Well, Notre Dame sure showed the Pop-Tarts Bowl, by cracky. If they can't be in the big-money tournament, by gum, they're not going to lose money playing straight men to a gigantic breakfast side dish.
In fairness, we only assume they would have gone to the Pop-Tarts Bowl because that's where BYU, another rejected suitor for the college football playoff, ended up. But let's be fair. It could have been the Cheez-It Bowl, the Tony The Tiger Sun Bowl, the Kinder's Texas Bowl, the Wasabi Fenway Bowl, or the Snoop Dogg Arizona Bowl brought to you by Dre and Snoop Gin And Juice. There isn't a condiment, a barbecue sauce, a high-sugar cereal or high-sodium smack cracker, or a hangover kit in a can that wouldn't be proud to have Notre Dame on its billboards.
But Notre Dame is too proud for that. The Irish money factory thought a laughably disingenuous clown car system would do the right thing by them, and found out what we already knew—that when it comes to the brand new college football, bullshit talks, walks, chews gum and says, "Trust me, I got you covered" all at the same time. That is to say, it thought the college football playoff committee members would stand behind its previous seven poll results, the ones that said Notre Dame was a worthier operation than Miami because they were men of conviction. They failed to consider that these were men whose convictions were incredibly fluid, and by "incredibly," we of course mean "not credible."
That's on them, because they thought being Notre Dame and bringing that sweet Notre Dame fan base (read: money) was protection enough, only to discover that the committee valued the Alabama fan base (read: money) more. Thus, when the Irish ended up the odd men out in a three-into-two math equation with Miami and Alabama and got aced out of the 12-team championship playoff, they did the only honorable thing there. They waved the double bird at the whole system that was supposed to nurture them and vowed to make the system bend the knee to them next time, because while the system may stink, it's the one that always valued Notre Dame in the past, and in a cavalcade of thieves, you're always shocked when the hands in your pocket aren't yours.
Then again, they knew there were no rules when they opted in. Nobody in their their right mind should feel anything for Notre Dame; the system doesn't care because the system isn't a system at all, but 13 people on a selection committee who don't believe in anything. Notre Dame's argument for inclusion is bogus, and so is Alabama's and so is Miami's. It's all just arguing for the sake of arguing because the argument is the raison d'etre for these dullards flying to Texas in the first place. They aren't qualified to make a simple measurable system, and they're aren't disciplined enough to hold to a single set of philosophies through the entire year. Theirs is the best excuse of all—"We're just making it up as we go along, and the silly bastards who don't know that after all these years are just marks who deserve the impotent rage they wear today. Buy a sweatshirt and shut up.
As for Notre Dame, it won't be missed because the playoff is designed to make the other bowls irrelevant. The matter of who goes to Honolulu and who goes to Shreveport is just an ESPN construct anyway, a chance to extend the cash cow of college football for an extra month, and to make people angry for every bit of it. It's the equivalent of finding out that Stephen A. Smith is your audiologist, curing your tinnitus while telling you your insurance is no good.
In fact, Notre Dame refusing to enter the Lesser Bowl marquee is actually the truest thing anyone did all weekend, for all the false reasons. They're not too good for the Pop-Tarts Bowl, but credit them for leaving the impression. Most bowl games actually lose money for the schools in them, so the mouth full o'tarts is far from being the low point of the experience.
Whether or not they rise to the level of motivation for next year's players is entirely theirs to decide, but it's apparently an idea they find worthy of the exploration. I mean, what if not going to a bowl game is a better deal? You think refusing a bowl invitation will move the committee next year? Like we said, they're making it up as they go along, and they don't remember last week's rankings, let alone last year's. There is no precedent for anything except outrage, and understanding that basic truth is the beauty of being on a committee. As long as someone is acting petulantly in reaction to something you decided, you have decided well. It's the moment you pick a team for the playoff and they announce they'd rather not is the thing you worry about. That's why every invitation comes with a $4 million check, and even one-sixteenth of that (because you have to share your good fortune with your conference mates whether they won one game or 10) covers a long snapper, holder, and kicker next year, which is much more conducive to team building than eating a gigantic breakfast pastry.
So here's to Notre Dame and whatever shameful impression they've left over the past few hours by being too good for Montgomery, or Atlanta, or Frisco, Texas. Next year the tournament will have 16 spots, or 24, or whatever the committee can extort the networks to pay for, and Notre Dame will surely get one of those. They're Notre Dame, after all, which is exactly the logic they banked on this year. Finding out that sometimes it doesn't work makes it feel that much better when it does.
