Let me ask you this: What if the most exciting games in college football are the ones no one wants to watch? That’s the paradox we’re facing today. Coaches, administrators, and even fans are collectively engineering a system where the most anticipated matchups are being canceled, replaced by soft schedules designed to pad résumés for the College Football Playoff. It’s a self-defeating cycle, and Nick Saban, the sport’s most successful coach, has called it out with a solution that feels both radical and obvious. But why hasn’t anyone else noticed?
College football is in the throes of a scheduling arms race. Teams are avoiding top-tier opponents like they’re avoiding a tax audit. The USC-Notre Dame rivalry? Gone. Florida State vs. Georgia? Canceled. Why? Because winning against a ranked team is risky, and losing to one is catastrophic for playoff hopes. It’s a numbers game: more wins, more hype, more chances to be in the playoff. But what does this say about the sport’s soul? Personally, I think it’s a betrayal of what makes college football special—the chaos, the unpredictability, the thrill of seeing two titans collide. Instead, we’re getting a parade of cupcakes, and the fans are paying for it.
Saban’s proposal—having Power 5 teams play 12 games against each other—isn’t just a scheduling fix; it’s a cultural reset. He’s asking coaches to stop treating the sport like a math problem and start treating it like a spectacle. ‘People want to see those games,’ he said. But here’s the catch: Why would anyone want to see a game where their team is guaranteed to lose? That’s the rub. College football has always been about narratives—underdogs, rivalries, redemption. When you eliminate the risk, you eliminate the story. And stories are what keep people watching.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how deeply entrenched the current system is. Coaches aren’t just avoiding tough schedules; they’re actively lobbying for them. Missouri’s Eli Drinkwitz recently complained about Big Ten schedules, as if playing teams outside the Central Time Zone is a hardship. Meanwhile, the SEC’s coaches grumble about non-conference games, even as they ignore the fact that their teams rarely leave the South. It’s a farce. If the playoff is expanding to 24 teams anyway, why not embrace the chaos? Why not let teams prove themselves against the best? The answer, of course, is money. Scheduling is a revenue generator, and the easiest way to guarantee a win is to play a team that’s not in the playoff conversation. But at what cost?
Let’s talk about the fans. They’re the ones who get sold a bill of goods every season. ‘We’re going to play the toughest schedule!’ they’re told. Then, week after week, they’re handed a schedule that looks like a high school game. And yet, they keep coming back. Why? Because they’re conditioned to believe that the playoff is the only metric that matters. But what if the playoff isn’t the end goal? What if it’s just a stepping stone to something bigger? A game between Alabama and Ohio State isn’t just about rankings—it’s about legacy. It’s about history. And yet, we’re reducing it all to a spreadsheet.
Here’s a thought: What if the real problem isn’t the scheduling, but the playoff itself? The College Football Playoff was supposed to be a solution to the BCS era’s flaws, but it’s become another layer of bureaucracy. The selection committee is more concerned with metrics than matchups. Saban’s idea doesn’t just fix scheduling—it forces the committee to confront the reality that a team’s strength of schedule should matter more than its record. But that’s a dangerous proposition. It would require coaches to stop gaming the system and start competing with integrity. And let’s be honest, that’s not going to happen.
Still, Saban’s proposal is a reminder that college football doesn’t have to be this way. The sport could be a celebration of competition, not a chess match. It could be about rivalries, not rankings. But until someone stops prioritizing playoff appearances over the spirit of the game, we’ll keep watching teams play against teams that aren’t even in the conversation. And that’s a tragedy. Because the best college football isn’t about winning—it’s about the moments that define us, the games that stay with you long after the final whistle. And right now, we’re missing out on all of it.
