What is a catch? What is a touchdown?

In Sunday’s Baltimore Ravens/Pittsburgh Steelers game, Ravens tight end Isaiah Likely caught what should have been the game-winning touchdown pass from Lamar Jackson in the fourth quarter. He caught the ball, secured it, and took like two-and-seven-eighths steps before having it punched out. It was originally ruled a touchdown, and then after lots of video review, coaches yelling, committees meeting, announcers saying “that’s definitely a touchdown,” and hands-wringing, the touchdown was waived off and Baltimore lost.

In the grand scheme of things, this doesn’t matter a whole lot, unless you’re a gambler (I’m not) or you play on either the Baltimore Ravens or the Pittsburgh Steelers (I don’t). It was an entertaining game, with several interesting storylines including Aaron Rodgers playing well after (predictably) throwing his team under the bus a week earlier, Mike Tomlin probably saving his job (much to the chagrin of Steelers Nation) and all of us continuing to wonder what’s wrong with the Ravens.

But what was really interesting to me was the inconsistency of the whole thing. If you catch a ball in the field of play and simply tap two toes down before going out of bounds, it is a catch. If you’re a ballcarrier and you manage to move one or two grains of the pebbled leather of the ball over the mysterious plane of the goal line for even an eighth of a second, it’s a touchdown. But if you’re a receiver who’s fortunate enough to corral a pass in the end zone you apparently have to hang onto it long enough to recite the Declaration of Independence before being awarded your touchdown. Apparently, Likely didn’t make a “football move” indicative of a catch/touchdown. But isn’t any move made on a football field, definitionally, a football move? Especially sticking the ball out so as not to get it punched out by an opposing player?

In its infinite number of camera angles, video reviews, on-air referees, and booth reviews, the NFL is taking George Will’s pejorative quote to the nth degree: The NFL really is a few seconds of violence punctuated by committee meetings, which meetings rarely deliver the clarity they promise. It turns out that the rich, steroidal lawyers who populate the NFL officiating crews aren’t much better at making choices than we are.

Ditto for college football, where the College Football Playoff Selection Committee meets on a regular basis to decide the fate of the professional football programs vying for the College Football Playoffs.

The University of Notre Dame didn’t like the Committee’s decision and basically pulled a version of a Madden rage-quit where your adolescent child slams his controller on the floor and hits the reset button. Notre Dame very dramatically declared that it’s taking its proverbial ball (and multimillion-dollar roster) and heading home for bowl season. Showing all of us and our kids that if you don’t like something, or something doesn’t go your way, just quit! It’s an amazing solution! Gen Z lexicon calls this “crashing out,” which is a piece of Gen Z slang I actually like.

If I was a deep-pocketed Notre Dame booster who bought a portion of the roster to see my beloved Irish in action during bowl season, I think I’d want a portion of my donation returned, pro rata.

So, Boise State, if you’re tired of playing in the Famous Idaho Potato Bowl, just … don’t! It’s an amazing solution. Or what if I’m Miami of Ohio and I don’t want to take my Week 3 beating against Ohio State, despite the rather large payday that accompanies it? I could just not show up. Now that this is on the table, anything (meaning, nothing) is possible! Notre Dame has set a dangerous precedent, echoing the one set almost every week when the NFL’s committees botch their decisions and slow down their games: People may decide not to care. Gamblers may come to their senses and stop betting on games. Fans may come to their senses and stop hemorrhaging cash to prop up mercenary college programs.

The answer, of course, isn’t more geniuses in meetings writing on yellow legal pads. The NFL’s best moments were often decided by the creative vision of a few people. Just remember George Halas and his band of semipro owners sitting in a car dealership in 1920 and creating a professional league, or Pete Rozelle leveraging television to great effect during his tenure as commissioner. Then there is Emmitt Smith rushing for a whole bunch of yards against the New York Giants with a separated shoulder, Chris Simms playing with a ruptured spleen, and Ronnie Lott deciding to have a finger amputated so as not to miss playing time.

Three weeks ago, I watched Wheaton score 76 points against a woefully overmatched Crown College team in round one of the D3 playoffs. These were kids who go to classes together, go to classes with other kids at their schools, and (generally) chose their school because they wanted to go there for four years. There was no instant replay. No video reviews of calls. Crown played courageously and didn’t abdicate their responsibility to travel to the Chicago suburbs and take their beating for four quarters. It was respectable.

It was a great game even though it was a bad game.