Alabama flew all the way across the country, showed up on one of the biggest stages in college football, played four full quarters, and left with exactly one thing to show for it: a field goal. Three points. That was the entire offensive résumé for the night, and somehow that’s not even the most shocking part.
The shocking part is how normal it all felt while it was happening. There was never a stretch where you thought, “Okay, here it comes.” No sudden momentum swing, no scary drive, no moment where Alabama looked like they were about to remind everyone who they are. Indiana didn’t survive the Tide, and they didn’t cling to a lead. They just kept playing football, and Alabama never caught up to the speed of the game.
This wasn’t a fluke or some weird postseason glitch. Indiana was prepared, confident, and physical from the opening snap, while Alabama spent the night looking like a team waiting for something to change. The Hoosiers controlled the line of scrimmage, dictated tempo, and quietly stacked points while Alabama settled for short drives and longer stares at the scoreboard.
That’s what made it uncomfortable. Alabama losses usually come with an explanation. You can point to a turnover, an injury, a missed assignment, something that flipped the game. This one didn’t give you that. Indiana was just better in all the places Alabama used to just win games by default: discipline, execution, finishing drives, and getting stops when it mattered.
Two plays really summed it up. Early in the game, Ty Simpson scrambled for a first down and slid about half a yard short. On the very next play, Grubb, somehow still employed, dialed up a jet sweep on 4th and 1. Predictably, it went nowhere. Shocking. This ain’t the Pac- 12, buddy.
Fast forward to the next Alabama possession. Ty takes off scrambling again, this time knowing full well that if he slides, another hopeless jet sweep is probably coming. So, he doesn’t slide. He gets hit, fumbles, and that’s basically the ballgame. It felt less like bad luck and more like the inevitable result of bad decisions stacking on top of each other.
Alabama only reached the red zone once all night and decided to kick. Not because it sparked anything, not because it changed momentum, but because it was literally all that was available. The field goal didn’t feel like a breakthrough. It felt like proof of life. A reminder that they technically showed up.
And the craziest part is that Indiana never looked rattled by the logo, not by the stage, not by the moment. They played like they belonged there the entire time, while Alabama played like they were waiting for reputation to take over. It never did.
College football loves telling teams they haven’t played anyone or don’t belong until proven otherwise. Indiana proved it in the most annoying way possible for everyone who doubted them: by making it look routine. No chaos. No drama. Just Coach Cig, a bunch of three-star guys, and a program that apparently didn’t get the memo that Alabama was supposed to scare them.
Turns out, all Alabama really needed for this trip was a kicker.