Category: History and More

I gotta admit … when it comes to how the College Football Playoff bracket shook out, I don’t have strong feelings one way or the other. Why should I?

I’m a UAB alum. The Blazers have 99 problems and the CFP ain’t one.

Plus, my newspaper career ended eight years ago, so I’m not morally obligated (or paid) to opine about such things. Considering there are thousands of writers and talking heads with hot takes already out there, my faux indignation would get lost in the shuffle, anyway.

(For the record, I’ve always pushed for a 16-team format, which means there would still be bitching and moaning, albeit four less schools doing the bitching and moaning).

However, after everyone stopped screaming about the CFP, they started screaming about the broken bowl system. This, my friends, is a holiday tradition I can always get behind.

As you know, Notre Dame didn’t make the 12-team playoff cut, so the Fighting Irish opted to refuse a bowl invitation. They posted a statement on social media that reads:

“As a team, we’ve decided to withdraw our name from consideration for a bowl game following the 2025 season. We appreciate all the support from our families and fans, and we’re hoping to bring the 12th national title to South Bend in 2026.”

Kansas State and Iowa State – both undergoing coaching changes – also decided to stay home for the postseason (and were levied hefty fines for doing so because, well, leagues have contracts with these events). That left the non-playoff crowd scrambling to find fill-ins with losing records, but even the likes of 5-7 Florida State and Auburn said, “Nah, we’re good.”

Truth is, the days of bowl games being “rewards” are long gone. The myth of college football has been replaced by the reality of NIL, transfer portals, late season coaching changes and players sitting out so they can rest up for NFL training camps. The game is merely another version of pro football now, with athletes and coaches basically free agents every year.

That said, I’ve never been one of those, “We have too many bowls!” people. There were 136 Football Bowl Subdivision schools in 2025, and if there had been 68 bowls to accommodate each team, that would be fine by me. You don’t have to watch them all, you know.

In fact, the only postseason games I recall sitting through last season were the first round playoff between Ohio State and Tennessee, the Sugar Bowl and the CFP National Championship Game. None of the others interested me enough to make the four hour time commitment.

Anyway, I’m hitting the NyQuil pretty hard because of cough due to cold, and the resulting mind fog inspired me to come up with an idea on how to “save” the bowls.

It is (drum roll, please) an NIT-style tourney for the schools that didn’t get a playoff bid. I call it the College Football National Invitation Tournament, or CFB NIT.

This year’s CFP, for example, features four on-campus games followed by quarterfinals in the Cotton, Orange, Rose and Sugar Bowls, semis in the Fiesta and Peach Bowls, and then the Championship Game.

A College Football NIT would see four on-campus games followed by quarterfinal matchups in, say, the Liberty, Holiday, Alamo and New Orleans Bowls, semis in the Pinstripe and Fenway Bowls, and the NIT Championship Game. (I’m just using those bowls as examples – I  don’t care which ones are involved).

The first twist here is since it’s an “invitational,” records are of no consequence. If a team is butthurt and doesn’t care to participate, that’s fine. The selection committee moves on, finds out which teams want to play, then seeds ‘em and matches ‘em up.

The second twist is players on the winning teams get a cash prize through some kind of NIL deal. They already receive swag bags before the games, so why not sweeten the pot with a spendable bonus at the end?

Plus, the winner of the CFB NIT earns a nice trophy and can claim a consolation title at the end of the season. It wouldn’t make the lesser bowls any more important, but it would make them seem more important.

Beyond that, any bowl-saving plans I come up with reek of desperation … like playing bowls during the preseason.

Have Ohio State and Southern California square off in a mid-August Rose Bowl, while Georgia meets Notre Dame in a Week Less-Than-Zero Sugar Bowl.

The gimmick here is that these games are truly exhibitions and don’t count on either team’s records. Voters in the Associated Press and Coaches Poll can use them for ranking purposes, but the participants enter a new year with a clean slate.

Lastly, and even more desperate …

Replace intrasquad spring games with bowl games. Big-time programs already draw well for these glorified practices, so imagine the excitement for an April Cotton Bowl between Texas and Michigan.

Does all this sound ridiculous? Yeah, it does.

Then again, it’s ridiculous for UCLA to be in the Big Ten, it’s ridiculous that the Big Ten has 18 members and – frankly – it’s ridiculous that we pretend college football is a showcase for “student-athletes” and not a billion dollar business.

If a bowl game isn’t part of the CFP, it’s just a way for networks to fill three and a half hours of holiday air time. Certainly some kids are thrilled to go bowling – especially if they play for a non-Power 4 school – but nowadays its mostly just an extra game that many would rather not be a part of.

