Caught Keith Jackson and Dan Fouts' act this weekend as they worked the Washington State-Oregon game for ABC -- whilst they were clad in full alma mater regalia.

No joke. Jackson, a Washington State alum who majored in "Whoa!" and minored in "Nellie!" in between keg parties in the Palouse, wore a Cougars jacket and hat. Fouts, a prolific QB in Eugene back when everyone in town wore a beard like his, including the co-eds, went him one better. He wore a Ducks game jersey and Oregon hat.

Before kickoff, their pregame analysis ended with Jackson saying simply: "Go Cougs." Fouts returned serve: "Go Ducks."

	The Cooler has picked out Keith Jackson's new broadcasting gear.

I was highly amused.

Now, some will gather 'round The Cooler this morning and bark disapproval: This is a journalistic sham! These supposedly neutral observers will color their all-important commentary because of their allegiances! Who can we trust if we cannot trust Keith Jackson and Dan Fouts!?!? To which I say, fellow dweller: Whoa, Nellie!

If anything, we need more of this stuff in the broadcast booth. Who wants an automaton equally critical of each highly-emotional teenage QB in a college game? Who wants a bloodless take on a game full of blood-pumping passion? Who wants to see announcers in network-issue blazers?

Here at The Cooler, we want Lee Corso in face paint!

Getting broadcasters to shed the neutrality and let us into their lives is the next step in the evolution of the medium. I want to know if a broadcaster has laid heavy coin on Purdue to cover against Ohio State, and I want his bankroll's fate to bleed into every call.

Purdue on third-and-9 ... the play is an off-tackle run, stopped after two yards, and hey! Christ on a bike, Joe Tiller! Why don't you just freaking GIVE Ohio State the game? Pull your head out of the Gatorade tank and call a pass play, or I'm on the next plane to Mexico to get the identity change operation going to avoid my bookie. ... Purdue punt team now takes the field ...

Anything goes in this fantasy world. Enrich us poor viewers by letting us in on the more sordid personal details of your life. Say you went to Tennessee back in the day, and your then-girlfriend went to Fort Lauderdale with her sorority sisters and wound up hooking up with a Jose Canseco-lookalike who went to the University of Miami. You, of course, only found this out when one of her sorority sisters told her boyfriend, who happens to be one of your boys, and next thing you know, everything ever associated with the University of Miami can cast you into a depressive pall. Now, years later, you've got to broadcast the Tennessee-Miami game, and as Miami rolls over the Vols, you can crank up the entertainment level for all of us by wallowing in self-pity, droning your broadcast like Eeyore the donkey:

And that's ANOTHER first down for Miami ... of COURSE it is. Miami gets EVERYTHING it wants ... even if that everything includes a sweet-faced blonde from Knoxville who has a boyfriend back home. But if Miami wanted to swoop in on that sweet-faced blonde from Knoxville, Miami wouldn't CARE if that sweet-faced blonde had a boyfriend back in Knoxville who was TOTALLY staying faithful and spending spring break working at the local Denny's in Knoxville just so that boyfriend could, like, save up and buy that sweet-faced blonde a special locket inscribed "2Gether 4Ever" on it ... so, First-and-10 for the Hurricanes ...

Are we on to something here, Cooler-dwellers? I think we are on to something.

On, then, to the Weekend List of Five:

	Not so fast Cat fans, check the scoreboard.

1. The Hail Mary giveth; the Hail Mary taketh away
On Saturday in the Kentucky-LSU game, you marveled at the Hail Mary. Its stunning ability to change the fortunes of a college football tilt. Its awesome force to turn a group of men into a doggie pile of joy. Its shock-value theatre that can cause the most reasonable Kentucky fan to shriek in horror at the corps of DBs: ""HOW COULD YOU BLOW THAT, YOU USELESS WASTE OF A FULL-RIDE SCHOLARSHIP?'' Or, more likely: "HOLY ADOLPH RUPP! BOBBY JOE, WHEN DOES BASKETBALL SEASON START?"

On Sunday, in the epic Falcons-Steelers clash , you marveled at the Hail Mary again. Its high arc, holding suspense in midair as you awaited its outcome. Its mystery-filled descent, as you breathlessly watched receivers and defensive backs converge. And the inevitable reaction it produced in Steel City when Plaxico Burress caught it, and was stuffed on the 1-yard line, probably something like: "PLAXICO, YOU BUM! YOU COST THE STILLERS THE GAME BY NOT SCORING! AND SINCE THEY CUT OFF BEER SALES AFTER THE THIRD QUARTER, MY IRON CITY BEER IS FREAKING WARM, TOO! AND SOMEBODY STOLE MY PRIMANTI BROTHERS SANDWICH! THANKS A LOT, PLAXICO! NOW I GOTS NO PRIMANTI BROTHERS SANDWICH, MY IRON CITY BEER IS WARM AND YOU COST THE STILLERS THE GAME!"

