS of only .851, 35th among regular major leaguers last year. There is no reason to believe that will rise significantly. Another touted aspect of Crawford's game is his speed on the basepaths; unfortunately, this is typically one of the first skills to diminish as a player ages, so Crawford will likely not be a huge stolen base threat for the bulk of this contract. Even if you took Crawford's career highs in every category, he'd have a line of .315/.364/.495 (.859 OPS). It seems reasonable to say that when giving out a massive contract, you should look at the best a player has ever done and decide whether you'd pay that amount of money every year for that exact production; if you wouldn't, then the contract would just be for what you hope he can do, not what you know he can do. We know Crawford can be a very above-average hitter. But the Red Sox are hoping he can be a $20 million hitter. When the absolute best case scenario is that a hitter merely earns his contract, and there is virtually no chance he exceeds his projected value, the contract is a pretty poor investment.

But the other aspect of Crawford's game that has been getting a lot of attention is his defense. Among regular LF last year, Crawford had a UZR of 18.5, second in the ML behind the Yankees' Brett Gardner. The eye test vindicates him as well; he is clearly a very good, if not great, fielder. The problem is that he was signed by the one team whose home stadium could serve to severely undercut his defensive abilities. The Green Monster, Boston's famous scoreboard that hulks over left field, has long served to alter the way left fielders must play in Fenway Park. Hits that would be outs in many other stadiums turn into doubles. Balls play off the wall in a manner unlike any other wall in any other stadium. If anything, the Green Monster tends to mitigate the abilities of left fielders and bring them closer to neutrality. Jason Bay, a notoriously poor left fielder, had his best UZR season (2.0) in 2009 playing left field in Fenway. Manny Ramirez's fielding numbers during his time with Boston are unreliable since he clearly stopped caring in the outfield and had a big enough bat to keep himself valuable, but the effect that the Monster has is visible when visiting left fielders find themselves neutralized by the wall's odd effects. Given Fenway's ability to neutralize left fielders, Boston would be better served going after a power hitting LF whose value is diminished by his poor fielding; that way, they could spend defensively in more important areas and get an offensive power who wouldn't cost them much in the field. The approach they took with Crawford doesn't quite sync up with Theo Epstein's usual Moneyball-esque tendencies.

Finally, people seem to be making a lot of the economic impact of this deal as it relates to the Yankees, namely that it will force them to offer the moon to Cliff Lee so the Yankees can say they made a big splash in the market this winter. This is somewhat odd considering the Yankees were already offering the moon to Lee and probably would have offered him seven years and a ridiculous salary regardless of whether they signed Crawford. The more alarming aspect of this deal for the Red Sox is what it will do to them over the next few winters. Prince Fielder, Jose Reyes, Jimmy Rollins, Aramis Ramirez and Mark Buehrle are a few of the players who will likely be free agents next year. Will they have the same capacity to bid against the Yankees with Crawford's contract on the books? This is why a player has to be a true franchise cornerstone to warrant this kind of money; even for a wealthy team like the Red Sox, it makes it a lot more difficult to buy another such cornerstone in the future.

Of course, maybe Crawford will be the sole difference between a World Championship this year and not, and in that case, one could argue that the Red Sox did spend appropriately because they bought the player that helped them to achieve their ultimate goal. But it seems unlikely. Adrian Gonzales will undoubtedly have a much greater impact on the Red Sox lineup than Crawford, and the Sox could have spent a lot less to get a guy whose talents would have resembled Crawford's for a fraction of the cost. Perhaps they paid a premium for a big name, and perhaps that's all Boston fans really want, but on the field, it will be nearly impossible for Crawford to ultimately live up to this contract.

Why is Michael Vick being called the MVP frontrunner?

Once upon a time, ESPN's Pat Forde said that if Michael Vick ever returned to football following his arrest for his part in an underground dog fighting ring, he would never be able to play at the same level he had played at in Atlanta, and that Vick's "time has come and is now going." John Clayton surmised that Vick's future might be in the CFL or Arena Football League. "Veteran NFL general managers" were openly doubting that Vick could ever make a significant comeback after sitting out for as long as he was going to. The general feeling was that Vick's career was as good as finished.

What a difference a few years makes.

