Da prediction

 You want to surrender to the narrative, at this point. It's grown so big, after all.

You want to just say "Indiana is going to win a national title in, are you kidding me, FOOTBALL tonight" because it seems the only way the narrative can end now, the only possible outcome now that destiny -- no, DESTINY -- is driving the bus. And destiny cannot be denied, especially when it's shouting as loud as it is now.

So, here's the Blob's prediction: Indiana is going to win a national title in football tonight.

Unless Miami does.

Unless destiny -- no, DESTINY -- decides to ditch the Hoosiers and go home with the Hurricanes, who by the way have their own narrative. If Miami wins, after all, it officially will be a Return To Glory. And it will happen in Miami (OK, so halfway between Miami and Fort Lauderdale). And how is that not karma shouting just as loud as destiny?

The Canes playing for a national title again in their hometown. I mean, come on.

"Oh, here we go," you're saying now. "Durwood Downer has entered the building."

Well ... not really. OK, so maybe.

What I'm really doing is being true to my essential nature, which is always to see the single cloud in a bluebird sky and say, "Oh, crap, it's gonna rain." It's how I get whenever I bump up against the aura of inevitability I sense in all this.

Maybe it's just because I live in Indiana, but it seems as if almost everyone assumes that the Hoosiers are, yes, inevitable at this point. That they're an unstoppable machine that will roll over Miami the way they've rolled over 15 other opponents this dream-like season. That every soul in Bloomington is simply tapping his or her foot until it's time to can pour out into the frigid January night and head for Showalter Fountain.

Where the fish sculptures have already been removed in anticipation of the par-TAY.

I read that the other day, and had this immediate thought: Man, these guys are really tempting fate.

I thought this because football is football, and it is sometimes very hard on narratives. Last night, for instance, was there any doubt about the narrative when Caleb Williams made that ridiculous off-balance throw to Cole Kmet to save the Bears' season again?

He faded back and faded back and faded back, a host of Los Angeles Rams closing in on a game-ending sack. And then, at the last second, he reared back and threw.

It looked like desperation itself. It was desperation itself. Except somehow it arced across the night and hit Kmet in stride in the end zone some 40 yards away.

Touchdown. Overtime. Bears wi-

Oops.

Because in overtime, the Bears stopped the Rams, and Williams led them downfield to within a handful of yards of what would surely be the field goal that would complete the narrative. And then, for some unaccountable reason, he threw deep, and a Rams defensive back made a diving interception, and a handful of plays later, it was the Rams who kicked the winning field goal.

So much for narratives.

Do I think something similar will happen tonight? Do I think Miami -- which has a terrifying defense and a quarterback as unflappable as Fernando Mendoza in sixth-year transfer Carson Beck -- will slap down the Hoosiers for their impertinence?

No. See: Third paragraph of this piece.

I think Indiana will win, because Mendoza will be prepared and his elite receiver corps will be prepared and those two running backs, Roman Hemby and Kaelon Black, will be prepared. The offensive line will be prepared to do some more road grading. D'Angelo Ponds and the other shutdown DBs will be prepared to take away Beck's weapons, and Aiden Fisher and the rest of the defensive down seven will be prepared to chase him around his own backfield.

Call it Indiana 33, Miami 24 this time. Because sometimes the ironclad narrative really is ironclad.