Poor Louisville. The team might go undefeated and schmoes like me are cracking on them like a helmet on Joe Paterno's shin.
I mean, what exactly about their schedule is not to like, a schedule that includes Kentucky, Temple and Middle Tennessee. Throw in Buffalo and Towson State and their strength of schedule might equal my high school's.
|Does anyone want to see what Buckeye-induced tears will do to this makeup? (Getty Images)|
Don't get mad, Cardinals fans, because there is still a chance we might see Ohio State versus Louisville for the national championship or, as Buckeyes coaches are secretly calling the potential matchup: nap time.
Ohio State, with its 48 NFL Draft picks, would lose to the Oakland Raiders, 20-14. In overtime. They're that stacked. The Buckeyes would beat the Cardinals -- if I could borrow from Chad Johnson's mangled Spanish -- Ocho Cinco to seis.
The caca would hit the fan.
It would be 20-0 after the first half and millions of television viewers would be falling asleep faster than Terrell Owens in a team meeting.
I can see it now. Mr. Sweater Vest, in a corner of his office somewhere, the door closed, making sure no one is around to witness what was about to happen, and then suddenly, upon contemplating the thought of his Buckeyes against the Cardinals, breaks out into a bellyaching laugh. "Please, please, I can't take it," he might whoop, "Louisville against us in the national championship game? Bwaaaaa!"
Jim Tressel will not have laughed this hard since he saw Maurice Clarett's grades.
I love my man Dennis Dodd. He's the most talented male college football writer in the country. I keep telling him to stay away from sniffing glue. It kills brain cells, Doddsy. It makes you actually believe that Louisville, with its soft schedule and flaccid defense, deserves a shot at the national championship if the Cardinals go undefeated.
Louisville is the equivalent of the Detroit Tigers. They are impressive. Now. They look great. Now. They put beat-downs on teams like West Virginia, whose defense couldn't stop five chinchillas and a cocktail waitress.
But once the bright lights would flicker, and Ohio State started punching them in the mouth -- see, in the Big Ten, they, you know, tackle people -- they would begin making the football equivalent of routine throwing errors.
The pressure would swallow Louisville alive.