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The Big 12 is off to a slow start in the bowls; 1-2, with Texas beating Arizona State in the Holiday, but A&M losing to Penn State in the Alamo and Colorado, predictably, losing to Alabama in the Independence.

I’m a big believer in using the bowls as a gauge of conference status. We don’t get enough games in non-conference to make a lot of determinations. What we do get when the big leagues play each often are mismatches. Not so in the bowls. Usually good matchups, almost always on neutral fields.

We hit the big bowl stretch today, with 12 games over the next 36 hours. The Big 12 needs a rally; its 1-2 record is tied with the Pac-10 for the worst among the BCS leagues. The SEC is 2-0, the Big Ten and Big East are 2-1, the ACC 1-1.

The OSU-Indiana game is huge for the Big 12. Lose the Insight, and the Big 12 probably finishes behind the Big Ten. New Year’s Day should bring a Big 12 surge, since Missouri over Arkansas in the Cotton and Texas Tech over Virginia in the Gator are two of the easier bowl picks.

Even if the Big 12 wins out and goes 6-2,  it’s doubtful it would catch the SEC, which plays nine games and already has won two. So the SEC would have to go 4-3 down the stretch just to give the Big 12 a mathematical chance. And the SEC looks strong in most of its matchups: Kentucky over Florida State today in the Music City, Auburn over Clemson in the bowl formerly known as the Peach, Florida over Michigan in the Capital One, Georgia over Hawaii in the Sugar and LSU over Ohio State in the Big Bowl. The SEC’s only wink leaks appear to be Arkansas and and maybe Tennessee in the Outback against Wisconsin.

Of course, at this point, first place in the Bowl Standings isn’t as important as getting out of last place. If OU beats West Virginia in the Fiesta, that could lift the Big 12 over the Big East, which also has South Florida playing Oregon in the Sun and Rutgers playing Ball State in the International.

A conference headed for free fall could be the Pac-10, which has slumping California today in the Armed Forces against Air Force, Oregon in the Sun, and USC in the Rose against Illinois. Only SC looks strong.

It was a memorable day at OU football practice on Saturday. First, I had a great chat with the FOX broadcasters. Pat Haden was as interesting and open as anyone I’ve ever interviewed. I don’t get too sentimental, but it’s always cool to talk to a college football hero from the 1970s. The ’70s were my formative years of college football, and the players from your formative years always have an exalted status in your memory. Pat Haden, Archie Griffin, Johnny Musso, players like that defined the ’70s outside the Big Eight area for me. And Terry Donahue, the old UCLA coach, was most gracious, too, and frankly interviewed me more than I interviewed him. Donahue quizzed me on the Sooners, and I’ve got to say, he looks like he still could coach. Donahue is 63 and has been out of the college game a dozen years, 1995; he coached UCLA for 20. But he doesn’t look a day over 52.

Mike Stoops was at practice, too, and regretably I didn’t get a chance to chat. But I did see Ron Stoops Jr. for the first time — I don’t know how I’ve missed him over the years — and while he looks a lot more like Bob than the other Stoops boys, when Ron Jr. starts talking is when it gets scary. He sounds EXACTLY like Bob. You know all the radio guys back in Oklahoma City who do such a good job of imitating Stoops’ voice? Ron Jr. doesn’t sound like that. You hear him, and you don’t think, he’s nailed the voice. You think, that’s Bob.

Do you remember when Barry Switzer was in Dallas, and DFW columnist Randy Galloway stayed on Switzer’s back? Galloway called Switzer “Gunsmoke” after a gun was found in Switzer’s bag at airport security. But do you remember the other nickname Galloway penned for Switzer?

“ISP.” Insignificant Sideline Personnel.

I thought of that the other night during the Holiday Bowl when Mack Brown’s stepson, Chris Jesse, came on the field during play and either touched or didn’t touch the wayward ball tossed backwards by Arizona State Rudy Carpenter. What in the heck was Jesse doing on the sidelines?

College football sidelines are way too crowded. Way too populated with people who have no business being on the field. Look at the typical college sideline, then look at the typical NFL sideline. Unbelievable difference. The NFL polices sideline credentials. Limits them in a major way.