After most of the media skewered Vick endlessly for his crimes, tearing down the once-revered quarterback who was supposed to change the game as we knew it with his unstoppable athleticism and speed, many pundits and commentators have done an about-face. It's impossible to deny that Vick has made an unprecedented comeback, guiding the Eagles to an unblemished 5-0 record in his full games and posting impressive numbers like a 108.7 passer rating (easily trumping his career best of 93.8, set last year during the first leg of his renaissance as a backup in Philly). But as is the media's wont, the reports of Vick's deification, to paraphrase Twain, have been greatly exaggerated. He has been one of the league's best players in the games in which he has played. But talking heads and so-called experts have been quick to point to Vick as, apparently, the frontrunner for NFL MVP.

It's easy to ascertain why pundits are making such an outrageous claim; aside from Michael Vick, this has been one of the most boring NFL seasons in recent memory from a football standpoint. The last undefeated team was downed so early that it barely seems worth mentioning. Illustrations of the league's parity make one wonder whether there is even a "best" team to watch in the NFL. And even with the predictable implosion of the Minnesota Vikings, the decline couldn't have happened to a less fortuitous team; much of the talk surrounding their troubles has centered on Brett Favre, and Lord knows people are sick and tired of hearing about him. Throw in the fact that no one really seems to be running away with the MVP trophy and that many of the best players are currently on underwhelming teams, and the media needs something legitimately fascinating to discuss. Enter the ready-made resurgence of Michael Vick, a tale that is admittedly quite profound and deserving of its attention, but that has nonetheless been blown out of proportion in typical fashion.

Here are the facts: while the Eagles have played 10 games thus far, Michael Vick has only started and finished 5 of them. In fact, if one were to glance at the stats and see Vick's 191 passing attempts next to Kevin Kolb's 153, one might think he was playing in some sort of tandem. Vick has 1,608 passing yards on the year, which is three more than Tony Romo (who has actually played one fewer game than Vick) and 168 fewer than Derek Anderson. His 11 passing touchdowns in 7 games is impressive, as is the ratio of attempts to touchdowns; Vick tosses a touchdown every 17.4 times he throws the ball. However, this ratio is actually somewhat middle-of-the-road compared with the other top QB's in the league. Phillip Rivers, who has thrown 353 passes this year and leads the league in passing yards and passing touchdowns, throws a touchdown for every 15.3 passing attempts. Matt Cassel throws one per every 16.2 attempts. And Ben Roethlisberger, who has posted similar passing numbers to Vick's in only 6 games since returning from suspension, posts a passing TD for every 15.6 tries.

That's not to say Vick doesn't have his arguments. His 11:0 touchdown to interception ratio is pristine; the quarterback with the next-highest number of attempts without an interception is Luke McCown, who has thrown 19 passes this year. And, of course, Vick boasts a running ability that, even with Vick on the wrong side of 30, has given him more rushing yards (375) and rushing TD (5) than any other QB in the league. Granted, he also has the most attempts (55), but his average of 6.8 yards per carry is excellent by any measure. In Vick's limited action, one could argue that, if anything, he has been the most dynamic player on the field, and he has carried his team to victory on more than one occasion.

So why can't I accept him as the current leading MVP candidate?

Without digressing into a discussion about various philosophies and semantics, I propose that there are two ways to think about the question of "the frontrunner for MVP" at this point in the season:

(1) The person who, if he continued playing like he has been for the remainder of the year, is most likely to be MVP

(2) The person who, if the season ended today, would be MVP

Both of these paths are flawed, of course, and perhaps that's an argument against ever bothering to discuss who is the MVP after only 10 games have been played. The first one is far too speculative, as a couple of bad weeks can completely derail an MVP campaign and there is no realistic way to accurately predict what the next six games will hold for any player. And the second one is somewhat meaningless, as while it may be legitimate to say that someone has been the best player up to this point, the discussion is just empty filler, as the tide of a brand new week will ultimately wash away whatever arguments had been made using the previous week's statistics and force the discussion to start anew, meaning any revelations reached from this analysis have a maximum shelf life of only 7 days. Still, if we're going to have the discussion at all, one could use either of these interpretations to reach the same conclusion: Michael Vick has missed too much playing time to seriously be in the MVP discussion.

Using the second interpretation first, an expansion of Vick's current statistics to a full season would mean that out of a possible 16 games, Vick has started and completed the equivalent of 8 games. Maybe if you include the time he's spent on the field while not playing a full game, we can be generous and increase that to 10 games. Even so, that means he has effectively played in only 63% of a team's games. How could he be the most valuable player to step onto the field that year? Using the first interpretation, even if Vick played every game from here on out, he would still have only played 11 complete games out of 16 when all is said and done. I'll even count the Week 1 game against Green Bay since he threw 24 passes in that one. He'd still only be at 12 games out of 16, or 75% of the season. Would you consider giving the MVP to a baseball player who missed 2 months? A basketball player who was out for 20 games?

