USC vs Illinois: How a College Football Game Became America’s Latest Export of Absurdity

USC vs Illinois: An American Civil War Reenactment the World Didn’t Ask For
By Our Man on the Pacific Rim Who’s Already Had Too Much Coffee

Los Angeles—While most of the planet was busy watching the ruble impersonate a rock climber and the Arctic circle audition for a beach holiday, the United States chose Friday night to stage a fresh episode of its long-running domestic drama: USC vs Illinois, college football edition. To the 96 % of humanity that doesn’t measure distance in yards or keep a shrine to a 19-year-old quarterback, this was merely another data point proving the American talent for turning extracurricular activities into geopolitical theater. To the rest of us, it was a chance to see how a country that can’t pass a budget can still pass for 400 yards.

Kickoff was at 9 p.m. local, which translated to Saturday morning in Tokyo, siesta time in Madrid, and “absolutely not” in Sydney. The Rose Bowl, that perpetually sun-drenched mausoleum to amateurism and Nike contracts, hosted the proceedings. From a global vantage, the venue’s name alone is a masterclass in branding: nothing says “amateur athletes” quite like a stadium named after a parade sponsored by a German carmaker.

The matchup itself was billed as a clash of cultures: USC, shorthand for University of Spoiled Children—or so every Midwestern uncle claims—represented coastal elitism, TikTok influencers masquerading as linebackers, and a marching band that could re-open the Suez Canal with sheer brass. Illinois, meanwhile, stood in for the heartland: corn subsidies, existential dread, and a state budget held together by gaffer tape and the hope that the Mississippi doesn’t relocate to Canada. If you squinted hard enough, you could almost see the ghost of the Cold War nodding approvingly at the ideological proxy war.

Overseas viewers—those who hadn’t already surrendered to sleep or the gravitational pull of actual professional football—were treated to a masterclass in American excess. The broadcast opened with an F-16 flyover, because nothing says “higher education” like a $35,000-per-hour flex over unpaid labor. Commentators rattled off NIL valuations as if quoting soybean futures. Somewhere in Brussels, a Eurocrat choked on his Trappist beer trying to calculate the carbon footprint of a single touchdown celebration.

The game itself? A 34-17 victory for USC, a scoreline that looks tidy unless you remember the Trojans were favored by three scores and still managed to give up 200 rushing yards to a team whose mascot is literally a guy in a foam hat. Caleb Williams, the presumptive No. 1 pick in next spring’s NFL tax-avoidance scheme—sorry, draft—threw for 360 yards and three touchdowns, each more effortless than the last. One wondered whether he was auditioning for scouts or simply trying to finish early enough to catch a red-eye to Monaco.

Illinois, for its part, executed the geopolitical equivalent of a sanctions regime: plenty of bluster, limited effectiveness, and collateral damage limited to a few turf pellets and the self-esteem of a kicker who doinked a 42-yarder. Their lone bright spot was a 75-yard pick-six, a play celebrated in Champaign-Urbana with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for discovering the dining hall replaced mystery meat with actual meat.

But the broader significance—because we must find one or the editors revoke our frequent-flyer miles—lies in the soft-power projection. Every streaming pixel beamed from Pasadena is a reminder that the U.S. still exports spectacle better than most nations export anything. While China builds ports in Africa and Russia builds Wagner franchises, America builds 40-yard-dash mythology and sells it back to itself with a side of crypto-ads. The world watches, half-horrified, half-envious, wondering if this is what late-stage empire looks like: circuses minus the bread, but with better graphics.

By the fourth quarter, the international feed cut to a breaking-news ticker about Antarctic sea-ice hitting a record low. Somewhere in the stadium, a USC freshman asked if Antarctica had a football team and, if not, whether it could be persuaded to join the Pac-12. The commentator chuckled; the planet did not.

When the final whistle blew, fireworks spelled out “ROSE BOWL” in flaming serif, as if the audience might forget where it was. Fireworks, mind you, in a state that can’t keep the lights on during heatwaves. Meanwhile, across the Pacific, Japanese fans queued for the last train, Europeans switched to Champions League highlights, and a lone Canadian looked up the transfer portal rules, just in case.

In the end, USC 34, Illinois 17, Earth 0. Another week, another reminder that the most American thing about America is its ability to turn a regional skirmish into global content. Tune in next time, when Notre Dame plays Navy on an aircraft carrier parked in the South China Sea—because nothing deters geopolitical tension like a flea-flicker.