Barry Odom jogged across the field after Missouri’s 50-0 victory over SEMO last week and high-fived the students who stuck around until the end. Afterward, he heaped praise on the 56,620 fans who attended.
But I don’t think Odom had paid much attention to the actual performance of the crowd, because what I saw was a group that made countless mental mistakes.
Where to begin? Well, let’s start with the new “Meet Your Neighbor” game. Pretty simple concept: If you see the image of you and the person next to you on the scoreboard accompanied by the words “Meet Your Neighbor,” your job is to shake hands with that person. I’m not sure what the payoff is for the rest of us to watch two people shake hands — perhaps the Kiss Cam was just too racy— but, regardless, it is not a complicated set of instructions to follow. But people just smiled vacantly and waved at the camera like this was the first time someone carrying photographic equipment had arrived in their remote village.
The inability to follow the simplest context clues continued during “Rock-Paper-Scissors.” The guy on the right grasped that the split screen meant this was a contest between the two people shown on the scoreboard. But a series of people on the left were flummoxed, again just waving at the camera or staring at their phones or striking up a game of “Rock-Paper-Scissors” with their neighbor rather than the guy on the right, who was patiently waiting, fist in palm, to get the damn game started. Listen, people on the left, “Meet Your Neighbor” is over — it’s time to compete! Finally, the camera tracked down a young woman who understood the premise, but by this point, I don’t think anyone cared who won.
These lapses in focus might not bite you against the likes of SEMO, but how can you expect to beat South Carolina without situational awareness?
Mountain or Molehill?
If I learned anything about Missouri last Saturday, it wasn’t during the Tigers’ victory over SEMO. Rather, it came earlier in the day when West Virginia beat N.C. State 44-27. The Mountaineers offensive line had spent the previous game against Missouri throwing open the front door and making sweeping gestures of invitation into their backfield. I wouldn’t have guessed WVU would score 44 points the rest of September.
It is preposterous to think the Tigers are what the NCAA statistics say they are: the nation’s second-ranked pass defense. That is a schedule-driven, small-sample abnormality. But I am willing to consider that Missouri’s defense is far better than the version that stunk in the season opener at Wyoming.
I still harbor doubts about MU’s ability to rush the passer against a competent offense, so Saturday’s game against South Carolina should be revealing. The Gamecocks are similar to other SEC opponents on Missouri’s schedule — solid but not spectacular talent and a replacement quarterback.
If the Tigers hold South Carolina to about 300 total yards and/or 4.5 yards per play, that would be a good sign that this defense is no longer a liability. For reference, North Carolina held South Carolina to 270 yards and 4.4 yards per play in the season opener.
Defense of the Indefensible
In this week’s Defense of the Indefensible, I suggest we stop delaying games for lightning. Last year, less than three minutes remained in Missouri’s game against South Carolina when it was halted because of lightning. An hour later, it resumed, but by that point, it seemed like we had endured a long and pointless delay — like a Super Bowl halftime performance by Coldplay.
Let’s weigh the possibility of the occasional fan being electrocuted vs. the certain inconvenience of tens of thousands of fans who would just like to finish watching the game and get on with their day. I think the advanced metrics agree with me that playing through an electrical storm serves the greater good.
An average of 51 Americans die in lightning strikes each year, compared to 658 who die from heat-related illnesses. So if we’re not delaying games when it’s 95 degrees, let’s take our chances with lightning.
Some Closing Thoughts on Celebrating Life’s Minor Achievements
When I got home from the SEMO game late Saturday night, I fell under the spell of the NFL Network’s replay of the first Monday Night Football game, the 1970 meeting between the Cleveland Browns and New York Jets. There were stark differences between then and now — goalposts at the front of the end zone, gigantic shoulder pads, white defensive backs — but the most jarring was the lack of player celebrations. When Cleveland’s Homer Jones took the second-half kickoff back for a touchdown, only one teammate tried to congratulate him, and Jones shrugged off that hug attempt because what he really wanted to do — what almost every player wanted to do — was go right back to the bench and sit down.
Time and again, after a big gain or violent tackle, everybody just got up and went back to the huddle or jogged off the field like they hadn’t given a second thought to how this highlight could impact their brand.
I don’t mind a little individual expression of joy. If you’re getting brain damage for my viewing pleasure, I think it’s fine to express yourself — I’m magnanimous that way — but there should be guidelines. If your touchdown cuts the deficit to 44-13, if you were merely in the vicinity of an incomplete pass that overshot the intended receiver by 10 yards or if your job description is “punter,” give some serious thought to simply jogging back to the bench.