I will admit that it's not impossible; if a guy threw for 5000 yards and had 40 touchdowns even though he only played 12 games, that would mean that he was probably just as valuable overall as anyone who played all 16. But when discussing MVP candidates, it's not about whether a guy has performed well in the games he's played-- the discussion of Vick's touchdowns in limited attempts above was more generosity than anything. It's about whether he has put up the best numbers over the course of the season, not the best numbers for someone who has only played x number of games. Otherwise, Chris Snelling should have had lots of MVP buzz in 2008 for impressively hitting a home run every four at-bats. And it's not even just about those numbers; one could argue that a player should be handicapped for missing that time. After all, that's 4 or 5 entire games where Vick gave his team no additional chance to win whatsoever. Wouldn't he have to play even better for the other 11 or 12 games to justify his nonexistent value in the games in which he didn't play? If there were a quarterback who did play all 16 games, but in four of them he was abysmal and got replaced by, say, Kevin Kolb because he was ineffective, would we ever be talking about him as an MVP candidate? If not, then why are we giving that privilege to Michael Vick, who spent four games riding the bench and contributing nothing while another QB jumped in, and even beat the 8-2 Atlanta Falcons, in his stead?

Looking at Vick's numbers, there are only two relevant things in which he even comes close to leading the league: QB rating and TD to INT ratio. Both stats are impressive, but both are qualitative statistics; any good statistician will tell you that he has an advantage due to his smaller sample size. Yes, he would also have a better chance of being below-average due to the sample size, but it's the same logic that might see a basketball team running a slowdown offense against a superior opponent; limit the number of chances for things to happen (in that case, possessions) and the result is more likely to be the opposite of what's expected due to natural anomalies. If they lose, like Vick, they were expected to anyway; if they win, it's an upset, the chances of which were engineered to be higher. And not all of Vick's qualitative stats are impressive, either; his completion percentage of 62.8 is just 14th in the NFL, behind such players as Chad Henne, Jon Kitna, and even teammate Kolb. His YPG of 229.7 is 22nd.

But since a true MVP needs to post MVP numbers overall, it's imperative to look at Vick's quantitative stats as well. Vick's 1,608 passing yards ranks only 25th in the NFL, and his 11 touchdowns is tied for 21st. The main attraction, according to many sportswriters, is Vick's ability to run, but it's been proven time and again that this skill is far less important in the NFL than it is in college. Vick has rushed for all of 375 yards this year; his total yardage of 1,983 yards would still only rank 21st in passing yards. QB rushing is a novelty in the NFL, and it's likely this aspect of Vick's game that has blinded pundits with smoke and mirrors.

And just as important as highlighting the shortcomings of Vick's statistics thus far is to identify that there are other players far more suited for the honor of MVP. Phillip Rivers leads the NFL in passing yards, touchdowns, and yards per attempt. Tom Brady has posted superior stats while leading a New England team that some had doubts about to an 8-2 record even though his best target was traded after a few games. Arian Foster leads the NFL in rushing yards and rushing touchdowns and is averaging 5.2 yards per carry. And while somewhat unusual, Green Bay's Clay Matthews has anchored a defense riddled with injuries and seems to be single-handedly holding the unit together, leading the NFL in sacks and helping the Packers somehow maintain the best scoring defense in the land. All of these players have played in every single game and proven their abilities over the course of the full season; in the weeks Vick missed, these players still shined. People are touting Vick because they mentally fill in the gaps and assume Vick's stats would have been just as good during his missed time. They may not have been, but more importantly, in reality, he put up no stats at all. Don't penalize those who have played all 10 games, and played well in each and every game, by elevating a player who has only played well five or six times this year.

By season's end, Vick may have put up numbers that make him impossible to ignore. But at this rate, he will only end up with 2,573 passing yards and 18 touchdowns. This is the NFL's most valuable player?

Why is there such a stigma against running up the score?

