Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me for weeks: college football’s scheduling wars are less about sports and more about political theater. Take Texas Tech’s recent plight—coach Joey McGuire’s claim that USC, Texas A&M, and NC State turned down scheduling requests isn’t just a scheduling hiccup; it’s a microcosm of the entire sport’s rotting hierarchy. Why do we even care about strength of schedule? Because it’s a metric that’s as subjective as it is weaponized. In my opinion, the entire system is a farce. When the College Football Playoff committee uses this nebulous metric, they’re not evaluating teams—they’re reinforcing power structures that favor the SEC and Big Ten, while quietly burying programs like Texas Tech under the rubble of their own self-inflicted wounds.
Here’s what really bugs me: the SEC and Big Ten act like they’re the only ones playing hardball, but their dominance is built on a foundation of exclusion. Ohio State’s schedule in 2026—road games against Texas, USC, Iowa, Nebraska, and Indiana—isn’t just tough; it’s a calculated move to keep their brand relevant. Meanwhile, Texas Tech is left scrambling, forced to play cupcakes because the elite schools won’t touch them. What makes this particularly fascinating is the hypocrisy. If Texas A&M won’t schedule Texas Tech, how can they then complain about their own strength of schedule when it’s inevitably weaker than the SEC’s? It’s like telling a kid they’re too small to play on the team, then getting mad when they can’t make the playoffs.
And let’s not forget the Sorsby scandal. The way Texas Tech handled Brendan Sorsby’s situation has created a toxic legacy. McGuire’s admission that he wants his team to be the ‘villain’ is a bold move, but it’s also a desperate one. Why would any program want to face a team that’s actively positioning itself as the antagonist? It’s not just about the scandal—it’s about perception. People don’t want to play a team that’s already been painted as a pariah. What many don’t realize is that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. The more Texas Tech is shunned, the more their schedule looks weak, and the more they’re forced into the role of the underdog. It’s a cycle that’s almost impossible to break.
But here’s where the real rot begins: the conferences themselves. The Big 12 is a shell of its former self, and instead of building a cohesive identity, its teams are busy avoiding each other. If Texas A&M and USC won’t play Texas Tech, why should they get a pass when the playoff committee scrutinizes their schedules? This isn’t just about fairness—it’s about accountability. The SEC and Big Ten have no problem flexing their muscles, but when a program like Texas Tech tries to climb the ladder, suddenly everyone’s got excuses. A detail that I find especially interesting is how quickly the narrative shifts. One day, Texas Tech is a rising contender; the next, they’re a cautionary tale. It’s all about who’s telling the story and who’s listening.
Looking ahead, this isn’t just a scheduling issue—it’s a cultural one. College football is becoming a game of gatekeeping, where only the elite get to write the rules. If Texas Tech wants to break through, they’ll need to do more than just schedule cupcakes. They’ll need to force the conversation, challenge the status quo, and maybe even sue the playoff committee if they have to. Because right now, the system is rigged against them. And if you take a step back and think about it, that’s not just bad for Texas Tech—it’s bad for the entire sport. When the games are decided by politics, not performance, we’re all losing.
