The forced injection of Vitamin BCS appears to have had a debilitating effect on The Granddaddy, sapping its vitality, its strength, its quaint charm, its sense of importance and urgency. The Rose Bowl as played out yesterday just didn’t have the same feel. It didn’t seem to mean anything to anyone outside of Oregon and Ohio.
And that shouldn’t be. Because it’s the Rose Bowl, pal, and the Rose Bowl never should be served as a side dish. You go to a steak house in Chicago, you don’t order moo goo gai pan.
Hard to figure. Same facility? Check. Same Arroyo Seco? Check. Same beautiful weather? Check. Pac-10 vs. Big Ten? Check. It wasn’t the competition. Oregon and Ohio State were good — not great, but good — and the Rose doesn’t need USC to walk through its tunnels like the New Year’s Baby every year to be successful. But it’s now but a spoke in the BCS wheel. The championship game may be played here Thursday, in the Rose Bowl, but it won’t be the Rose Bowl Rose Bowl. Capice?