Please don't think of this blog as being just about college football; I had hoped to write my second post about a different sport, to get some variety going. But I was spurred to write about this post's topic due to a football game I had the pleasure of watching Saturday that most people (outside of fans of Wisconsin or Indiana football) probably didn't pay too much attention to. The game between Wisconsin and Indiana was supposed to be a blowout. The Vegas line was -21.5 for Wisconsin, which, for those not inclined to betting, means that Wisconsin had to win by at least 22 points for gamblers to make money on a pro-Wisconsin wager. Essentially, the Badgers were considered favorites to beat Indiana by three touchdowns. And why wouldn't they be? Wisconsin came into the game with an 8-1 record, their lone loss coming against an outstanding Michigan State squad, while Indiana had yet to win a Big Ten game and could only boast victories over the likes of Arkansas State and Western Kentucky. In the minds of many, Wisconsin was capable of beating Indiana by far more touchdowns if it so chose. If they wanted to "run up the score," as people say, there was no telling what kind of havoc Wisconsin could wreak on the Hoosiers' porous defense.

This Saturday, fans were given either a rare treat or a bitter pill, depending on how one might look at it. Wisconsin did run up the score. A lot. Regardless of how far ahead they were, the Badgers didn't let up against lowly Indiana. The final score? 83-20, Wisconsin.

Those 83 points marked easily the highest scoring total of any FBS game this year. It also tied a Big Ten Conference game record. Suddenly, Wisconsin, who looked merely mortal in a 34-13 victory last week over mediocre Purdue, now seemed positively superhuman. Meanwhile, Indiana, who looked like potential upset specialists after very close losses against Iowa and Northwestern, were made to look like they belonged in the Pee Wee league. Watching the game alongside other college football enthusiasts was also a thrill, as we were awed at how high the score continued to climb each time we turned back toward the screen. This was becoming a true feat, with Wisconsin excelling in a rare way that, we felt, deserved our attention. It was so rare that it was only 17 points away from tying the NCAA record for points scored against a major college opponent, when Houston put up 100 versus Tulsa in 1968. The Wisconsin basketball team only scored 83+ points three times last season. It was a sight to behold.

But it also raises that pesky question of sportsmanship. "Sportsmanship" is hard to define, but the one thing we definitely know is that it's not covered very well in the rulebook. Most facets of sportsmanship are considered unwritten rules. Respect your opponents. Shake hands after the game. Don't talk trash, and if you do, no low-blows. Don't intentionally injure an opponent. And, of course, don't run up the score.

The concept of running up the score has always been an interesting one to me because of what the score symbolizes. You often hear announcers or writers say that a score was "not indicative of the result" or "not indicative of how badly [one team] dominated [the other team]." This would apparently indicate that, in general, the score does indicate the general flow of the game. I could tell you almost definitively that in a game with a final score of 14-12, the game was very close, there were good defensive efforts, either team could have ended up with the win, both teams made some crucial mistakes, and the game remained exciting until the end. If the final score was 45-7, I could almost always surmise that the winning team looked a lot better than the losing team, that the fourth quarter may as well not have even been played, that the losing team's defense was unprepared for what they faced, and that at least one person on the winning team's offense enjoyed a notable statistical day. The score is not just the way we gauge who won the game, insofar as the team with the higher number has beaten the team with the lower number. The numbers themselves are also created in accordance with what happened within the game.

In this regard, while Wisconsin certainly didn't need those last few touchdowns, or even those last 50 points, wouldn't holding up their offense have created a score that was, in a sense, a lie? If these two teams, playing to the best of their abilities for 60 minutes, would have produced a final score of 83-20, why should Wisconsin be expected to handicap themselves by limiting their offensive output to, say, 50? After all, it's their offensive capability, and they've worked hard to earn the ability to put up 83 against a team like Indiana. Why does football's circle frown on teams putting up the scores they have earned the right to try for, rather than scores meant to win the game but not hurt the other team's feelings?

It's worth taking a look at whose feelings, exactly, we care about here. As you move down the ladder of football levels, you see that kids now play the game when they've barely entered kindergarten. Football already becomes "competitive" just a few years after that. From this level all the way up through high school, most leagues have "mercy" rules, where if a team goes up on another team by a certain number of points, the clock might accelerate to bring the game to an expedited end, or, in some cases, the game might end immediately, so that the worst a team can lose by is a few dozen points. These rules make sense because of the age of the players involved. Leagues prior to high school are often considered instructional and developmental, even as they remain competitive, and most of the kids playing in these leagues are preteens. There's no reason to expect a 9-year old to have to sit there and watch an opposing team put up touchdown after touchdown to embarrass him and his teammates; the levels of competition are often very unbalanced, most of the kids playing are just doing so for the social experience and to have fun, and most of all, kids of that age are not emotionally mature. It's easy to see why the adults that run youth leagues implement mercy rules that prevent opposing coaches from making small children cry with callous and mean-spirited strategy.

