A Rose, with thorns

 Omens are dark and soulless things if you believe in them, but only if you believe in them. And right now, at the dawn of a new and probably even more insane year,  the Blob refuses to do so.

Which means I do not think Ohio State's flameout against Miami in the Cotton Bowl last night bodes nothing in particular for Indiana in the Rose Bowl today.

The usual trolls were out in force this morning after the Hurricanes paved the Buckeyes 24-14, saying the Big Ten was overrated like they all said, and therefore undefeated and No. 1 Indiana is destined to go down to mighty three-loss Alabama of the mighty SEC. One internet creature said the Buckeyes' loss convinced him to jack his prediction from Alabama by 10 to Alabama by 17.

Why? Well, because the Big Ten sucks and the Mighty SEC is a juggernaut juggenaut-ing its way over every other loser conference in college football.

The Blob is a firm non-believer in that doctrine. 

I'm a firm non-believer because the Big Ten has already whipped up on several SEC schools this bowl season, to begin with. And I'm a firm non-believer because the dynamics of every game hit different because every team in those games is different. 

Against Miami, for instance, the Buckeyes faced a team that could match them physically up front -- just as they did against Indiana in the Big Ten championship game. They also faced a team that, since being surprised by SMU on Nov. 1, had crushed everything in its path, outscoring its opponents 161-44. That included a first-round CFP silencing of Texas A&M, which came in averaging 34 points per game and managed just three in a 10-3 loss to the Hurricanes.

In their previous five games, the 'Canes had held opponents to a tick under nine points per. Ohio State's O-line, on the other hand, had been exposed by Indiana, which sacked Julian Sayin five times and registered nine tackles for loss. So it perhaps figured the Bucks were going to have trouble with Miami's voracious D.

The game this afternoon?

It says here Indiana should win, because the Hoosiers simply objectively better. They also can run the football if they have to, and Alabama cannot. In its 34-24 win over Oklahoma in a first-round CFP game, the Crimson Tide scratched out just 28 yards on 25 carries. That's a robust 1.1 yards per attempt.

The Sooners, meanwhile, blew a 17-point lead, giving up 27 straight points and handing 'Bama some early Christmas gifts: A punt that was blocked, another punt that was fumbled, and a pick six. That sort of unraveling isn't likely to happen against Indiana, a profoundly focused team which rarely makes mistakes and never beats itself.  

This does not mean the Rose Bowl will be without thorns for the Hoosiers, however. It doesn't even mean they'll win, because Alabama has its usual complement of deluxe skill players. So it's not inconceivable the Crimson Tide could pull the upset and set the internet trolls to trolling again.

However ...

However, the Blob sees this in his murky crystal ball: Indiana 26, Alabama 21.

Onward.

Resolved

 (Interior monologue, 8:17 a.m., January 1, 2026 ...)

"You're not really gonna do this, are you?"

"Do what?"

"The whole New Year's resolution thing. Come on, say you're not."

"Well ..."

"Oh, please! It's the most lame, hackneyed, unoriginal bit ever! You're better than that! And you don't how it kills me to say so!"

"Yeah, but ..."

"Omigod. You ARE! You ARE going to do it! And I suppose you're also going to drag out your same old lame, hackneyed line about 2026 kicking 2025 out on its treacherous ass, too, aren't you?"

"Well ..."

Well. So here we are.

Mere hours after 2026 kicked 2025 out on its treacherous ass.

A time for sober reflection, for re-assessing, for taking the measure of things. A time for  looking back and ahead at the same time, like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist."

OK. So maybe not exactly like that.

Actually, it's more a time when we resolve to do better, to be the best version of ourselves, and all the other New Year's junk that sounds really noble until you come back from the gym on January 2 and resolve never to do that again. 

And for me, personally?

It means the following:

I resolve not to look at the Hunts leaving Arrowhead Stadium for new digs across the state line in Kansas, and wonder for the eleventy-hundredth time why the taxpayers are footing part of the bill (in this case, about $600 million of it) when the Hunts are worth $24.8 billion and PAY FOR THE DAMN THING THEMSELVES, THE FREELOADING BAST-

Sorry. Got a trifle carried away there. I resolve to stop doing that.

I also resolve to not pull my hair out, for the eleventy-hundredth time, over what a mess college sports are these days. The latest? Some 7-foot basketball player from Nigeria was granted college eligibility even though he was taken with the 31st pick in the 2023 NBA draft and has played pro ball in Europe the last five years. 

His name is James Nnaji, and he's headed to Baylor. Now, the NCAA has decreed that no player under contract to an NBA team will be allowed to do what they're allowing Nnaji to do, but the guy's still a pro and so you know -- you just know -- that sooner or later some kid from overseas who's signed with an NBA team will lawyer up and challenge the rule. And he'll win because the NCAA always loses these things.

Pretty soon Luka Doncic will be suiting for IU and Nikola Jokic and Victor Wembanyama will be squaring off for Duke and North Carolina, respectively.

I resolve not to scream and yell and throw things at the TV if that happens. And I already know that one's goin' down.

So what I else do resolve?

I resolve not to write about Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift's impending nuptials more than eleventy-hundred times. Unless Travis decides to play another year, which will give me an excuse to do so.

I resolve not to post stuff about my sorry-ass Pittsburgh Cruds baseball team more than eleventy-hundred times. Or have a T-shirt made that says "Free Paul Skenes" and wear it around all summer.

(Notice I said "ALL summer." Loopholes are fun.)

I resolve not to grumble and make old-man noises about the NHL playing the outdoor 2026 Winter Classic in FREAKING MIAMI tomorrow. The only ice in Miami this time of year -- or any time of year, really -- is in a mojito. Playing the Winter Classic there is stupid beyond the galactic boundaries of stupidity. What will the teams' throwbacks feature, board shorts and tank tops? Will sunscreen make an appearance? Wil-

Aw, crap. I'm already grumbling and making old-man noises. Well, that resolution was never going to see another sunrise, anyway.

Same goes for any and all resolutions that involve the NFL's kickoff rules; baseball's extra-innings rules (and that proposed Golden At-Bat rule, ridiculousness cubed); MMA fights on the White House lawn;  President Fearless Leader's proposed Patriot Games, which sound vaguely creepy in a Hitler Youth Games sort of way; and (choose one) the Trump World Cup , the Trump World Series, the Trump Indianapolis 500, the Trump Super Bowl and the Trump Masters featuring Trump's Creek, Trump Amen Corner and the Trump Cathedral of Pines.

I resolve not to let my head explode over any of it.

Aw, crap. Too late.