So, I’m at peace with whatever happens to the system going forward. Add bowls, subtract bowls, end bowls … makes no difference to me. As long as I have my NyQuil handy, I’m prepared for any actuality.

A hundred years ago, college football was considered the pinnacle of the sport. And once a star player finished his classroom obligations and university gridiron career, polite society expected him to either move on to the business world or learn the coaching craft.

Halfback/quarterback/defensive back Harold “Red” Grange, however, had other ideas.

You know the joke about elite players going to school and majoring in football? In a way, that’s what “The Galloping Ghost” did.

And at the time, it caused quite a bit of controversy.

On November 22, 1925 – a day after leading Illinois to a 14-9 victory over Ohio State in his final game as an amateur – Grange signed to play professionally for the Chicago Bears. There were rumors he was already being paid by agent C.C. Pyle, although he insisted  he didn’t partner with Pyle until after the season-ending contest.

Regardless, the NFL team promised to pay him $30,500 per game, which is the equivalent of nearly $565,000 in 2025 money.

Not a bad deal for a 22-year-old who still hadn’t earned his degree.

“I have received many alluring offers to enter fields of enterprise in which I have had no training or experience,” Grange told the Associated Press. “I believe the public will be better satisfied with my honesty and good motives if I turn my efforts to that field in which I have been most useful in order to reap a reward which will keep the home fires burning. I am leaving college temporarily but will return later.”

Illinois athletics director George Huff, football coach Robert Zuppke and even Grange’s father, Lyle, wanted the superstar to seek employment away from the field.

Ultimately, however, Lyle Grange supported his son’s decision.

“I am sorry that he did not accept the other offers made him,” his dad said. “But as long as the boy has decided to play professional football, I hope he will be a success and make the best of it. Harold is capable of looking out for himself and I have a lot of faith in him.”

At the time the NFL – just six years old – was not much of a draw at the box office. The hope was that bringing Grange into the league would change that.

He was to play six games with the Bears to close out the season and then embark on a barnstorming tour in Florida.

The deal was arguably the biggest sports news of the year.

From a November 23, 1925 Associated Press story:

Harold “Red” Grange, the reigning football hero of the moment, will don his fighting togs again Thanksgiving Day but he will not wear the famous “77” of collegiate days. For Red has turned professional to follow, as he phrases it, the business he knows best. Declaring that he had no training that would enable him to accept other alluring offers, the strawberry blonde warrior of the chalked field signed a contract yesterday that will place him in the Chicago Bears lineup for six games, after which he will invade Florida during the holidays.

A November 25 editorial in the La Crosse Tribune even provided Grange with a backhanded compliment on his decision to play for pay:

People who think that Red Grange is making a mistake in postponing his ‘career’ for professional football should consider that the game already offers a career in itself, comparable to that of league baseball. It is a less honorific career, perhaps, than one of the professions. We do not take presidents, supreme court judges or ambassadors from the ranks of ball-players. But we have had governors and congressmen who began their careers on the diamond.

The NFL certainly got what it paid for.

Grange’s Turkey Day debut against the Chicago Cardinals was played in front of more than 36,000 fans at what is now Wrigley Field, and 70,000-plus paid for seats at the Polo Grounds to see the Bears tangle with the New York Giants in his next outing.

Grange was the indisputable star of the show, and drew huge crowds everywhere he played.

When he couldn’t come to terms with the Bears in 1926, Pyle formed a new league (the short-lived American Football League) and new team (New York Yankees) to showcase the generational talent.

As it turns out, Grange never did return to Illinois to get his degree. He did, however, wind up in the Pro Football Hall of Fame – one of 17 charter members. He is also in the inaugural class of the College Football Hall of Fame.

A devastating knee injury in 1927 took away his speed, but he became a star DB during his last few seasons of pro ball. He retired in 1935 after playing in 237 games. He went on to be an assistant coach for the Bears before dabbling in acting. Later, he worked in everything from broadcasting to motivational speaking and private business.

(Grange was even tapped as commissioner of the 1940s iteration of the United States Football League. More on that here:

adamsonmedia.com/nfl-aafc-pro-football/

After hanging up his cleats, Grange was asked if jumping to pro ball in 1925 was the right decision.

“I’d probably do the same thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t sell the friendships and contacts I’ve made in professional football for anything. About the only thing I’m sure I wouldn’t do is make some of the investments I did, but I guess there are a lot of people in the same boat with me.”

Cam Little’s 68-yard field goal against the Las Vegas Raiders last Sunday set a new NFL record, so the Jacksonville Jaguars kicker now stands alone with the longest three-pointer in league history.

But for how long?

His effort was of the “no doubt about it” variety, meaning it would’ve been good from 70 yards – a mark he had already met in a preseason game, incidentally. It was an impressive feat, and something he’ll always remember.