Even in high school, one can see why this type of sportsmanship makes sense, even though high school football can often seem like life or death for both the players and the fans. These are not scholarship players, they have also not hit a level of sufficient emotional maturity, and many of them are still playing the game as a fun, extracurricular activity. We've become almost conditioned to think of high school football players as men, but many of them are still 14 or 15 years old, an age where they still have a lot of learning to do and at which football is often a more minor part of their lives, unless they play for very serious teams or expect to be recruited. Even though there are teams and players at the high school level who treat the game much as one would in college, there are obvious reasons to consider that it's better to err on the side of mercy at that level.

At the college level, however, things change. These are men at least 18 years old, and very likely older. They are attending expensive universities free of charge in exchange for their football playing, a form of payment even if most people don't want to admit it. They are no longer at the level where they are playing football just for the fun of it or so that they can make friends; they are officially playing football competitively, for institutions that often make a lot of money from the game and have national fanbases. What exactly is the issue with running up the score in these games? Are you afraid of hurting the feelings of grown men who are playing this sport by choice? Do you think the feelings of those men are better helped by pretending that you couldn't have scored another 30 points if you wanted to, even though everyone in the stadium knows you could have? When, exactly, can we tell people to "man up;" that, if they don't like the minor emotional struggles of what is essentially their job, they are free to start paying for their own educations?

This becomes even more amplified at the professional level, where I wouldn't have even thought I'd have to explain why this concept is bunk, though national sportswriters constantly crow about sportsmanship in the NFL (see the New England Patriots of the mid-2000's). Most players in the NFL pull in salaries in excess of $1 million. The minimum salary for a rookie, with no bonus, is about $300,000, an amount of money that most of us could never hope to make. These are men in their 20's or 30's being paid like kings to play football; if we are still worried about "hurting their feelings" when a score gets too high (and, mind you, the score gets too high because that losing team is clearly not effectively doing what it is paid to do), then what are they being paid for?

But at the college level, there is even another factor: the BCS, where style points matter. Two thirds of the BCS rankings are made up of human polls, polls where voters will likely look merely at the scores of the games from that Saturday as most are beat writers, former players, or other such types who may be inclined to only watch one or two games live. And when one of those voters stumbles upon the Wisconsin game, what do you think is more likely to elevate his or her ranking of the Badgers: a final score of 50-20, or a final score of 83-20? The former makes it look like Wisconsin dominated the Hoosiers; the latter makes it look like Wisconsin is in a league all its own. When coaches have to fight tooth and nail to earn inclusion within the top two spots, and with a team like Wisconsin actually having a legitimate-if-outside chance of making the BCS Championship Game, how could you blame coach Bret Bielema for appealing to voters as best he can? Heck, as I observed in my last post, Oregon has gotten its love by putting up gaudy numbers week after week (side note: anyone catch how Oregon only managed a meager 15 points when faced with a decent defense?). Why shouldn't Wisconsin's reaction be to outshine the Ducks?

But we can set the BCS argument aside for a minute, because only a handful of teams really need to care about that anyway. The bigger question is still one of why people really care about sportsmanship at the college level, at least in this instance. It makes sense to care about it in terms of not intentionally injuring an opponent, because causing physical harm goes beyond the parameters of the game and deeply affects one's personal life. It makes sense to care about a player shaking hands, because not doing so makes it look like a player personally dislikes the other team, which also goes outside the parameters of the game. But the score of the game, definitionally, is within the parameters of the game. Yes, having the other team score 83 points against you might make you feel sad after the game. But if you're a defensive back and you get torched by a wide receiver during the game, that will probably make you sad as well. Should wide receivers slow down in the interest of sportsmanship? Should defensive players intentionally drop easy interceptions so that the quarterback doesn't feel bad? Players or teams on the wrong end of in-game events never feel happy about it. So why do we care about this instance of making the other team feel bad?

The obvious answer is that it's excessive. If Indiana wasn't going to beat Wisconsin back when the score was 76-20 with two minutes to play, there was no need to make the score 83-20 after that. The biggest comeback victory in college football history was only 35 points, and those points certainly weren't all scored within two minutes, so unless you think Indiana is going to make history, there's not much reason to pad your lead from 56 points to 63 points. Part of the response to this argument comes from the above discussion about the nature of the score. A game is 60 minutes long, not 58, and both teams signed up to play all 60. If Wisconsin was good enough to score again, there's no reason to criticize them for legitimately playing that final two minutes, especially when playing "all 60 minutes" is the mantra of so many football coaches. Laying down for those final two minutes would have degraded the value of the final score and caused it to be less indicative of the skill level between these two teams, causing Wisconsin to potentially suffer in the BCS poll and causing the game to have, theoretically, less real meaning (however negligible that difference would be).

