It was late on a Thursday night, and as folks are wont to do on late Thursday nights, Ross asked a ridiculous question.

which big ten coach would win on chopped? I kinda feel like mike riley would win, much as I hate to admit it — RossWB (@RossWB) August 5, 2016

No, Ross, Mike Riley would not win it, because Mike Riley looks like he hasn't seasoned a bite of food since 1987 and the "ketchup too spicy" incident.

But this question still deserves considerable thought and attention, so let's get to it: WHO WOULD WIN CHOPPED: BIG TEN FOOTBALL EDITION?

BIG TEN WEST

Lovie Smith, Illinois: Boils everything in the same pot, which would really infuriate the judges if they hadn't had to deal with Tim Beckman and his dish, which had A) none of the required ingredients, B) broken glass and a disturbing amount of human hair, and C) was served as a "taco" (which is to say, inside a Rob Liefeld-era X-Men comic book). So Lovie is "an improvement," yes. He has, however, been chopped.

Kirk Ferentz, Iowa: Opens the box, sees licorice, chicken breast, kohlrabi and quinoa. Turns it into a competent offensive line. Unfortunately, Kirk gets chopped because it takes him three and a half years to accomplish this and you're only supposed to get like 20 minutes.

Tracy Claeys, Minnesota: Startlingly competent, and gets more mileage out of the lutefisk than anyone could have imagined. Some special guest you could not have possibly ever heard of takes special note of his use of swiss cheese, and Claeys responds, "you should have seen my offensive line last year!" Everyone laughs, and laughs. He is through to the finals.

The judges' assessment segment is just each of them saying "it's fine" back and forth for three and a half minutes.

Mike Riley, Nebraska: See above. Mike Riley gets a box of regular Goldfish crackers in his basket and frantically asks the judges if he can swap out them out for the plain kind. He cannot, and he is chopped. Tommy Armstrong then shows up and dutifully gives turns over the rest of the ingredients to the competitors.

Pat Fitzgerald, Northwestern: Utterly useless in the competition, as he is obsessed with the potato. Chopped.

Darrell Hazell, Purdue: Judges could have sworn to God he was chopped before the episode even started, but fine, here you go. A former sous-chef at a five-star restaurant, Hazell has trouble transitioning to a job where he has to do everything instead of just perfectly poaching eggs. The judges give him a mercy chop after he tries to braise a drumstick in pure mustard.

Paul Chryst, Wisconsin: Does a perfectly adequate job with his squab and chèvre. The judges' assessment segment is just each of them saying "it's fine" back and forth for three and a half minutes. He is chopped and is fine with it.

BIG TEN EAST

Kevin Wilson, Indiana: Cooks the most hellaciously perfect ribeye the show has ever seen, pairs it masterfully with a brussels-and-bread-crumbs mix... and realizes upon plating that he has completely forgotten the cauliflower, which is still sitting in his basket. A most tragic chopping, indeed.

D.J. Durkin, Maryland: Finds donuts in his basket, takes it personally. Chopped.

Mark Dantonio, Michigan State:Unfortunately, does not take one judge's gluten allergy seriously and served her a bulger stew. When asked why by paramedics, Dantonio says he figured she was as serious about that whole "zero tolerance" thing as he was. Chopped, obviously.

Jim Harbaugh, Michigan: Attacks his kale, ham hocks, and sourdough with an enthusiasm previously unknown to mankind. Better at weird stuff like bearnaise than he has any right to be. The bastard even knows every judge's back story, and by the end of his spiel two of them have committed to Michigan. He is through to the finals.

Urban Meyer, Ohio State: Puts together an absolutely brilliant pork chop and candied-cranberry/almond salad with a merlot reduction, but Alex Guarnaschelli saw him taste the sauce once and then not wash the spoon before putting it back, so fine Alex, he clearly can't be champion or anything. Who knows, maybe he has super-anthrax in his mouth, Alex. Classic Alex.

James Franklin, Penn State: I'm sorry, this guy barely went .500 with Christian Hackenberg, what do you think he's going to do with a dish that's supposed to feature salami and pine nuts? Chopped.

Chris Ash, Rutgers: Doesn't want to say anything about an already-bullcrap show like "Chopped" being rigged, but his is the only basket where all the ingredients have been replaced by dead mice. Wait, that one's not dead, it's just sleepy. Anyway, the judges are just MORTIFIED, and he is chopped.

BIG TEN CHOPPED CHAMPIONSHIP:

It's the dessert round, and both Harbaugh and the upstart Claeys get heavy cream, dark chocolate and off-brand Skittles. Actually it's probably just Skittles but they don't say it on the show for promotional reasons so they call them bite-size fruit candies or whatever dumb generic thing. Anyway, Harbaugh sees the ingredients and immediately goes for the ice cream machine. It seems like a classic Chopped mistake—you never try to use the ice cream machine—but remember, this is Jim Harbaugh, and he informs Ted Allen and the stunned judges that he bought an exact copy of these machines at home and he achieved mastery in 72 hours of non-stop work. There is no reason not to believe him. Claeys quietly gets to work on some brownies.

Harbaugh handles the machine at a dizzying pace and gets his mix in with plenty of time to spare. Claeys has melted the Skittles and will turn them into ribbons of flavor through the brownies. "10 minutes!" calls Allen.

As Harbaugh ostentatiously considers the perfect topping for his dessert—it will probably involve crushed walnuts, he loudly reasons, with frequent looks back at the judges to see if they're paying attention to him—a loud screech reports from the ice cream machine, and goop drips helplessly from the nozzle. Things have gone Very Badly, because it is the ice cream machine and that is where dreams go to die. Claeys concocts a perfectly adequate frosting for his brownies. They're cooking nicely.

As the clock ticks down and Claeys finishes his dish, a mortified Harbaugh offers lumpy piles of half-frozen dessert for the unimpressed judges. The deliberations are a formality, and Claeys wins to great fanfare. As football coaches, they all compete for charity (though Harbaugh's chosen "Urban Sucks Foundation" is still under IRS audit), and Claeys even donates his charitable winnings to epilepsy research, because hey, what else would he possibly choose? A feel-good moment all the way.

A still-bewildered Harbaugh is sent off, as those who have been chopped must do, and on his way out he continues to wonder aloud how his ice cream gambit could have possibly gone wrong. He had perfected those damn things! Someone must have sabotaged his mission, he convinces himself, because again, this is Jim Harbaugh.

Meanwhile, the celebration is on in the main studio. And as credits roll and the judges make polite conversation, Claeys sneaks a furtive glance back at the ice cream machine... and a man standing in the shadows next to it.

Hello, old friend.