A tourney is born

For the first time in major college football history, we’re finally getting a playoff in the 2024 season.

Wait … what?

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960 and Adamsonmedia on Facebook.

“But, Scott,” you say, even though I can’t hear you, “the Football Bowl Subdivision has had a playoff since 2014. You must be smoking your kale.”

Ah, yes – the College Football Playoff. Before this year, it involved four teams tapped by a 13-person selection committee. Call it what you like, but when you have four schools out of more than 130 vying for a championship, that’s not a playoff – that’s an invitational.

Starting this December, however, the FBS postseason will look more than an honest to goodness tournament since 12 teams will be in the hunt for a title. The field will include the five highest-ranked conference champions – which will receive automatic bids – plus the seven highest-ranked teams remaining in the CFP poll.

The top four conference champs get a first-round bye to the quarterfinals and will be seeded 1-4. Seeds 5-12 will play each other in the first round with the higher-seeded teams hosting.

So, the first round matchups will be:

  • No. 5 vs. No. 12
  • No. 6 vs. No. 11
  • No. 7 vs. No. 10
  • No. 8 vs. No. 9

“New Year’s Six” bowl games will come into play in the quarterfinal round, while the semifinals will be played in bowls on a rotating basis and the national championship site will be bid on and continue to be called the College Football Playoff National Championship.

It’s not as comprehensive or good as the 24-team Football Championship Subdivision playoff, but it’s good enough for now and has room to expand. I’m guessing in most seasons, the only teams with a  legitimate chance of wearing the crown will be among the 12 who are hand-picked to fight for it.

College football playoffs, of course, have been cussed and discussed for as long as I can remember, although the idea used to be little more than a pipe dream. Back in the mid-1960s the NCAA set up a committee to study the feasibility of a playoff, but that initial push died on the vine.

Then 50 years ago, legendary Notre Dame coach Ara Parseghian became a vocal supporter.

On December 31, 1973, his No. 3-ranked Fighting Irish upset No. 1 Alabama, 24-23, in the Sugar Bowl. The Crimson Tide had already claimed the United Press International title (UPI named its champion before the bowl games) but Notre Dame got the nod from the Associated Press after finishing 11-0.

Penn State was 12-0 that year, while Ohio State and Oklahoma closed their campaigns with 10-0-1 worksheets.

On. Jan. 1, 1974 – before AP released its final poll – Parseghian made his case.

“I’ll be disappointed if we’re not No. 1 … I think we deserve it,” Parseghian told AP. “Somebody has to take the bull by the horns. Our game with Alabama is the greatest proof that some sort of official playoff is needed.”

Parseghian suggested a 16-team tourney, based on either a team’s record or by NCAA selection.

“We have enough bowls now – in fact, more than enough – to handle the procedure,” he explained. “The final game could be rotated among the four major bowls, Rose, Sugar, Orange and Cotton.”

Back in the day – before we had made-for-ESPN games like the Extreme Disco Chicken Tenders Bowl and Buttcrack Plumbing Classic – postseason matchups really were special. In 1974, for example, there were only 11 bowl games available for “big time” schools. This year, there will be 41 – plus the national championship and four first round playoff games played at campus sites.

And in the 70s, some coaches didn’t want to mess with the holiday tradition of college football. One of them was Southern Cal boss John McKay, who was also head of the American Football Coaches Association in 1974.

“I think the NCAA would like to have it, but can they work it out,” McKay wondered when asked by an AP reporter. “No one has proved one way or the other whether it would eliminate the bowls. My feeling is we shouldn’t eliminate the bowls because they’ve been so good to college football.

“The biggest problem with a playoff is the number of extra games it would require. Most bowl games are played during non-examination periods.”

McKay added that he didn’t want the NCAA to follow the NFL model.

“We’d be getting tied up with what the pros do,” he said. “Their Super Bowl is the dullest game of the year. I won’t even watch it.”

And there were those who suggested the controversy surrounding “mythical national champions” was good for the game.

Maryland coach Jerry Claiborne thought so, even after Parseghian’s suggestion.

“Right now, you’ve got a champion in Notre Dame and teams like Ohio State and Penn State which think they should be No. 1,” Claiborne said. “Everyone keeps writing and talking about it.”