And if you do believe that winning is the only thing that really matters in a game, and not the final score, consider that each score does bring with it a greater chance of victory, even if those returns diminish as the score differential becomes wider. It's incredibly difficult to believe Indiana would have come back to win the game, but it wasn't even close to being a mathematical impossibility, just an extreme improbability. In 2006, when Northwestern led Michigan State by 35 points, they probably knew that no FBS team had ever come back from more than a 31-point deficit, and thought victory was assured. 38 unanswered points later, a new record was set. Who is to say that Bielema was wrong to do everything in his power to prevent the improbable from happening? Can you ever be too sure of a victory? Bielema gets paid a lot of money to win as many games for Wisconsin as he can. Isn't he earning his money by taking every precaution to ensure that those wins come? And anyway, why should he care about the "feelings" of a bunch of grown men who chose to play football at Indiana and whose prime objective that day was to beat Wisconsin? If you were head of security at a bank, and you had the opportunity to put an additional safeguard on the vault door, even if it was thought to be virtually impenetrable prior to the safeguard, would a factor in your choice to implement that safeguard be that it might further hurt a robber's feelings if he failed to get through it? It seems like a no-brainer to improve your job performance in this way, even if it means only increasing your effectiveness by a fraction of a fraction of a percent. So why wouldn't Bielema be given the same courtesy to do his job?

A football team's job is to score as many points as it can and prevent the other team from scoring as many points as it can. If it can do these two things, it can win as many games as it is physically able to. At lower levels of competition, football players have more important jobs: to have fun, to grow as people, to expand their horizons, to make friends. These objectives mean running up the score should take a back seat. But at the college and professional levels, grown men are being compensated to play football by choice, and the only negative offshoot of running up the score is making the losing team feel inferior.

But if the winning team can put up 83 points, the losing team is inferior. So why are people so afraid to accept that?

Why is Oregon #1?

It would be an understatement to say that the BCS is fascinating. Say what you will about college football’s “official” ranking system (and I will say that I hate it, as about 9 out of 10 Americans do) but it’s impossible to deny that it’s downright intriguing. Perhaps that’s the case with all clearly flawed systems; we are forced to live in a world where the champion of college football’s highest division is determined by a hodgepodge of politicking, opinion, and spurious mathematical formulae, and so we watch, not because we are curious to see who we will eventually crown America’s best college team, but because we are engrossed by the results that the system spits out. Like the politburo inspiring a unique gallows humor in the former Soviet Union, the BCS, like Mother Russia, tells us who is the best football team, and while we can joke and complain and hem and haw all we like, we must ultimately accept the decision, as that is the only choice we have.

And that’s what makes it interesting: if the BCS were to tell us that Akron (0-10) was the #1 team in the nation, we would be forced to accept it. We would be forced to watch them play in the BCS National Championship Game, and if they won it, we would be forced to accept them as BCS National Champions, even if undefeated, major-conference teams failed to get in. And we could watch a team like TCU (10-0), which is at the mercy of the BCS, get left off the polls altogether, if for nothing else to satisfy the desires of the big-conference backers who would love nothing more than to see a top 25 filled with nothing but automatic qualifiers, “the way it should be.” Each of these scenarios is equally unlikely, but it does intrigue the diehard college football fan to know that quirks in the system cause one to sit on pins and needles every time the standings are released, especially if your team is one of the precious few with a legitimate shot at the title game. We trust that the system will make the “right” decision—or at least, we hope it will—but rarely is the proletariat content with the decision of a higher power that they don’t support nor fully understand.

I should make my biases clear: as an avowed BCS hater, I want nothing more than to see at least one non-AQ team make it into the title game this year. That doesn’t mean I lack the ability to discuss the system rationally, but I do view the BCS with an eye toward getting TCU or Boise State into the title game, mostly because it would foil the big-conference commissioners and athletic directors who perpetuate the system, and more than likely lead to its demise.

But fair is fair, and as long as the current system is in place, I don’t want to see any of the big boys get sandbagged either, which is why I’ve found it so curious this week that many sports commentators have been raising the issue of whether TCU should have supplanted Auburn in this week’s polls. I don’t agree with this notion; Auburn has played the 7th toughest schedule in the nation and is the only team besides TCU sitting at 10-0, and they deserve to be #1 more than any other team in the country. My concern is why writers and talking heads have declined to go after a more obvious target: Oregon.