The same should be done in college. I remember a USC-UCLA game probably 34 years ago. Seems like it was 1973. A UCLA flanker, I think, caught a pass going out of bounds and ran into some guy standing on the sidelines. Knocked him down, of course. As the Bruin trotted back onto the field, the knucklehead on the sideline got up, ran at the UCLA player and pushed him in the back. Keith Jackson, in his glory days, immediately said something to the effect, “Schools need to do a better job of checking out who’s on the sidelines.”

Same goes today. But I feel a little kinship with Chris Jesse, and here’s why. Another story from 1973 or so. I was in seventh grade, and the Harlem Globetrotters came to the Myriad. Our basketball team went, and on the team was Bo Overton, who would go on to point guard for the Sooners and coach at OU and in the WNBA. Anyway, Bo’s father, Claudell Overton, knew everybody in basketball and got us great seats. One of the Trotter executives asked Claudell for a couple of ball boys, and he picked me and Bo. Eventually, they decided for some more racial balance and sent Bo back to his seat, leaving me alone under one basket as a ballboy for the Trotters.

The Trotters went into their baseball routine, one of their comedic gags. I was sitting in what could best be described as the third-base coaching box. Some Trotter did what he was supposed to do, hit a high bouncing ball over the infielders. Except he didn’t hit it quite high enough. The ball bounced over my head, but I leaped up and speared it. Players with less stage presence would have panicked, but here came Curly Neal, clapping his hands and asking for the ball. I threw it to him, and off he went to resume the gag.

But that day, I was ISP, and I had screwed up the proceedings. I was somewhere I didn’t belong and had thrust myself into the action, to the detriment of the ticket-buying public. At least I had an excuse. I was 12 years old. I don’t know what Chris Jesse’s excuse is. 

It was chilly last year when OU played in the Fiesta Bowl. It’s even colder now.

I know, you don’t want to hear from someone in Phoenix, griping about the temperature, when it’s snowing and 34 degrees back in Oklahoma. But it’s remarkable how chilly it’s been in the Valley of the Sun since we hit two days ago. Highs in the mid-50s, which are nice. But that means lows in the 30s; with nighttime temperatures in the 40s.

Overcoats are not the standard Phoenix attire. It gets cold at 9 p.m. when it’s 44 degrees. Last night, we went to a pizza joint, which had only outside seating available. We sat outside, underneath about three heaters, and as long as the heat was striking us directly, it was OK. But move two or three feet to the side, and you got cold. Wednesday night, OSU practiced under the lights, finishing up about 6:45 p.m. Phoenix time, and it was cold. Perfect football weather if you’re in pads and working up a sweat, but cold.

Good news: it’s supposed to warm up, into the 60s the next few days and 67-69 for highs by our game days.

Wednesday was one of the wildest days in my professional career. Sometimes people think sportswriters live glamorous lives, and I guess they are right. But sometimes that glamor comes at a cost of some grit and stress. Let me take you through Wednesday.

4:30 a.m.: Wakeup call to head to the airport. I got ready, then did one last weigh-in of my suitcase — 46 pounds, just under the 50-pound limit. I rarely check bags; I travel light. But eight days in the desert required not just a big big, but a honking big bag.

5:30 a.m.: Check bag at Will Rogers, hoping I could get some Southwest cooperation. We were headed to Phoenix via two tickets. OKC to Dallas, then Dallas to Phoenix through Austin. My hope? Southwest would check my bags all the way to Phoenix, although technically you’re supposed to get your bags in Dallas and re-check them on to Phoenix. The helpful woman at the Southwest counter helped me out. Southwest, as you know, is one of my all-time favorite companies. You can always count on friendly, helpful folks at Southwest.

6 a.m.: I make it through security and hook up with my comrades. Ebony Jackson was right in front of me through security. MKB (Mike Baldwin) was waiting for us at the gate. Chopper (John Helsley) joined us there soon, and Blueblood (Jake Trotter) was right behind him. Good start to the trip, getting everyone there in plenty of time for a 6:25 a.m. flight.

6:20 a.m.: I had checked us all in at 6:30 a.m. Christmas morning, so we got to board the plane relatively early; we had boarding passes 30-34. No. 30 got to board first, and that was MKB, and he got the best seat in the house, the seat with no seat in front of you on the exit row. Oh well; he’s 6-foot-5. He could use the leg room.

6:40 a.m.: As we took off, I sat with Ebony and discussed our multimedia plan for Arizona. We are doing a daily live show on the Internet, and I’ve got a part in a taped show Ebony is doing. It’s really quite interesting, all the various things we’re putting together for the web.

