The Heisman Trophy is a nice gesture and provides an off-field competitive flare to college football, but in actuality, it’s a bunch of bull.

As the definition goes, the Heisman is supposed to go to the best college football player in the country — the very best the American amateur gridiron has to offer. In reality, the theory doesn’t stand up.

Look at the leading candidates: Northwestern’s Darnell Autry, Ohio State’s Eddie George, Nebraska’s Tommie Frazier, Florida State’s Danny Kandell, Tennessee’s Peyton Manning, Florida’s Danny Wuerffel and the local favorite, Iowa State’s very own Troy Davis.

They are all fine players and certainly deserving of postseason honors, but notice something peculiar about them all? Oddly, with 22 positions a college football team must fill on Saturday, all the Heisman candidates are one of two breeds: quarterback and running back.

Strange. Puzzling. Interesting. But mere coincidence? Not a snowball’s chance on mid-August Georgia asphalt.

The Heisman Trophy does not recognize the best player in the country. It recognizes the best quarterback or running back in the country. It’s not surprising, though. Quarterbacks and running backs are the most visible cogs in the football wheel.

But someone has to block. Someone has to kick. Someone has to tackle. Someone has to snap the ball. Someone has to cover. And someone has to do the funky end zone dance when the ball makes it past the goal line.

What about those guys? How come, without exception, we’re supposed to believe that the best college football player in the county every year is a running back or quarterback? I don’t buy it. I don’t have a vote.

Figuring a 22-position field, there is only about a 9 percent annual chance that the best of the college football best is a quarterback or running back.

But OK. Even if we grant the point that somehow, in the history of college football, the best player in the country has always been a quarterback or running back, I’m still not so sure the Heisman ends up in the hands of the most-deserving player.

If you look at the candidates geographically, there’s another interesting similarity. Apparently, the western half of the country doesn’t play college football. Nebraska, in the Midwest, is as far as the candidates reach.

Huh? I know. I know. The West is too wild and untamed to produce a Heisman candidate. Right? Nah.

Big-time sportswriters determine the Heisman winner. Big-time sportswriters work at big-time newspapers and big-time magazines. Most big-time newspapers and big-time magazines are located in big cities. Most big American cities are located far east of here. See the connection?

It’s not that I blame sportswriters for “keeping the votes at home.” I just don’t think it’s realistic to ask someone who hasn’t seen all the candidates to cast an “informed” vote.

And another thing: How probable is it that the best player in the land always comes from a team with a record that puts it in a New Year’s Day bowl game?

The NCAA says there are 108 Division I college football teams. So, in theory then, the Heisman Trophy winner should only come from a Top 10 team about once every 11 years. After all, by only touting quarterbacks and running backs for college football’s top honor, voters make clear that the Heisman candidate’s team is a moot point.

So what’s it all mean? As insights go, not much. But for those following the Heisman race closely, be wary. The election, per se, is rout with politics and undoubtedly will not live up to the purest of expectations, bull or no bull.