I am not nearly alone in my dislike of the BCS, but even commentators who have acknowledged the fact that TCU might be unfairly left out of the top two seem to be content with the notion that Oregon is #1. The gushing praise from commentators, in fact, can be downright sickening. They mostly seem to love Oregon's offense, currently #1 in the nation in both yardage and points, and point to this as proof of Oregon's stature as the #1 team in the country. Granted, their offense has been nothing to sneeze at this year. But Oregon's accomplishments have been a mirage, and the schedule played by the Ducks, more than anything, has allowed them to gain the status they now enjoy.

Let's take a look at the average national total defensive ranking of each of the BCS conferences:

Big East: 26.1
SEC: 41.8
Big Ten: 50.5
ACC: 51
Pac-10: 64.1
Big 12: 72.6

There are a few surprises on this list-- I know quite a few people who would be shocked to see the Big East easily atop this list, and probably just as many who would be surprised to see the Big 12 at the bottom. Indeed, though, one of the least surprising things about this list is who is just above the Big 12: the Pac-10, which boasts only three teams (Oregon, Cal, Stanford) among the top 50 defenses nationally, the only BCS conference besides the Big 12 with that distinction. But perhaps the most surprising thing about this list concerns who is not on it. Let's take a look at that list again, with one small alteration:

Big East: 26.1
SEC: 41.8
Big Ten: 50.5
ACC: 51
Mountain West: 63.7
Pac-10: 64.1
Big 12: 72.6

Yes, that's right. Even if we count bottom-dwellers like New Mexico, Wyoming, and UNLV (all in the bottom 20 defensively in the nation), the MWC still bests the Pac-10's overall defensive rankings nationally. Yet TCU is an impressive 8th in the nation offensively despite not yet playing New Mexico (118th nationally) while Oregon has yet to play California (12th) or Arizona (60th). And while Oregon holds the top spot in the nation due mostly to its flashy offense (567 yards per game), TCU has been no slouch either, putting up 493 yards per game. And while Oregon has also been allowing 329 yards per contest, TCU has only let up 216. Oregon outgains opponents by 238 yards per game; TCU outgains opponents by 277. So if Oregon's overall game isn't as dominant as TCU's, why do they get all the love?

The general argument is that playing in the Pac-10 gives Oregon a much stronger schedule, and any team that goes undefeated in the Pac-10 has had a more difficult road than one that sweeps the lowly Mountain West. This doesn't explain why Oregon is ahead of Auburn; after all, Auburn is undefeated in the hallowed SEC, and as I mentioned earlier, they have played the 7th toughest schedule in the nation thus far. By season's end, their schedule is projected to be the 2nd toughest in the nation overall. Common sense would dictate that for Oregon to finish the season ahead of them (assuming Auburn remains undefeated), Oregon will have to have played the toughest schedule in the nation. They won't. (That dubious honor will likely go to Iowa State).

As of now, Oregon hasn't played the toughest schedule in the nation. Nor the 2nd or 3rd. Or the 25th. Or 50th. As of right now, Oregon has played the 94th toughest schedule in the nation. This weekend's game against underperforming Washington actually managed to give them a boost; they were 101st before that. The 94th hardest schedule in the nation puts them directly above New Mexico State, Idaho, and Western Michigan, in that order. Not exactly the most illustrious company to be in. Three spots ahead of them, tied for 90th, are Eastern Michigan and Louisiana-Lafayette. That means that if they had swapped schedules with Eastern Michigan, they would have statistically been marginally more likely to have lost a game by now.

This is the mightiest team in the nation?

They've played the 4th easiest schedule out of all the BCS conference teams. Only Louisville (100), Syracuse (104), and Northwestern (106) have played easier schedules (is it any shock that all three of these teams have had "surprisingly" good seasons this year?) You'll also notice that Oregon has played the easiest schedule in the Pac-10; the next hardest is USC, way up at 75th. This is no doubt aided by Oregon's stiff out-of-conference schedule featuring the powerhouses New Mexico (1-8), Tennessee (3-6), and Portland State (2-7 in the FCS). Auburn's OOC schedule didn't exactly set the world on fire, but at least they challenged Clemson (currently 5-4).