7:20 a.m.: We land in Dallas, and Chopper, MKB and Ebony head out, because in OKC they checked their bags curbside, and the skycaps don’t send the bags all the way to your final destination if you have two tickets. You can make 14 stops, and so long as it’s all on one ticket, you’ll be golden. But have two tickets, and they don’t budge. That meant me and Blueblood could remain inside security, but they had to exit and go through the baggage process again. They left us with most of their carry-ons, so between the two of us, we had four laptops and two video cameras. We were loaded down.

7:45 a.m.: Me and Blueblood had a little breakfast at Chili’s, which was remarkably empty, considering the Chili’s at Love Field almost always has a huge line, even in the morning. Over pancakes and French toast, me and Blueblood discussed OU football coverage in the desert and came up with a pretty good plan.

8:15 a.m.: Back at our gate, Blueblood gets a call from one of the guys. They are standing in a line described as 1,000-people long, waiting to check bags. No way they are going to make our 8:40 flight. Uh-oh. Missing your flight the day after Christmas is travel suicide. People all over the terminal were trying to reschedule flights. On our very flight, OSU’s Perrish Cox was trying to get on, because he had missed his flight to Phoenix. The Southwest employees were trying to be optimistic with people, but you could tell anyone left behind was headed for a long day in this or some other airport.

8:30 a.m.: We still have no airplane to take us to Austin, so for one of the few times in my life, I was cheering for a plane to be late. I kept thinking how me and Blueblood would get all the work done when we hit the ground Wednesday, and I kept thinking what a miserable day those guys were in for, unable to even work since we had their laptops.

8:35 a.m.: We have an airplane, and my heart sank.

8:40 a.m.: Ebony comes striding down the terminal, just as Flight 513 started loading. Chopper was right behind him, then MKB. They made it.

9:30 a.m.: After a delay in taking off, we fly to Austin, and I sit with Chopper, in the exit row, thanks be to God, and we discuss balancing OU, OSU, Indiana and West Virginia. The two of us will be covering all four teams, and we need to synchronize our schedules.

10 a.m.: We land in Austin but stay on the plane. Blueblood moves over to sit with us in the exit row, with MKB and Ebony on the other side. We’ve got total command of the passengers’ safety in case of crash. An actress from New York sits between MKB and Ebony; later we found out she told them she had been on One Life to Live, which is not good karma when you’re thinking about what to do in an airplane emergency situation. OSU center Andrew Lewis boards the plane. I wonder how much trouble Perrish Cox will be in.

11 a.m.: On the flight to Phoenix, we finish out our daily plan, then I start typing on my Page 2 items, a series of short bits and pieces. Anymore, I need the Internet for almost anything I write, so I’ve got a lot of holes. I also finish off reading the papers and nodding off and wondering why it’s not 11 p.m. already.

Noon Phoenix time: We land at Sky Harbor Airport and go find our bags at what seems to be the most crowded baggage claims in America. We chat with Lewis for awhile, and we notice Juaquin Iglesias’ bag keeps circling the carousel. We don’t know if he was on our plane or not — we didn’t see him — but Juaquin, if you’re missing your stuff, I’ll bet Southwest has it near Baggage Claim 2. We head out for the rental-car headquarters.

1:30 p.m.: After a long ordeal at E-Z Rental Car — no Southwest by any means — we get our two cars and head to our hotel, the Camelback Inn. Traffic in Phoenix is light, which is wonderful news. The Camelback is an old resort sitting next to Camelback Mountain; has a real 1940s look to it. We get checked in, but while some of the guys go grab some lunch, I get to work.

2 p.m.: I go to Fiesta Bowl media headquarters at the Camelback and gather up all the football brochures prepared for the bowl game and get my credentials prepared. It’s sort of a long process; they shoot photos on sight and put them on your press pass. I didn’t know there was a run on bogus press passes for the bowls Insight and Fiesta. They tried to give me the media gift — a pair of what I guess is designer sunglasses — but I don’t accept those media gifts. Seems a silly tradition to me. We shouldn’t be accepting gifts from the people we cover.

