I swear.

He must have.

Everything works out for the man.

E-v-e-r-y f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g t-h-i-n-g.

It's not this easy.

No way.

Nobody's this good this fast.

Meyer doesn't believe in luck. He claims it plays no role in the outcome of football games and football seasons and football legacies. He's never seen, he says, a team win a game that it didn't prepare to win, deserve to win.

Let's call BS on that preposterous notion right off the top.

Sheer accountability is noble and all, but luck, or karma, or mojo, or some strange thing, was at play in Monday night's BCS Championship game between Meyer's Florida Gators and the Ohio State Buckeyes, whom the Gators beat with a stick, 41-14.

The fact that Florida was even playing here was due, in part, to outside forces.

If USC hadn't inexplicably misplaced its focus against an inferior UCLA team, the Trojans would have . . . well, that's old news now. But Lady Luck's mark, or Beelzebub's handshake, is plain to see - for anybody who opens his eyes wide enough to see it.

Right?

Fortuitous happenings charmed Meyer, from time to time, at Utah, and they arrived at convenient junctures a couple of times at Florida this season.

They came in boatloads Monday night, escorted ultimately by a BCS crown.

For instance, on the second TD, which put Florida up, 14-7, receiver Percy Harvin's knee appeared down before he crossed the goal line. But the refs reviewed the play and called it good.

How about a kicker - the Gators' Chris Hetland - who had made only four field goals in 13 attempts this season suddenly transforming himself into Morten Andersen, making two kicks from 40-plus yards during the first half in the biggest game of his life?

Does stupidity on the part of an opposing coach count as good luck? Get a load of this doozy - OSU's Jim Tressel deciding to go for it - and failing - on fourth-and-1 from his own 29-yard line, already trailing by 10 in the closing minutes of the first half.

That mistake set up a barrage of 10 more Florida points, for a 34-14 advantage, via a Hetland field goal and a touchdown pass following a Troy Smith fumble that was returned to the Ohio State 5.

Still, to Urban's point, there's the other part, too. The part about the preparing and the deserving.

The Gators mastered that portion of the deal, as well.

Florida's effort and efficiency came by way of Meyer's spread offense, so familiar to Utah fans. It's been altered a bit in the Gator incarnation, but Meyer has made it work, despite having to use receivers, alternating quarterbacks, smoke and mirrors and bells and whistles and other clever devices to prop up his running game. The spread, same as it ever was under Meyer, is built to create offensive mismatches and exploit them.

Against Ohio State, that's exactly what happened.

Set up nicely by the Buckeyes' largesse, Florida capitalized with multiple formations, a revolving door at quarterback, reverses, nifty plays, and strong D.

By the half, the Gators had outgained Ohio State, 220 yards to 73. At the end, it was 370 to 82.

One of the more compelling aspects to Monday night's game was the battle between Ohio State's Smith, the Heisman Trophy winner, and Chris Leak, Florida's four-year starter.

If veteran quarterbacks are supposed to make big plays in big games, this thing, at least in theory, was all set.

Advantage there went convincingly to Leak, who was cool and calm, throwing for 213 yards. Smith never got untracked, completing just four passes for 35 yards.

That's the best college football player in the land?

I'm telling you, the whole thing was wacky. It was weird. It was Urban's world.

Somebody once said it's better to be lucky than good.

It's nothing short of sick to be both, especially against the No. 1 team in the country.

Meyer, of course, would disagree, would say it all comes down to effort and execution, to a price that must be paid, even while benefiting from the fortune, in tandem with the diligence.

Maybe the Fates just smile more favorably upon those who do their heavy lifting alongside. And maybe even Urban would make that concession.

Either way, regardless of him driving his team to accountability's hard edge, his attendant luck and karma and mojo, some strange thing, his deal with the devil or whomever, helped lead Meyer to a BCS Championship at the fresh-scrubbed, fresh-faced age of 42.

There's yet time for it all to go wrong.

He'd best acknowledge it, whatever it is, its existence, its reality, its influence, sometime soon, before it turns its back on him, and one day exacts a horrible reversal of extraordinarily great fortune.

gmonson@sltrib.com