SPORT
Is it Over Yet?: Overtime in College Football
/ Adam Underhill
11.27.07
After scoring a go-ahead touchdown in the third overtime period of the Arkansas-Louisiana State football game on November 23, the Razorbacks eschewed the extra point try, and went for two instead. It was a perilous decision: Miss the two-point conversion, and LSU could win the game with a touchdown and extra point. As we watched, my brother Brett (a.k.a. “Porkchopbob”) remarked, “that’s pretty ballsy.”
Not that ballsy. Arkansas didn’t eschew the easy one point try; it was forced to go for two. If a college football game reaches a third overtime period, teams MUST go for the two-point conversion after a touchdown. This is one of many idiosyncrasies that makes college overtime different from its professional, sudden death brethren. And it’s a big part of the reason why college football overtime sucks.
The NFL has long been sneered at by fans of NCAA football as a stodgier and less exciting form of football. Offenses are complex and unchanging, players tend to be spoiled and complacent, and the stadium atmosphere on game day can feel as controlled and contrived as a political convention. By comparison, the palpable urgency and electricity surrounding an amateur (ok, semi-pro) college game is like the difference between watching a concert movie and actually watching a live concert. But if there’s one area where the pros have college beat (and in my opinion, there are plenty), it’s overtime.
Since 1974, NFL games that go into overtime are given one 15-minute extra period to avoid a tie, and whichever team scores first wins. That’s it. A coin flip determines the possession, and the teams duke it out. It’s a beautiful part of sports: One interception returned for a touchdown doesn’t just kill a drive, it kills the game. One 54-yard field goal made or missed suddenly delivers a win for one team or prime field position for the other to march for a score. If you want a great example, check out highlights of the Green Bay Packers’ 2004 overtime win over Seattle. Seahawks quarterback Matt Hasslebeck, upon winning the coin flip, scared the cheese off the heads of the Lambeau Field crowd when he brashly announced “we’ll take the ball, and we’re gonna score.” He then promptly threw an interception to cornerback Al Harris, who returned it for the game-winning touchdown.
Harris’ raucous game-closer could not happen in college football. Interceptions (as well as blocked field goal attempts) are dead balls; possession is turned over to the other team. This is because college overtime isn’t a timed period at all. Rather, the game becomes something like baseball’s extra innings, in which each team has a chance to score. With no clock governing the game, college football overtime can, in theory, go on forever. (All too often it seems to.)
Not that ballsy. Arkansas didn’t eschew the easy one point try; it was forced to go for two. If a college football game reaches a third overtime period, teams MUST go for the two-point conversion after a touchdown. This is one of many idiosyncrasies that makes college overtime different from its professional, sudden death brethren. And it’s a big part of the reason why college football overtime sucks.
The NFL has long been sneered at by fans of NCAA football as a stodgier and less exciting form of football. Offenses are complex and unchanging, players tend to be spoiled and complacent, and the stadium atmosphere on game day can feel as controlled and contrived as a political convention. By comparison, the palpable urgency and electricity surrounding an amateur (ok, semi-pro) college game is like the difference between watching a concert movie and actually watching a live concert. But if there’s one area where the pros have college beat (and in my opinion, there are plenty), it’s overtime.
Since 1974, NFL games that go into overtime are given one 15-minute extra period to avoid a tie, and whichever team scores first wins. That’s it. A coin flip determines the possession, and the teams duke it out. It’s a beautiful part of sports: One interception returned for a touchdown doesn’t just kill a drive, it kills the game. One 54-yard field goal made or missed suddenly delivers a win for one team or prime field position for the other to march for a score. If you want a great example, check out highlights of the Green Bay Packers’ 2004 overtime win over Seattle. Seahawks quarterback Matt Hasslebeck, upon winning the coin flip, scared the cheese off the heads of the Lambeau Field crowd when he brashly announced “we’ll take the ball, and we’re gonna score.” He then promptly threw an interception to cornerback Al Harris, who returned it for the game-winning touchdown.
Harris’ raucous game-closer could not happen in college football. Interceptions (as well as blocked field goal attempts) are dead balls; possession is turned over to the other team. This is because college overtime isn’t a timed period at all. Rather, the game becomes something like baseball’s extra innings, in which each team has a chance to score. With no clock governing the game, college football overtime can, in theory, go on forever. (All too often it seems to.)