2:30 p.m.: Trying to finish my Page 2 stuff, I get a call from the office. Some are reporting that the University of San Francisco is ready to hire Eddie Sutton as its new basketball coach, on an interim basis. Our OSU basketball writer, Miss Saigon (Andrea Cohen), is in San Diego visiting her family. MKB, our OSU football writer (and long-time basketball writer), is in Arizona with me. But we mobilize and start calling anyone we know. My job? Call Sutton himself. So I do, leave a message and get back to work.

3:15 p.m.: Time to head back to the airport for the West Virginia press conference, scheduled for 4 p.m., to be followed by the 5:30 p.m. OU arrival press conference. As I’m leaving, MKB hands me half of his turkey club sandwich from lunch. The man is pure sportsman, let me tell you. I have it eaten before we leave the grounds of the Camelback. Traffic is not bad, but we’re not sure exactly where we’re going.

3:45 p.m.: Still driving around near the airport, my phone rings. It’s WWLS, ready for me to do my radio gig. The day was so crazy, I had forgotten about the Total Dominance Hour. So I did some radio with Al Eschbach and Craig Humphries, while driving and trying to find the terminal.

3:59 p.m.: A woman in a Phoenix city truck escorts us to the proper place, and we get out for a mad dash to a tent set up on the tarmac. Only to discover that West Virginia arrived early, conducted its press conference at 3:30 and got the heck on its way. But to the rescue came Stan Chase, channel 9’s long-time sports photographer. Stan let me listen to a recording of coach Bill Stewart’s press conference, standing outside, with a mariachi band occasionally playing in my ear. I was able to cobble together some comments that turned into a reasonably good story about West Virginia trying to overcome the distractions of losing Rich Rodriguez to Michigan. All thanks to Stan. The Oklahoman/channel 9 partnership, which has been going strong for seven years, officially ends at the end of the year, but for one bright day in the desert, it stood strong from my vantage point.

4:15 p.m.: Blueblood and Ebony wait for the OU press conference, but I’ve got work to do. So I jump on a Fiesta Bowl van and head back to the hotel. A West Virginia rides with me and he, too, missed Stewart’s press conference. I gave him every quote I had from Stan’s tape, and he in turn gave me some West Virginia ideas. So that was a fruitful trip.

5 p.m.: I’m cranking out my Page 2 stuff, all the time talking back to the office about Eddie Sutton, and we decide I won’t write about OSU football, I’ll write my column about Sutton. I finish up Page 2 and start working on the West Virginia story.

5:45 p.m.: I finish up the West Virginia story and get a call from Miss Saigon in San Diego about a Sutton teleconference scheduled for about 45 minutes later. I am supposed to be headed to OSU’s football press conference, and while I guess I could skip it, I wanted to be there, because I ripped Mike Gundy in print the other day, and I never want to hide. If I rip someone, I make it a point to show my face at the first opportunity.

6 p.m.: I’m waiting for MKB and Chopper to arrive to take a van over to OSU’s practice. The phone rings. It’s Eddie Sutton. He is returning phone calls and yes indeed, he’s going to San Francisco. We chat for 5-10 minutes, then he’s got to run, and frankly, so do I. The van is ready to take us to Tempe for the OSU practice.

6:30 p.m.: Turns out it’s a 30-minute drive to OSU’s practice, so I jump on the Sutton teleconference while riding in the back of the van. I have no idea how we did this job before cell phones. The teleconference is in poor quality, and frankly, the San Fran media seems more intrigued by what happened to ousted USF coach Jesse Evans than in how or why the Dons inticed Sutton to return to coaching.

6:45 p.m.: We find OSU’s practice, getting there just as the workout ends, and we go into some kind of meeting room at Corona del Sol High School. All the while, I’m still on the cell phone. Soon enough, Mike Gundy comes in, and I flip off my phone. I wasn’t getting much out of the teleconference anyway.

7 p.m.: We chat with Gundy, who seems to be in an OK mood, and then I talk with old pal Andrew Lewis. Turns out Perrish Cox made it fine to OSU’s first practice. MKB and Chopper do some interviews, too, and then we get back on the van. It’s about 7:30, with a 30-minute drive ahead of us, which means 8 p.m. arrival, and a one-hour time difference from Oklahoma. I do all that math and realize I’ll have 30 minutes to crank out my Sutton column. Oh well, beats 10 minutes.

8:30 p.m.: I send in my Sutton column about four minutes past deadline, which usually is acceptable.