Man, I love the Hail Mary.

2. On second thought, don't wake up the echoes
Caught the Notre Dame-Navy game this weekend, after which I could only produce this nagging thought on the state of Irish football:

Can that leprechaun play quarterback?

If so, is it too late for a tryout? I mean, setting aside the whole leprechauns-freak-everyone-out thing.

	The Leprechaun would have had at least 350 yards against Navy.

I come to this conclusion with all due respect, being a proud American of 50 percent Irish descent, with the full Irish last name and everything. I come to this profound thought as a guy who loves the fight song, admires the cool unis and once detoured a drive across country just to swing past the ND campus and do the "Rudy" thing, trying to break in to Notre Stadium. (Only we didn't have saccharine, swelling theme music behind us to turn the act of a deranged felon into a tear-inducing paean to one man's dedication.)

But we digress. Back to the lecture at hand. In sum:

Ewww. The Irish stink.

Navy, bless their hearts, had lost 38 straight to the Irish. Navy, bless their hearts, was 1-and-Whatever going into the game. Navy, bless their hearts, had a bunch of players who looked like they wore the cement cleats.

And Notre Dame had to go deep to pull the comeback win! This is not inspiring. This is disturbing. Not unlike "Rudy."

3. Our 43rd president
A brief detour to ask: Did any of you catch the HBO documentary "Journeys with George" this week? The behind-the-scenes diary of a young NBC reporter named Alexandra Pelosi features plenty of G.W. Bush unplugged on the press plane, gossiping with reporters, shooting the bull and being Mr. Charming. This is not why I bring this up. I bring this up because of two things that must be shared:

One, when Bush finds a bunch of wilder reporters holding an impromptu margarita party in the back of the press plane, he brightens noticeably and says, with glee: "My people! These are my people!" Highly amusing stuff, this reformed alcoholic making the overt nod to his past with a Texas-accented cry of "My people!" This has potential to enter the lexicon.

	"OK, before we talk Iraq, do we have enough tequila on board?"

Two, when Pelosi tells Bush she's a little put off by the margarita drinkers, he fires back one of American politics great lines, defending the revelers: "They only wanted to have a good solid margarita and get hopping at 45,000 feet."

To wit:

We have nothing to fear, but fear itself.

Ich bin ein Berliner.

They only wanted to have a good solid margarita and get hopping at 45,000 feet.

Sometimes this world really amuses me.

4. Relegation: Ponder it
In English Premier League soccer, teams play out seasons with the fear of being "relegated." That is, if you finish in the bottom of the standings, you're gone. History. Cut. Demoted. Your team gets bounced to the First Divison, and the top few teams from the First Division get promoted to the Premier League.

Makes all the sense in the world.

I leave you with these key words, dweller: Miami Hurricanes. Cincinnati Bengals. Relegation.

You do the math.

5. Beating the drums ... again
How long to sing this song?

Others on Page 2 have eloquently argued against the BCS, and against the obsession with a national championship game, and I couldn't agree more, only to add this fuel to the fire:

New Year's Day. Four bowls only. Rose, Cotton, Sugar, Orange. End of story.

I've rolled out this argument before, but since I have only a finite number of thoughts in my head, I'll roll it out again.

	Save us Don, you're our only hope.

I can't tell you how many times, growing up, the four bowl system on New Year's Day produced a national champion we could all agree on. Take this year. Pac-10 and Big 10 in the Rose Bowl? No problem -- Wazzu and Ohio State can get after it. What used to be the SWC, now the Big 12, and an independent in the Cotton? Perfect -- Texas and Notre Dame can roll out. SEC and an at-large in the Sugar? Yep -- Georgia or Florida or whoever against Iowa. What used to be the Big 8, now the Big 12, and an independent? Yep, Oklahoma and big, bad Miami.

Better yet, bring back the old broadcasting crews. Somebody dredge up Lindsey Nelson for the Cotton and have a plaid blazer waiting. Somebody pull Merlin Olsen out of a barn-raising in Utah and -- oh, my! -- stick him in the booth with Dick Enberg in Pasadena. Keith Jackson knows his way around New Orleans on New Year's Eve, and will show up to the Sugar Bowl booth with a good and proper hangover. And Don Criqui -- you now your cue.

Bring it all home on a Sunday night from Miami with that cadence that just oozes to young sports fans the same thought: "Oh, man, I have to go back to school tomorrow."

I cannot tell you how much I miss that lineup. I cannot tell you how much sense it made. I cannot tell you, because my eyeballs are bleeding and I am slowly descending into insanity as I try to make heads or tails out of this BCS decimal-point absurdity.

Don Criqui, a nation turns its lonely ears to you.

And boys, don't forget to bring your personal issues into the booth with you.

Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every Monday for Page 2.