A few years ago, I remember saying -- either to myself or no one in particular -- that, from my standpoint, the worst thing that could happen regarding college football's Bowl Championship Series would be for Miami to play Ohio State for the national championship. It may have been back when Florida State and Miami were headed for a championship showdown and my dad couldn't stand either one.

"That's easy," I said, "Florida State. I hate Miami."

Most of that hatred stems from the 80s and early 90s when the Hurricanes were a bunch of arrogant, brash, cheating assholes, to put it lightly. You may remember them: The 'Canes who celebrated every postive gain on offense like it was the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl, and who paraded around after every hit on defense like they'd just won the game then and there.

Or you may remember Jeremy Shockey, the tight end now with the Giants. He's a prick. He's good, but he's a prick.

My hatred for Ohio State goes back to 1995, my sophomore year at Notre Dame. The Irish traveled to Columbus that year to play the Buckeyes. It wasn't a good season for ND; it wasn't a very good team. Ohio State -- then in the top 10 -- won easily, but that's not what bothered me. It was the stories I heard from friends who went to the game, both as fans and in the band. They were treated like dirt by the majority of Ohio State student and fans. They were assaulted and spit upon, berated and insulted. Now, certainly most fans of other teams have had such thoughts, but few voice them (with the exception of anyone who roots for the Philadelphia Eagles). I know I've wanted to lash out sometimes, but I refrain from personal attacks. I might make comments about the team, about the players; or, if it's after the game, about a play, but I wouldn't pick on an innocent fan. I'm sure it's at least a 50-50 split throughout America that one's athletic allegiances are inherited. I became a Mets fan because my parents followed the Mets. I became interested in Notre Dame because my father went there.

I had a chance to cover Notre Dame's game at Michigan my senior year, and toward the end of the game all the sportswriters leave the press box and stand on the sidelines as the game ends. At the Big House, the tunnel to the locker rooms is on one side of the field at the 50-yard line. As I jogged out through the tunnel with mostly Notre Dame players after the Wolverines won the game by less than a touchdown (the Irish had a chance at the end, but I believe that was one of Bob Davie's infamous clock-management snafus), I heard some of the worst insults I'd ever experienced coming from the stands. And it wasn't even the student section -- that was on the other side of the field, beneath the press box. But when I relayed the story over the year to friends back in South Bend, I was assured it wasn't as bad as what came down from Columbus.

If I remember correctly, in 1996, when Ohio State came to South Bend (in a No. 3 vs. No. 5 matchup, or something competetive like that, since the Irish had improved), a Columbus radio DJ arrived on campus on Wednesday before the game, and drove around shouting insults from the loudspeakers of the station's van. Did it early in the morning, too.

These collective experiences all came into play as this college football season went on. While there were something like eight undefeated teams at the beginning of November (the most since the early 70s), folks began their doomsday predictions that there could be more than two undefeated teams at the end of the season, thereby causing controversy with the BCS system. As teams fell from the ranks of the undefeated in twos (like ancient football animals walking the plank up the Ark), it came down to unstoppable Miami and -- all of a sudden -- unflappable Ohio State. The Buckeyes seemed more lucky than good, grabbing a close-knit win from Penn State (with a controversial -- Joe Paterno would say -- call hurting the Nittany Lions) winning on a fourth-and-long TD pass at Purdue, eeking out an overtime win at Illinois, and finally sneaking in for a touchdown against Michigan in the final game of the season. I'd never rooted for Michigan more than that day, and the Wolverines (who've had Ohio State's number in recent years) always played a close game against the Buckeyes.

And while I'd hoped earlier for Pittsburgh to knock off Miami, or for Virginia Tech to take them out so that a team like Georgia could sneak into the Fiesta Bowl and play Ohio State, thereby giving me at least one team to root for, I knew it was inevitable that my nightmare matchup was going to come true.

