The Cardinal is Waving, Over the Field

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Amongst the many and varied topics I try to place before you, my readers, the role of sports is deservedly minimal. At best, the topic's sometimes worth an occasional ironic rolling of the eyes. In a world contorted by the suffering of the poor and hungry, a world led by the corrupt and the incompetent, a world facing an apocalyptic future of global warming, asteroidal collisions, and mutating strains of viruses run amok -- in such a world, it seems obscene to write seriously of kids throwing a ball around a grassy field when they should be in the library studying.

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Oh, I suppose that as a metaphor for human pluck and determination, an occasional sports story might provide a little comic relief, a little inspiration. Bad Luck Bears, Field of Dreams, all that sort of thing. But beyond a little unavoidable misting of the eyes and lump in the throat, akin to reading a child's dog story, such offerings do not fulfill the higher aspirations of you, my readers -- of you who seek after the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.

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But still (and again, I insist as metaphor), one occasionally runs into a story sufficiently unexpected and, well, inspiring, that I suppose we might find it worthwhile to mull it over briefly. Take, for example, a small West Coast school known for hard-working nerds blesssed with bigger SAT scores than biceps, whose eyes are fixed on high grades, doctoral programs, and the quixotic quest for the Nobel Prize. Imagine a grove of academe, so populated, trying to recruit students who fully meet its academic standards and, at the same time, are able to throw a pass, sack a quarterback, kick a field goal. Imagine these relatively skinny, idealistic, studious kids all dressed up in red and white running onto a football field week after week, and -- week and after week -- getting their metaphorical blocks knocked off.

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Imagine another West Coast school, a large one, known academically to a few, perhaps, for an excellent film program, but known athletically to the entire sports universe as a factory of pure, vicious, college football power. The New York Yankees, the Green Bay Packers, the L.A. Lakers all distilled into a NCAA bastion of football excellence. A school whose football teams don't just aspire to championships, but consider themselves entitled to them. A school whose teams stumble across the American football landscape like a demented Tyrannosaurus Rex, head swaying from side to side, always seeking new fodder to devour.

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Imagine David and Goliath thus meeting face to face. Meeting not on neutral ground, mind you, but in the sacred and most holy mother ship of the beast itself. Imagine the University of Southern California hosting, with fevered howls of merriment from 90,000 boasting fans and a wave of a sword from their mounted and armored mascot, the red and white clad kids from Stanford University at the (all knees bend, all heads bow) Los Angeles Coliseum.

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Imagine Stanford's record of 1-3, its only win being over San Jose State. Imagine Stanford's starting quarterback unable to play because of injury. Imagine a kid, a sophomore from Tacoma, Washington, who had never before started a game for the Cardinal, who had thrown only three passes in college play, stepping in as backup quarterback. Imagine Stanford as 41 point underdogs, when 42 1/2 points was the greatest spread anyone could recall having ever existed between two college teams. Imagine a Trojan team that had not lost a home game in five years.

Imagine what some are now calling the Greatest Upset in the History of College Football.

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