Prior to the historical 48-24 win against BYU on Saturday, I wandered the halls of the Rice-Eccles Stadium press box and glanced at a framed montage highlighting the 2004 season. A picture of Alex Smith detailed his famous shovel pass. One of Urban Meyer displayed him prowling the field and pointing off in the distance—in the direction of a flawless season.

The most difficult part of attaining perfection is finding something to do for an encore. As the crowd chanted "BCS" before storming the field and rattled the gates as the clock ran out, I realized head coach Kyle Whittingham and his Utah Utes had eclipsed Meyer's opening act.

"'04 was probably a little bit more of a glamorous football team," Whittingham said. "I don't think there was any game where we faced adversity."

Four years ago was prestigious—a squad given riches from the beginning that basked in its fortunes. If any team would be the first to break the highbrow BCS, it was Smith and his gang of aristocrats. The team won by an average margin of 25.8. The closest any opponent came was 14 points.

"This is more of a blue-collar team," Whittingham said, "with a grind-it-out, tough-guy mentality."

Brice McCain, Stevenso Sylvester, Paul Kruger and their ragtag group bare-knuckled their way through an entire season, with three games decided by a field goal and one by a touchdown. The outcome was often heart-stopping.

Whittingham calls this team his favorite in 25 years of coaching. I doubt he is alone. All year long, Utah was the classic underdog—a team no one believed could accomplish the impossible. Early on, it was the penalties that would eventually catch up to the Utes. Midseason, Johnson's mobility and his poise in the pocket were the naysayers' bandwagon. TCU was given odds over Utah. BYU came into town as spoilers.

Not until the last play of the season did Utah finally get to breathe in the crisp autumn air as an team undefeated. Brian Johnson started the season as a good player and grew into a true leader. The defense put the entire weight of the stadium on their shoulders and carried it until the job was done. Every unanswered question was answered.

Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away. The Utes left everything on the field.

In the press conference, a reporter asked Johnson if the team should be given a shot at a national championship.

"Why not?" said Johnson smiling. "Obviously, I think we're talented enough."

The Bowl Championship Series needs to start learning to tolerate these commoners sitting at the table with their feet up in the dishes. They need to be prepared to sip tea at parties alongside blue-collar workers, cheering over steins of ale. The Utes are the leaders of a college football revolution. This team—every team—deserves a chance to realize a perfect ending to a perfect season.