I spent the last month ignoring just about every story about the Fiesta Bowl. I read nothing about Miami, I ignored anything mentioning Ohio State. I wasn't even sure if I would watch the game, not really wanting either team to win and knowing a tie was impossible.

But then something happened when I turned on the TV last night to check the score in the first quarter.

With the force of Harry Potter's disdain for Voldemort, I, in no way, wanted Ohio State to win the game. I was a fan of Miami. After all, they have a humble new coach who hadn't lost any of the 24 games he coached since Butch Davis -- a bit arrogant himself -- left for the NFL's Cleveland Browns. They do have exciting players who, when compared to the older Miami teams, are downright choir boys. Sure, many of their fans still root with the same swagger and rudeness they had in the 80s and 90s, but at least it's not shown in the field to the same extent.

I watched the game rooting for the Hurricanes, scowling every time Ohio State fans were shown on TV, gritting my teeth whenever the Buckeyes made a first down or scored.

I dozed off for a bit in the third quarter, but awoke to watch Miami begin to comeback from a 17-7 deficit and then realized I'd have to stay up until the end, because this was going to be a finish unlike any other BCS game since the format began five years ago. Then Miami lost its running back, Willis McGahee, a Heisman trophy finalist, to a knee injury on a gruesome hit late in the fourth quarter. Add that to the turnovers committed by both teams, and it looked like it would either seal the win for Ohio State or inevitably lead to Miami's go-ahead score. But it came down to a field-goal attempt by the Hurricanes with three seconds left and a 17-14 Ohio State lead. I watched with the TV remote in my hand, ready to turn it off the second it became clear the Buckeyes would win. I had no desire to see any celebration.

The kicker made it, leading to the first overtime game in BCS history.

Miami took the ball first and scored a touchdown, meaning Ohio State (each team getting at least one chance with the ball in college overtimes) had to do the same to send it to a second overtime. The Buckeyes faced a fourth-and-14 and it looked like Miami would win its 35th game in a row. Instead, Ohio State QB Craig Krentzel found a receiver for a 15-yard gain, and the Purdue win flashed through my mind. Now they had first-and-goal inside the 10. Again, fourth down. Krentzel dropped back and looked to his right. A receiver slipped into the end zone and Krentzel fired. A Miami defender reached up with his left hand, his right coming in contact with the Buckeye just after the ball reached the receiver, and the pass fell incomplete. Miami began celebrating, the coaches and players taking a few steps off the sideline.

Then ABC announcer Keith Jackson said, "Wait a minute. There's a flag down on the field."

An old, bespectacled official flagged the Miami defender for pass interference. In the official's defense, he's making the call on a split-second glimpse of the action, and in that context, it could have certainly appeared to be interference. The replays showed it wasn't.

First-and-goal for Ohio State from the 2.

They score, sending the game to a second overtime and they score again. Miami's turn. On a fourth-down play, Ohio State is called for pass interference in the end zone. In fact, it's the same player (I think it's Curtis Gamble, but I don't remember his first name) who was the receiver on the previous play who is now the defender who is called for the foul. Miami gets first-and-goal from the 2. Two runs up the middle by Walter Payton's son -- in for the injured McGahee -- are stuffed. On third down, quarterback Ken Dorsey rolls to his right and fires to a wide-open tight end in the end zone. The pass is nowhere near him, and Jackson wonders from the booth if Dorsey's arm is bothering him (he'd been hit hard and missed a few plays late in the fourth quarter).

It's fourth down. Score or go home for the Hurricanes. The ball is snapped but the Miami front line can't hold the Buckeyes and they bust through, chasing Dorsey back. He heaves the ball in desperation toward the middle, and all I see -- or I think I see -- is the ball falling to the turf, several Ohio State linebackers in white instinctively going after it.

Click.

In the event there was a penalty of some sort that may have prolonged the game, I didn't see it. I was pretty sure it was all over. I turned off the cable box and the lights, picked up my phone from the table, and went to bed.