Thing is, though, it’s not gonna stand … not for any significant length of time, anyway. It might be broken later this season – or even as early as tomorrow. What once seemed next to impossible is now a probability.

The former record holder was Justin Tucker, whose 66-yard boot set a new standard back in 2021.

But this year alone there have been six field goals made from 60-plus yards, and 22 kickers have split the pipes from at least 55 yards away.

On October 19, both Dallas’ Brandon Aubrey and Green Bay’s Lucas Havrisik drilled 61-yard field goals, marking the first time in NFL history two 60-plus yarders had been made on the same day.

Yet, there was a time when a ball that cleared the crossbar from that distance was the ultimate rarity – and that time was November 8, 1970.

The lowly New Orleans Saints – on their way to a 2-11-1 worksheet in their fourth NFL season – trailed the Detroit Lions, 17-16, with just two seconds left in the game.

Instead of opting for a long bomb in hopes of a miracle finish, New Orleans boss J.D. Roberts (in his first game as head man after Tom Fears was fired) called Tom Dempsey’s number.

The 264-pound second-year kicker out of Palomar Junior College was asked to attempt a 63-yard field goal, which seemed ridiculous.

The longest field goal in league history was 56 yards, that set in 1956 by Baltimore’s Bert Rechichar in the Colts’ 13-9 victory over the Chicago Bears.

But long odds were hardly new to Dempsey, who was born with a congenital condition that left him with no toes on his right foot and no fingers on his right hand.

In fact, he wore a specially designed (and NFL-approved) shoe that featured a 1 ¾-inch-leather block at the toe. The 23-year-old had a powerful right leg, and the sporting world was about to learn just how strong it was.

So, with the ball at the Saints 45 (goal posts were located on the goal line in 1970), the snap to Joe Scarpati was placed down at the 37.

Sixty-three yards and an inch or two later, New Orleans had a 19-17 victory and the Crescent City had a new folk hero.

“We were beaten by a miracle,” Detroit coach Joe Schmidt said.

There were 66,920 fans at Tulane Stadium that day, and I’m guessing most claim to have witnessed the “miracle.” But Detroit’s Errol Mann made an 18-yard field goal 12 seconds earlier, sending thousands of them toward the exits.

“I knew I could kick the ball that far, but whether or not I could kick it straight kept running through my mind,” Dempsey told the Associated Press. “I knew I had to hit the ball awfully hard and would need a little extra time.

“There’s so much involved in kicking a 60-yard field goal. You’ve got to try and hit the ball as hard as you possibly can, and yet, kicking it straight is a hard thing to do. It just happened that I hit it right that time and it happened at the right time.”

Dempsey had already kicked three field goals in the game and wanted to try a 55-yarder earlier.

“We didn’t let him kick that shorter one,” Roberts told AP. “He was upset and I said, ‘Well, if you think you can get high trajectory on it, we’ll kick a long one a little later.’ But I didn’t think it would be that long.”

Who would have?

Certainly none of the Detroit players.

“Tom Dempsey didn’t kick that field goal,” Lions linebacker Wayne Walker said. “God kicked it.”

But no good deed goes unpunished, and three days after Dempsey’s historic kick, Dallas Cowboys president Tex Schramm said he was going to protest the use of Dempsey’s shoe. Schramm’s reasoning was that it gave the kicker an unfair advantage because of its sledgehammer-like design.

There was immediate backlash at the suggestion someone born with basically half a foot had an “advantage,” and Schramm withdrew his protest on November 13.

“It was a mistake and bad timing on my part,” Schramm said in an interview with The Times-Picayune of New Orleans. “I will not pursue it. I want to apologize to Tom Dempsey, the Saints and the people of New Orleans for the impression my remarks created. It was not my intent whatsoever to criticize Tom. That 63-yarder was a heck of an accomplishment and a tremendous tribute to him.”

(As a quick aside, in 1977 the NFL made a rule mandating that “… any shoe that is worn by a player with an artificial limb on his kicking leg must have a kicking surface that conforms to that of a normal kicking shoe.” It became known as the Tom Dempsey Rule, although Dempsey had no artificial limbs).

In 1992, the Detroit Free Press asked Dempsey to look back on his accomplishment.

“I always practiced kicking from 65 yards away,” he said. “Lots of times I’d kicked 70-yard field goals in practice, so I didn’t pay any attention to the distance on this kick.

“All I noticed was the goalposts looked a little small.”

The record stood for 43 years, although Denver’s Jason Elam tied it in 1998. It was broken by Broncos kicker Matt Prater’s 64-yard field goal against the Tennessee Titans on December 8, 2013.

Still, for those of us “old school” fans, Dempsey’s achievement remains one of the truly great moments in National Football League history.