8:35 p.m.: I take a deep breath for maybe the first time all day.

9 p.m.: We head out for a late dinner. We go to some pizza joint Chopper says is great, but they closed at 9 p.m. in Old Scottsdale, a trendy area that will lose its reputation if its establishments keep closing at 9 .m.

9:30 p.m.: We go into some Greek restaurant, and it turns out we’re traveling with Athenians. Blueblood’s mothher is a Greek woman whose maiden name I can neither pronounce or spell. MKB’s wife is the same. They talk Greek food and culture for like 30 minutes, tell us what to order and by dog it was a big-time meal. I had chicken Souvlaki, a big plate of good stuff, at a reasonable price, $12.95 or so. I could be enticed to go back.

11 p.m.: We get back to the hotel, and I haven’t even gone through all my emails for the day. I do that, responding to each like always, and then upback that 46-pound suitcase I weighed about 21 hours earlier. Then I hit the sack. Some days I don’t earn a good night’s sleep. This day, I had.

It’s Christmas morning, and I’m waiting for my granddaughter to wake up so we can start playing. She will have homefield advantage; we’ll be playing her games — Barbie car, little tikes kitchen — not mine. I got to play a little of my kind of games last night. My brother — a 40-year-old business executive who runs a company and travels the world — is always recruiting us to play some game that someone invariably received. Sports Illustrated’s classic old football board game. Some hockey game. Last night, it was ESPN’s 21st-century trivia game. We played a few minutes, then other duties called. But it’s always fun to be around my brothers. They make me laugh like no one else can.

I don’t know what I’m getting for Christmas and it’s OK with me if I get nothing. I don’t need anything, other than my son-in-law to be safe in Iraq and my daughter to survive the separation and my granddaughter to keep smiling and my wife to keep it all running smoothly, like she has every day for 27 years.

Besides, I already received a wonderful Christmas present. Sunday night, me and the Dish went up to her sister’s church to see their Christmas concert. It was good, except for a couple of carols that were trotted out with some of those new melodies. I don’t know much about music, but I know this. Christmas carols don’t need new tunes. Anyway, I made that exact comment on the way home.

We get home, I turn on the DVR and start watching the Vikings-Redskins from the start. I watch for awhile, my wife’s doing something around the house, then suddenly the doorbell rings. It’s some friends from church, out caroling with some other friends who once attended church with us but no longer do. It was like 12 adults and 8 or 9 kids. They came into the house, filled the living room and seranaded me while I sat on my couch. They sang Joy to the World and Silent Night and didn’t change word or tune. In the group was my friend John Terry, who plays a wonderful rhythm guitar. It’s been a Christmas tradition for several years for John and his two daughters and daughter-in-law to sing this wonderful rendition of O Holy Night. But they no longer attend our church, and just the other day, I was all bummed out that I wouldn’t get to hear their O Holy Night this year. But Sunday night, all three girls were with John, and upon request, without 10 seconds of preparation, they sang O Holy Night while I sat on my couch. Best Christmas present I could have received, and just what I needed.

Suddenly, the Vikes-Skins didn’t seem all that big a deal anymore.

Sunday was quite a day. My son-in-law, J.J., got to come home, before he ships out for Iraq. He’s in the National Guard, part of the group of the 45th, the Thunderbirds. Eight days in Oklahoma, then he goes back to Fort Bliss and heads to Baghdad.

Thirty minutes at the state fairgrounds, where the buses from Fort Bliss docked, will bring you back to reality. A thousand or two soldiers being greeted by their families, many with little kids, suddenly zaps the BCS dilemma back into proper perspective.

I worried about my granddaughter. Rileybird was 15 months old when J.J. was deployed. Now she’s 17 months old. That’s a big difference. She’s learned a ton in those two months. She can pick out words off flash cards and she can identify an airplane by sound while still in the house and she goes off to hide when she messes her diaper because she knows it’s getting time to learn that new trick.

While J.J. was away, Rileybird seemed to stay connected to him. She would easily ID him off pictures, and when the phone rang, she always would say, “Da-da.” We grilled her every day about J.J. But you never know how kids will respond, especially when they’re 17 months old.

But the moment arrived when J.J. appeared out of the crowd of soldiers. My daughter ran to him and they embraced. Then my wife dashed to him and hugged him. I was holding Rileybird and stretched her out to J.J. She smiled as wide as the Misssissipp and went to him freely. She thought it was just great that her daddy was home, and she went about the rest of the day as if he never had been away.

