How To Piss A Buckeye Off

Now, I want you to imagine that the following post is narrated by that particular twang of the one, the only Keith Jackson. Hardest working retired broadcaster that I know. Because, yeah, are you ready for a little football contest?

I’m sorry, I’ve tried to avoid it, but there’s just no escaping it this week. The coffee shops and water coolers are abuzz. The papers are soaking in it. It’s in the air. And now I’m putting a bit of it into the ether. Sports has been on my mind lately (Check out my awesome post here, if you want some proof. Because, man, if I could harness that and put it in my novel I’d be done with about three books worth by now.) for any number of reasons. And, well, time to get serious. Because this is a very, very serious matter:

I make no bones about the fact that I am a Michigan fan. And the tribal war drums are pounding. I must retire to my hut and anoint myself in the sacred battle colors of maize and blue. Smear the pigments in a distinctive, sweeping, pattern. For I must imitate the Wolverine, the only animal so ferocious that it will actually attack, kill, and eat members of its own species. War. War is in the air. The drums reverberate throughout the lands, the battle fever is at a fury pitch, and this Saturday we march to the south to face the terrible southrons and their great and terrible totem god. Which is, hold on, let me check a Buckeye is…some kind of nut.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Way to ruin a good metaphor, Buckeyes. Sure, you can spell four letters – in cursive script no less, very impressive - but you can’t actually manage to select a mascot that’s a little more, I don’t know, impressive?

I kid, I kid. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff going around right now. The newspapers are full of it. The local news programs can’t go five minutes without mentioning it somehow. Even the national media have picked up the scent. I mean, this is set to be the greatest game since the height of the Schembechler-Hayes rivalries in the 70s. It’s #1 vs. #2 in the land with only a hair’s bredth separating them. I was around for that magical, wonderful ‘97 season (I mean Dhani Jones lived down the hall from one of my nearest and dearest friends at the time. If you know anything about Michigan football you know that the RC was a rocking place with that guy around, either one of ‘em. Sat in classes with Brady. Scheduled my classes around so I could go to the same sections as the student athletes did.) with Woodson’s spectacular game in the snow laden air the only difference between the students rushing the field or the suicide booths. And this feels somehow less because it kinda snuck up on me as my expectations were low going into the season but week after week the football team was just dominating (And, no, don’t even start on Ball State. That game was in the bag until the defensive starters took a rest somewhere after, oh, the first snap. But it wasn’t until after they actually sat down on the bench after a hard day’s work of being sooo good it hurts that Ball State actually made things happen. Just like some garbage time touchdowns have kept margins to respectable levels.). Maybe if I hadn’t been around for ’97 when, again, expectations were low going into the season and week after week something spectacular unfolded before our eyes. You just don’t expect to see that kind of thing twice. Not in one coaches tenure, anyways. Not at Michigan where, despite decades of continuous success, we (And, yeah, I can say we, I’ve earned it. I don’t six.) haven’t really won all that many national titles. Of course, we’ve always had that school from down south standing in the way.

And, sorry, I can’t say O…H…I…no, no, no, Schembeckler would never let those syllables cross his lips this week. Another week, maybe. But not this week. The football gods must be appeased and any other spirits of ill fortune must be warded away. So it’s a little superstition not to mention that rival by name under pain of, well, nothing really. Because I kinda doubt the fate of a football game with millions of dollars riding on it (not that the athletes involved really see any of the BCS money, no, but let’s not get started in on that and the whole joke of the student-athlete anyways. I think it’s a crock yet I still watch the games. Guess that makes me a collaborator but, hey, what can you do?) is really going to be swayed by the karma of one individual. Still, butterfly effect and all, so you never know and what does it hurt to get a little silly when your tribe is getting a lot silly?

So I’m engaging in a bit of smack talk. It’s a playground thing. And it certainly has its charms. But I obviously like to get a bit specific about things. So part of what I’ve been doing this week is research. Looking into statistics and strategy and immersing myself in the study of football. All so that when I stumble into a talk about the coming game I’ll have some high grade smack to peddle. Like Breaston’s season being statistically mediocre but if you dig down deep enough you’ll see he’s just waiting to explode. Unfortunately, he did so last weekend instead of this coming one but, oh well. Or how about Hart (And has there ever been a more appropriate name for a football player? I think not.) and his amazing streak of not losing a fumble. And, no, the safety doesn’t count. Neither team recovered, technically, it went out of the end zone. Ball never changed hands until the free kick. And while Hart’s put it on the ground, he’s always gobbled it right back up like it was a giant chocolate easter egg and his was the only empty basket. Yeah, okay, that’s kinda cheating but if you want to talk about cheating running backs then why don’t we talk about Clarret? Because I can talk that up and down if you’d like. But I can only stomach so much. Smack talk, you see. Just doing my part in our little feud. Really, it’s remarkable just how long he’s managed to hold onto the ball in this day and age. I know. And I bet he does.