The world – and the college football world – has changed dramatically over the past 50 years. Major conference FBS football is now basically NFL Lite, with players able to earn compensation for their labor over the table instead of under it. And it probably won’t be long before the 50 or 60 elite programs break away and form their own version of a College Super League.

But after the Bowl Coalition, Bowl Alliance, Bowl Championship Series and a four-team CFP, what Parseghian hoped for in 1974 has now more or less come to pass.

It’s gonna be fun to see how it all shakes out.

Hooper Craven

The campfire that once hissed and popped as its flames licked at the night sky was calm now … mostly just a glowing bed of embers that provided more ambience than heat.

Hooper Craven – already sufficiently drunk – released a rattling burp, pawed at the melting ice in the cooler, and fished out another cold one.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960, Threads @sladamson1960 and Adamsonmedia on Facebook.

“Well, boys,” he said. “I think we’ve solved most of the world’s problems tonight, so it’s time for an old-fashioned campfire tale. Raise your hands if you wanna hear a ghost story.”

No one raised their hand.

“Nah, me either,” Hooper said, mindlessly scratching his belly. “Everybody knows ghosts are bullshit. Hell, I knew that when I was a kid. I remember my uncle took a bunch of us campin’ right here at Lake Halcyon and we roasted marshmallows and weenies and he told us about a lovesick lumberjack who had died here … dude was cuttin’ down a tree under the light of a full moon so he could build a cabin for his sweetheart, and a limb fell on him and crushed him. Supposedly – late at night – you could still hear him off in the distance, howlin’ and runnin’ his chainsaw. Some of the boys got spooked, but not me.

“First off, why would a ghost need a chainsaw? And second off, wouldn’t a lumberjack be smart enough to cut limbs while the sun was out? That story just never added up to me.”

Hooper laughed and took a long pull off his beer.

“Nah, the stories I liked were the ones that were more real. The ones that – if you really thought about it – could easily happen. Now, that guy who had the hook for a hand that killed the teenagers who went parkin’, that’s possible but it’s still a stretch. I mean, it’s just not likely. Raise your hands if you think that’s likely.”

No one raised their hand.

“Nope, if I was gonna do a scary campfire story, I’d keep it simple and make sure people could relate to it. Take tonight, for example. We’re all out in the middle of the woods. If we sit real quiet, we can hear hoots and squawks and all sorts of animal noises that we can’t quite identify. None of that’s all that scary, though, is it? I mean, that’s nature and we’re campers. Of course, if you hear somethin’ trompin’ through the woods you might think it’s a bear or Bigfoot or that Friday the 13th fellow, and I guess that might give you a little bit of a tingle if you’re the nervous type.

“But to me it’s all about the element of surprise. Just people out enjoyin’ themselves, sittin’ around shootin’ the shit and gettin’ smashed. Not a care in the world. Then all of a sudden, one of ‘em stands up, pulls out a big machete and WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!”

Hooper rose to his feet, finished off his beer and crushed the can.

“Anyway, a couple of days go by and nobody hears from the campers. Finally, their wives or mothers or whoever get worried and call the police, and the police search the woods. And guess what they find? Yep … four campers’ bodies and four campers’ heads. Then they have to figure out what head goes with what body ‘cause they ain’t connected anymore. You know … on account of the machete. Next thing you know, it’s all over the news. ‘Manhunt on for sadistic killer!’ ‘Gruesome massacre at campsite!’ ‘Machete-wielding maniac at large!’ That’s the kinda story people can sink their teeth into.”

Hooper picked up his machete and proceeded to wipe the blood off the blade.

“A few years from now, people will gather ‘round this very spot and tell the story of the Lake Halcyon Massacre. And they’ll wonder … is Hooper Craven still out there, lookin’ for his next four victims? Raise your hands if you think they’ll ever catch me.”

No one raised their hand.

So long, Oakland A’s

For a team I never really cheered for and haven’t followed in, oh, about 40 years, I’m gonna miss the Oakland A’s.

I wasn’t around for their playing days in Philadelphia (1901-1954) and was born six years after they began their 13-season run in Kansas City (1955-1967). For much of my lifetime they’ve been in California and in my mind, that’s where they’re supposed to be. Their last stand in their longtime home came on Thursday with a 3-2 victory against the Texas Rangers in front of 46,889 fans at the Oakland Coliseum.

Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960, Threads @sladamson1960 and Adamsonmedia on Facebook.

And once the final out is made in their road game against the Seattle Mariners today, the A’s era repping the East Bay will officially be done; it ends with a losing record and fourth place finish in the American League West.

They’ll hole up temporarily in Sacramento, starting with the 2025 season, before eventually moving to their new home in Las Vegas. That still seems so weird to me … a gambling hub in the desert is now a major league city that has claimed Oakland’s football and baseball teams.

Anyway, even though I’ve never been to Oakland, it still feels like I lost something with their slow walk to Sin City.

For one thing, I was one of those kids who goobed out over gimmicks, and the “Swingin’ A’s” caught my attention in the 1970s because of their unis. While the colors of Major League Baseball were primarily white and gray, the A’s were green and bright gold – and featured multiple combinations. I might’ve been young, but I was all about sartorial elegance.

And in 1973, A’s owner Charlie Finley introduced orange baseballs, which were used in a couple of spring training games.

The players didn’t seem to care for them, but I thought the concept was fantastic.

You deck out a team in green and gold and have them hitting orange baseballs and, well … be still my nerdy heart.

But my close (and only) encounter with the Oakland A’s came on May 15, 1975, when they were the first MLB team I was supposed to see play live.

They were at Birmingham’s Rickwood Field to take on their Southern League farm club, the Birmingham A’s, and it was to be the baseball event of the season for everyone in the Magic City.

A crowd upwards of 12,000 was predicted and Pop (my dad) had not only bought tickets early, but driven us to the park three hours before gametime to avoid any potential traffic issues.

Oakland won back-to-back-to-back World Series in 1972-73-74 and were the reigning giants of the professional game. While I gravitated more to the New York Yankees and Chicago Cubs (when I wasn’t obsessing over football), Pop explained that since most of Oakland’s players had once played in Birmingham, it made sense to follow the Alvin Dark-managed A’s even if I didn’t necessarily root for them.

I had never seen a pro baseball game of any kind, and I was about to see one of the best clubs in the history of the National Pastime.

Oakland’s announced starting lineup featured Vida Blue on the mound and Gene Tenace behind the plate.

The infield consisted of Joe Rudi (first base), Phil Garner (second), Bert Campaneris (shortstop) and Sal Bando (third).

Claudell Washington (left), Bill North (center) and Reggie Jackson (right) stood in the outfield, and Billy Williams was designated hitter.

Pretty impressive group, huh? Rollie Fingers was on the pitching staff, meaning I was in the presence of three future Hall of Famers (Fingers joins Jackson and Williams in Cooperstown).

I even got Garner’s autograph because kids were allowed on the field during warmups (and the crowd around him was less than that surrounding the bigger stars).

It was the perfect evening – right up until Rickwood Field became Rickwood Lake.

Heavy rains flooded the field before the scheduled 7:30 p.m. start and lightning knocked out a pair of light towers, sending fans scurrying for cover – and the big league A’s scurrying to the airport where they were headed to New York to take on the Yankees.

What was to be my first live baseball game was, unfortunately, a washout.

Still, Oakland had made its mark. The A’s jumpstarted my interest in Major League Baseball, and I watched them on TV every chance I got in 1975.
When they were swept three games to none by the Boston Red Sox in the ALCS, I was truly disappointed. I already despised the Sox, but felt I also had a connection with the A’s – waterlogged as it was.

Alas, my disappointment faded, as did my interest.

The Birmingham A’s weren’t much of a draw, and the franchise moved to Chattanooga in 1976 (and became the Chattanooga Lookouts).

With no more team in my town – and no more ties to Oakland – I became little more than a casual observer. I had moved on to other pursuits long before they officially changed their name to “Athletics,” launched the Rickey Henderson legend, signed Mark McGwire, won the 1989 World Series, and went through the “Moneyball” era.

And if I’m being honest (and I am), I don’t even know what happened to Garner’s autograph. After 49 years, I’m fairly sure it’s lost forever.

Today, though, I’ll pour one out for the green and gold wearing, orange baseball bashing, Swingin’ A’s of my youth.

I’m so glad I almost got to see them play.