I don’t want to think too much about Jan. 2, when J.J. has to leave again, and while I look forward to October, when he returns, I know it’s asking a lot for Rileybird to respond the same way, when she’ll be over two years old and will not have seen her daddy in eight months.

But I know this. I’ve got quite a granddaughter. And she’s got quite a daddy.

I’ve been besieged today with emails from people wanting to know what they can do for OU linebacker Mike Reed and his family, who are struggling financially while he tries to get his degree and play football.

And here’s my answer. Go help someone else. If you really feel moved to reach out and do something, go help someone else in need. That’s not as satisfying as helping someone whose story you know so well, courtesy of the Sunday Oklahoman, but it’s the best move.

Any public help for Reed could be a violation of NCAA rules. Getting  publicized because you’re a football player, then receiving benefits from that publicity, is an improper benefit. I am as frustrated as anyone when NCAA rules seem to conflict with common decency, but the rules exist for a reason. They are solid rules and necessary rules.

Mike Reed and his family will continue to struggle financially. But they don’t  seem to be poor in spirit, which is even worse. His wife says she has what she wants — her children’s father with them and her — and Mike Reed goes through life with a smile on his face. And Reed’s children will have a decent Christmas. I checked.

Somewhere in the third quarter of the New Orleans Bowl on Friday night, someone on the Florida Atlantic sideline walked over to Howard Schnellenberger and appeared to say something. Then Schnellenberger zipped up his pants. His Florida Atlantic Owls led Memphis something like 37-27 at the time.

Vintage Colonel. He’s still the crazy old uncle that comes down from the attic, but he’s still coaching winning football, 55 years after Bear Bryant signed him to play at Kentucky.

I know Schnellenberger was a disaster as the OU coach. I know Donnie Duncan hired the Colonel only because Pop Warner wouldn’t return his phone calls. But dang it, I like Schnellenberger. I liked him then, I like him now.

He would talk football, old and new. And he was fun. Bob Stoops and Mike Gundy are many things. But rarely are they fun. Yes, Schnellenberger would say goofy things, but what the heck is so wrong with goofy?

Schnellenberger’s Owls went on to beat Memphis 44-27, raising the Colonel’s bowl record to 5-0. Beating this Memphis team is not quite the same as beating the 1983 Cornhuskers, which Howard’s Miami team did, but still. For a program in its third year in major college and its seventh season overall, it was a big night.

And it’s time to admit that Schnellenberger is a good football coach. He started the Miami dynasty. He ushered Louisville onto the national stage, although admittedly not like Bobby Petrino later did. Oklahoma was Schnellenberger’s only failure.

The job he’s done at Florida Atlantic is underrated. The Owls won the Sun Belt Conference this year, which is no big deal except Troy is in the league. We saw what Troy did to Oklahoma State. The Troy-FAU game also was played at Troy, and the Owls won. Yes, it’s a recruiting advantage to be in Boca Raton, Fla., when you’re playing in a league that includes Monroe, La.; Murfreesboro, Tenn.; and Troy, Ala. But Florida International is in the league, too, and the Golden Panthers went 1-11.

Schnellenberger played for Bryant and Blanton Collier. He coached for Bryant and Don Shula. Living football history, that’s what Schnellenberger  is. I liked him when he was in Norman. I miss him. I wish him well now.

Sean Sutton called OSU’s loss to Oral Roberts “embarrassing,” and  he was right. But he didn’t know how right he was. Getting blown out by the Golden Eagles was bad enough. But anyone who watched both games of the doubleheader saw a vast difference in the two games.

OSU-ORU seemed like a junior varsity game compared to OU-Gonzaga in terms of quality basketball. Big difference in fundamentals, in execution, in ferocity.

That’s big trouble for the Cowboys. OU has looked good two straight games, but the game before that the Sooners lost to Stephen F. Austin. So OU is not any kind of world-beater. OU is in that group of Big 12 teams — Missouri, Nebraska, Texas Tech, Kansas State, Baylor — that will challenge for the fourth- and fifth-place spots.

And the Cowboys clearly are below that. Think about that. OSU right now is no better than ninth or 10th in the Big 12. The Cowboys are in the bottom tier of Big 12 teams. Uh-oh.