By BERRY TRAMEL, The Oklahoman

Pat Quinn doesn't know why he was asked to vote in the Harris Poll that helps college football stage its national championship.

But here's a good guess. Harris Interactive had to find 114 voters. Someone has to do it.

Big 12 football rides high as October arrives. The No. 1 team in America. Three squads in the top five. Four in the top seven. Five in the top 16. Six in the top 21.

Buttons bust as pride swells from the South Plains to the Missouri River Valley.

KANSAS CITY -- Finally, the rock stars arrived at the downtown Marriott.

The two coaches that define Big 12 football. The two coaches who can walk through the lobby and turn heads. The two coaches who have brought Middle America its gridiron glory this century.

Mack Brown and Bob Stoops.

NORMAN, Okla. -- A mob of little kids, and a few not-so-little adults, ran around the Adrian Peterson Football Camp last week adorned in crimson or purple No. 28 jerseys.

But if a camper wants to catch Peterson's eye, here's a suggestion.

Wear one of those regal Viking jerseys, the purple with the gold trim, and put a big X on the back. Peterson will notice.

Chipper Jones is fighting a torn quadriceps muscle that has turned him into baseball's top pinch-hitter and might put him on the disabled list.

That's bad news for the Atlanta Braves. That's good news for baseball.

It sounded good at the time.

In the summer of 1998, when the great home run derby captivated America, and Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were folk heroes, and baseball seemed to have regained its sway, here's what I wrote.

Big 12 commissioner Dan Beebe wants to give college football players five years of eligibility. He's on solid ground.

The five-years proposal isn't new, but a conference commissioner spearheading the efforts could provide momentum for a policy that would eliminate football redshirting.

The Yankees' Joba Chamberlain struck out Cleveland's David Dellucci, pumped his fist and let out a whoop.

The Nationals' Elijah Dukes, feeling his Washingtons needed an emotional boost in the third inning, began rhythmic clapping in the dugout, and his teammates followed suit.

As the clock ticks toward an NBA vote to relocate the SuperSonics to Oklahoma City, the good citizens of Seattle are doing what every city does when facing a franchise exodus.

Fighting back. Kicking and scratching and clawing. Marquess of Queensberry rules be damned. This is the corporate version of street fighting. And here's the latest.

Mister Coffee wants his Sonics back.

Darrell Royal slept on it.

Barry Switzer slept on it.

Bill Self slept on it.

A good alma mater is worth a good night's sleep.