TCU's strength of schedule thus far ranks 60th; not world-beating, but a far cry from the 90's. They faced (and beat) Oregon State (4-4) and Baylor (7-3), two teams who have winning in-conference records in the Pac-10 and Big 12, respectively. They also beat June Jones' respected 5-5 SMU Mustangs. Boise State, of course, challenged themselves by besting Virginia Tech (7-2, undefeated in the ACC) and Oregon State; even while playing in the sorry Western Athletic Conference, Boise State has managed to top Oregon's schedule strength, ranking 70th nationally. Should we allow a team to claim the #1 ranking if they don't even attempt to challenge themselves any more than they have to?

It's one thing if a team plays in such a strong conference that they genuinely feel they can rest on their laurels and play a bunch of nobodies out of conference. But even a particularly dense observer can see that the top talent in the MWC is better than their counterparts in the Pac-10; over the past calendar year, they've gone head-to-head numerous times. This year, the Pac-10 can proudly claim a 1-2 record versus the Mountain West. Oregon State lost to TCU, and a team everyone seems to continue to believe in, Washington, lost to a team everyone seems adamant about dismissing, BYU. The conference’s only win? Oregon defeated New Mexico, padding their offensive numbers with a 72-0 victory against a team that just got their first win two days ago. Congrats, Oregon.

During last year's bowls, the Pac-10 also faced the Mountain West a couple times. BYU crushed Oregon State 42-20. Utah beat Cal by 10. That's an 0-2 record when some of the best talent in the Pac-10 matched up with some of their counterparts in the MWC. (Overall, while USC beat an overmatched Boston College team and UCLA managed a 9-point win against the MAC's Temple, Arizona got shut out 33-0 against Nebraska, Oklahoma defeated Stanford, and in the Rose Bowl, Ohio State bettered the cream of the Pac-10, and this year's #1 team, Oregon. That's 2-5 in the bowls, including 2 losses to the lowly MWC.)

But that was last year, and this is now. How did the Pac-10 do against top opponents this year out of conference? Against OOC FBS opponents whose records are currently above .500, the conference collectively has gone 6-7. If you wanted to be more generous, and include opponents whose records currently sit at .500, that record actually manages to get worse: 6-8. Their total OOC record, as a conference, sits at 14-9 versus FBS opponents. That means the conference padded their win totals with an 8-1 record against opponents below .500 (the lone loss was BYU's defeat of Washington). Natually, the Pac-10 teams all had their rounds against the best and brightest of the FCS as well, going 7-0 versus such luminaries as The Citadel, UC Davis, and Montana State (that last team only lost to Washington State by a point). Essentially, this conference-- which has been hailed as much-improved compared with last year's group-- only looks good when they're beating up on each other. When they have to play even moderately good teams from other conferences, they falter, and in cases like Oregon's, they might not even dare to play any good teams at all.

This is an Oregon team that has been virtually coronated for going undefeated (so far) in a supposedly tough conference, when that conference has been mostly smoke and mirrors this year. In case you were curious, Auburn's conference, the SEC, has gone 11-2 against out-of-conference FBS foes who are currently over .500 (one of those defeats was Tennessee's loss to Oregon). And in the interest of fairness, the MWC, which includes a few guns-for-hire that are paid to be preyed on by top-20 teams, still managed to record an 8-12 record versus FBS teams currently .500 and above, worse than the Pac-10's 6-8 but only by a few percentage points.

So why is Oregon #1? It's obviously not the numbers. But reputation clearly plays an important role, and Oregon was a popular Pac-10 pick by pundits at the beginning of the year. Even though Oregon began the year at #11 in the AP Poll, they inexplicably jumped to #5 by Week 3, having beaten only New Mexico and Tennessee. From there, it was a question of staying undefeated, as voters would surely boost them over the likes of TCU and Boise State after playing against Pac-10 competition. Auburn, on the other hand? No one thought they'd do much with a JUCO quarterback and a team that went a mere 8-5 last year. So they started the year at #22 in the AP, and even after they made it clear that their offense was a force to be reckoned with, it still took them until Week 8-- with a 7-0 record and a fresh win over Arkansas-- to get into the top 6. And after that, while they got to #1 in the BCS poll following their defeat of LSU, Oregon is now back on top, where they seem likely to stay despite playing in perhaps the most overrated conference in football, and facing some of the worst cumulative competition in the nation. Auburn is stuck at #2 despite having beaten four currently-ranked opponents and playing in the toughest conference in the nation, and TCU is at #3 despite defeating the highest-ranked opponent of the three of them (BCS #5 Utah) and facing superior competition in an arguably superior conference.

Ah, the intrigue of the BCS continues...