It wasn’t “sick them bears.” It was “sick of them bears” — and they got sent packing. From the opening adjustments to the closing kneel, this one was about patience, reads, and wearing out a front that never found answers. The offense didn’t chase hero-ball; it hunted yards. If seven stayed in the box, throw the quick game. If two-high dared the run, call it again…and again. That’s the point of a well-run RPO: take what’s free, then punish overreactions. The red zone? Cash money. The kicker? A smart, risk-averse QB made the whole thing hum, letting the staff stay on script instead of forcing fireworks.

Baylor’s two-high shell tried to erase explosives outside, but it exposed a different problem: the trench war. The ground attack kept the chains and the clock, the QB’s legs forced 11-on-11 football, and motion with burners like Eric Singleton kept linebackers’ eyes busy. When blitzes came late, the ball was already gone or the back was three yards upfield. Death by six-yard chunks is still death. And when a 98-yard kick return lands right after a painstaking Baylor drive, the air goes out of the stadium.

Clean up tackling and a couple of coverage busts, and that scoreboard gets lopsided. Even as-is, time of possession tilted the way it should when the front controls contact. Simple football, done with discipline, looks disrespectful on the other side of the line.

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