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. . . The sport is driven by money nowadays, and nothing more.

Hancock, the congenial executive director of the BCS, takes exception to that characterization. "Every conference has bowl agreements, and the commissioners can only act after taking the temperature of their schools," he says. "And if the schools didn't want to be part of the bowl system, there wouldn't be a bowl system." Critics, Hancock contends, "are fixated on the [potential] money. We prefer to do what's best for the student-athletes. And we hear them saying they prefer the bowl system." He must not be listening to the thousands of student-athletes whose sports have been cut by cash-starved athletic departments, even as the lack of a playoff deprives universities of hundreds of millions of dollars every year and enrages fans.

Today's exercise is not to advocate for a playoff (although we do present a perfectly good one above). Rather, let us shine a light on the people blocking reform�the smiling, backslapping, money-making traditionalists heavily invested in the status quo.

Representing this cartel at Saturday's game in Salt Lake City, and rocking a migraine-inducing array of strident blazers, were 10 bowl representatives, who took up most of row 3 in the press box at Rice-Eccles Stadium. They were chipper, and why not? Working for bowls is a great gig, if you can get it. You're not exactly planning a moon shot. You're putting on one game a year. Yet the money is excellent, even for such inconsequential games as the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl, whose executive director, Gary Cavalli, is unlikely to go hungry, having pocketed $377,475 in 2009. Cavalli, of course, is a bargain compared with Sugar Bowl CEO Paul Hoolahan, who made $607,500 in fiscal 2007. Coming in just behind Hoolahan is John Junker, who is president and CEO of the Fiesta and Insight.com bowls. Junker's salary is nearly $600,000; in addition, three times he's taken out zero-interest loans from the Fiesta Bowl, which he has since repaid.

Not to worry about the bowls, they can afford to pay those salaries and perks. The Sugar Bowl finished 2007 with $37 million in assets and turned an $11.6 million profit. What's more, the Sugar Bowl accepted $3 million from the Louisiana state government�this a year before it was announced that the state was running a $341 million shortfall in its budget.

Yes, the bowls are doing very well, thank you. Though the majority of bowl games enjoy tax-free, not-for-profit status with the IRS, it's a misleading designation. There is plenty of profit involved. Cash-rich bowl execs spend lavishly on travel, parties, political consultants and, of course, their own salaries. . . Of the 120 athletic departments that play I-A football, 106 lost money in 2009, according to an NCAA report. Budget shortfalls forced the University of California in September to cut five sports. Virginia hit up students for $11.9 million in fees for the 2008--09 school year to offset athletic department operating expenses. Cincinnati reached two consecutive BCS bowls and still found itself $24 million in debt. All over the country, schools are turning to student fees, academic funds and taxpayer support to balance the athletic department's books, which helps explain the uptick in so-called pay games . . . In college football the bowl games grab the biggest pork chop�and then help themselves to a few more, often more than 50% of a game's revenue. (The 2007 Chick-fil-A Bowl generated $12.3 million in revenue but paid out just $5.9 million total to the participating schools, Auburn and Clemson.) They do it by thinking of every conceivable way to profit from their supposed partners.

Ask Iowa. Halftime entertainment at the Jan. 1, 2009, Outback Bowl was provided by the Hawkeye Marching Band. And how did the Tampa Bay Bowl Association, which runs the game, thank the band for that gratis performance? By charging the university $65 a head for each of the 346 band members. According to university records submitted to the NCAA, the school was forced to purchase face-value tickets totaling $22,490 for the band, even though the game wasn't sold out. . . Very few bowls do, in fact, sell out. Aware of this, their directors require a ticket commitment, which obligates the purchase of thousands of tickets at face value. Schools must then resell those tickets or risk losses that can run into seven figures. Before Internet ticket sites democratized the market, the deal made sense to the participating schools. Now, for all but the biggest games, fans can avoid paying full price�as they must when they go through the school's ticket office. Tickets to the 2009 Music City Bowl were available on StubHub for 19 cents.

The commitment guarantees only one thing: the fattening of the bowls' profit margins. For their appearance in the 2009 Orange Bowl, Virginia Tech and the ACC agreed to purchase 17,500 tickets at $125 per seat, but they could sell only 3,342, according to university documents. The result: a $1.77 million bath for the school, not the bowl.

Ohio State ate $1.01 million in unsold tickets at the 2009 Fiesta Bowl. Smaller bowls do similar damage to schools thrilled by a mere invitation. The euphoria of playing in the postseason quickly wore off for Western Michigan two years ago when the Broncos' athletic department was able to unload only 548 of the 11,000 tickets it was required to purchase by the good folks at the Texas Bowl. Western Michigan's loss of $462,535 (before adding in travel and lodging costs) probably hurt more than its subsequent 38--14 defeat at the hands of Rice.

Paying full price for unused seats in half-filled stadiums is just one of the ways bowls stick it to desperate universities, like unscrupulous undertakers who see that their clients are compromised and turn the screws. Preoccupied with perception, recruiting and job security, athletic department officials are in a poor bargaining position. They tend to agree to anything. Like paying $65 a head for the band. . . . Yes, you may be saying to yourself, but what about the big bowls, the major BCS games like the Fiesta, Rose, Sugar and Orange bowls? Surely the teams who play in those get lucrative bowl payouts? And, in fact, Ohio State earned $18.5 million for making it to the Rose Bowl in January 2010. That's a serious boost to any team's bottom line. . . . So it would have been, if the Buckeyes actually got to keep the money, which they did not. The $18.5 million went to the Big Ten, where it was added to a pool of bowl revenue that was then sliced into 12 shares�one for each team, one for the league office. That still left Ohio State with a tidy $2.2 million to spend, which the Buckeyes did. Ohio State's team travel costs were $352,727. Unsold tickets ran the school a cool $144,710. The bill to transport, feed and lodge the band and cheerleaders came to $366,814. Throw in entertainment, gifts and sundry other expenses, and the Buckeyes lost $79,597.