While it existed, Florida State’s 29-game victory streak was a marvel of talent, player development, and sweet fortune, and comprised two neatly composed halves: one of annihilations and one of swashbuckling escapes. That streak’s 59-20 ruination, dealt by the Oregon Ducks in Thursday’s playoff semifinal, was no less spectacular, though considerably more abrupt. It lent a finality to a Rose Bowl game that was reduced to serving as a palatial pit stop en route to the first playoff-produced national championship game at college football’s highest level.
The Seminoles’ dazing chain of wins is not undone, but it is over, mown under and buried deep in Pasadena in a sort of slowly unfolding slasher film, the kind where the hero keeps just out of reach of the blades for a while before pratfalling repeatedly into a series of ankle-deep holes, all set against the serene backdrop of the San Gabriels. The killer in pursuit, moving with supernatural speed, has lifeless, pool-black eyes, a pert sailor hat, and no pants.
(Read the rest at Grantland.)
I'm a multi-platform journalist and story producer, a Tennessee Volunteer by birth, a West Virginia Mountaineer by blood, an occasional Angelena, a current ATLien, and an Aquarius, if you're interested. Past work samples to the left, where all the words are.