Hurricane Florida Levels Columbus

It’s moments like these that I’m glad I don’t have children. It’s always good to wake every morning and hear neither the pitter nor patter of little feet, but tonight I am especially relieved, and not for the usual reasons. Not because a writer’s salary would force me to cloth junior in old newspapers, or because getting them into a decent preschool requires a lawyer and a sniper rifle. No, I am glad I have no children because I would have undoubtedly raised them as ardent Ohio State fans, as my father raised me. And tonight they would have looked to me with tears in their eyes and asked me questions I don’t think I would be able to answer.
Little Nathan would have wanted to know how the Florida Gators could completely dominate an absolutely stacked Buckeye’s team? In between convulsing sobs he would have asked why Heisman Trophy winner Troy Smith only threw for 35 yards? 35! Those little bubbles of snot would come out of his nose as he looked to me to explain how a blue chip defense could give up nearly 400 yards and 41 points. This would be a prime teaching moment, one of those perfect opportunities to teach your child some invaluable life lessons: the world is a hard place, sometimes you lose, and the important thing is you tried your best etc. Despite knowing the right things to say, despite the tears staining Nathan Jr.’s scarlet and gray t-shirt, I can’t imagine doing anything other than looking him square in the eyes and saying, “Well son, we sucked, we sucked as hard as we could have possibly sucked. Now go to sleep while Daddy makes a visit to Mr. Jack Daniel’s house.”
That’s the thing about games like tonight’s BCS Championship, for the losers there aren’t any lessons to learn. The Buckeye’s were completely beaten in every phase of the game. They way they played tonight there wasn’t a game plan in the world that would have stopped Urban Meyer’s insatiable Gators. No amount of additional effort would have made a difference. Not even a perfectly healthy and multiply-cloned Ted Ginn Jr. would have mattered. This kind of loss has the possibility to crush the confidence of players, to make them question everything they know about the game. The quicker everyone involved moves on the better. If I’m Jim Tressel (and I look terrible in sweater vests by the way) I would burn the game film, forbid anyone to mention this game again, and start preparing for next season. For this 2006 Buckeye’s team the world will not forget so easily. Everyone from Kirk Herbstreit to the guy toasting subs at the campus Quizno’s will make sure that every player on that field feels shame and humiliation on a national scale, the last thing they need is a coaching heaping it on with no benefit. Amnesia is the only remedy.
It’s like this: you’ve just finished building your dream house when a hurricane rips though town. If the hurricane is relatively mild you return and survey the damage, figure out where the architectural weak points were, and rebuild your house better and stronger than ever. But if the hurricane is strong enough to completely level your house, well then there’s no need for analysis because no amount of reinforcement would have done a damn thing. You can spend days crying over the wreckage and wondering why, or you can take a deep breath, recruit everyone you know, and start clearing away the debris so you can start construction all over again. Sometimes reflection is fatal and the only way forward is willed blindness to the past.
It’s impossible to explain this kind of philosophy to a child, even one as intelligent as Nathan Jr. Their entire world revolves around the why, and only an answer will do. But when there is no answer coming, they only thing we can do is make them some hot chocolate, pop in that tape of the 2002 Fiesta Bowl, and watch them fall asleep with the joy of a national championship in their dreams. Even if it didn’t happen tonight.