You see, no one but the players and the coach, Mr. Carr – who’s a great man in person, by the way, warm and funny and a lot more relaxed than he appears during the game – really expected the ’97 season. I mean, we were all hoping but we hope that every year. And it had been a while for Meeechegan Football’s turn in the national spotlight. But, well, it had been a while for the football team but, really when you get down to it, the region’s been blessed when it comes to sports teams. We’ve just gotten through the magical, wonderful season the Tigers just had where they (restored the roar to Comerica Park - and as someone who’s worked in the shadow of that particular cathedral and remembers days when barely a thousand people would show up for a game let me just say, it’s about time, we all knew you could do it – and before that was the Pistons and the Red Wings and the Spartans and the Red Wings again and, well, let’s just say compared to those poor folk down in Columbus who have but a single professional team to follow we’re just bursting with options around here. Even the Lions, currently in a dry spell for…oh, about the past 50 years, have had some seasons and players that just make a fan’s heart pound. So, well, we expect the kind of season that the Wolverines have had this year from our teams around here. Wait for it. Hope for it. Pray for it. Live for it. Feel alive during it. By now, it’s a little old hat, we’ve seen it, been there, done that, what have you done on the field this year? Oh, nothing? Oh, okay, next! There’s an expectation for greatness we’re just not sure what year it’s going to happen. That quiet confidence seems to some people a bit smug but it is what it is. It’s hard not to break out in songs of honor when your chosen teams are just that good, you know, and we try to keep it bottled down so the rest of you don’t get jealous or upset but a little of it peeks out every now and then.

I guess what I’m getting at is, well, let me tell you a story to illustrate the point. I obviously went to Michigan, sat in the Big House – biggest stadium in the United States and the quietest 100,000+ that you’ll ever hear from – but I sat in the student section. Those seats are cheaper, you know, and you get to meet all other sorts of people from the U, as it were. Because the thing about Michigan is it’s very, very big, and there are all sorts of interesting people to meet. And, well, being college students and all money is usually a bit tight and those seats, at least when I went there, could sell for quite a bit of money on the black market. I mean, I never did, but some people would get their parents or someone to buy them a season’s worth of tickets and then sell them off every week for some beer money. And so not only would students sit in the student section but so would a lot of other people. I know after I graduated the best way to see the game was to buy a ticket off of one of my younger Wolverines. So, one day, my friends and I – of course, by that point we’d arranged to buy our tickets together and sit in a group – met up with another group of students from whatever school it was our team was playing that day. There was a bit of friendly natured trash talking, as usually happens, but we also talked, as usually happens. Football’s a long game, after all, and, well, it turned out that they were on “tour”, they’d decided to follow their football team around and go to all of their games that year – home and away – and see the sights along the way. Nice people. Think we took them to a party or a bar or something afterwards. But they weren’t the only nice people I met sitting in those stands so things might be blending together a bit.

Anyway, one of my friends and I thought that they had a brilliant idea. Get a ticket to an away game, somehow, pack up the Friday before, drive out there, enjoy another college town, see a game, and be back in time for classes on Monday. So, we resolved to try and follow Michigan’s conference schedule and see every road game against every other team in the Big 10 that we could. And, you know what? We pulled it off. Took a few years, of course, but I’ve been to every stadium that fine conference has and seen a Michigan game in each. And along the way I’ve seen all the towns, too. Been to the appropriately named Happy Valley. East Lansing? Well, that was just like heading to my uncle’s house – which we did right after the game. Talked shop with some journalistas in Evanstown. Drunk out of my mind at that killer keg party in Madison that I’m absolutely not going to talk about any further in case I let slip that thing I did with that girl that one time with the, well, whatever. I’ve got a story or twelve to tell about each and every one of them. Including Columbus, of course.

Oh, that’s right. Been there. Flew the colors. And lived to tell the tale. You see, my fellow citizens of Wolverine Nation are cringing because there was just an article in today’s paper warning people about what to do should they be brave or suicidal enough to be so foolish as to attempt to venture to the south this Saturday. That’s just how high tensions are running – people from Michigan have to be afraid to venture into Ohio this week. And, you know, they’ve got a point. I got harassed something fierce during our visit. Got beer dumped on me, names – hurtful names - tossed at me, someone even tried to spit on me, and we only managed to escape after being pulled over three separate times by the Ohio Highway Patrol. Had a Michigan license plate, you see. See, when I was in my “street clothes” I looked just like any other student wandering around campus and I was treated accordingly. But put on the old block M – wear it like a uniform when I go to the stadium, of course - and I suddenly became a target. So of all my experiences going on the road with the football players who didn’t have a clue who I was, really, I’d have to rate Columbus as the worse stop.

It took me a while to figure out just why it bothered me so much and I think I’m finally able to say. You see, I’m more than a little bit weird. I’ve played sports and games at high levels, competitive levels, where rivalries are at their fiercest, but I’m one of those people who play “for the love of the game”. I honestly don’t care too much whether I win or lose. Just whether I’m having fun (And, you know, not sucking so much that no one will play with me.). I’ve got that quiet confidence, see, that Michigan bred confidence that I’m just that good when I get the chance. So, this week, I’m all for a bit of fun and games with my misguided scarlet and gray friends to the south. But, every other week I’m really rooting for them. Because this game is exactly what it should be – the best in the Big 10 fighting over who gets to call themselves just a little bit better. It makes us both a bit better the stronger we are when this weekend rolls around just like it does every year. I guess it’s hard for me to accept that other people don’t see that and that I’m a bit alone when I say that whoever wins this game I wish them well in the championship. Because another title on any team’s mantle makes the Big 10 look good and, by being a part of that tradition, makes my Wolverines look a little bit good, too.

Really, where this is coming from is an article in today’s Detroit Free Press. It was about a lot of things but mainly about the contrast between rallies at the respective hearts of the campus. In Ann Arbor it was a political affair as everyone with a cause tried to use the national attention to grab a bit of the microphone and plead their case. In Columbus it was a more modest, humble affair to keep their no doubt flagging spirits up (I mean, they’re about to be crushed by the Wolverine War Machine, wouldn’t you be a bit depressed?). But there was charity happening at both. Just each in their own way. So, yes, Ms. Tabor we are “raised to like it.” And, oh, yes, Mr. Millman you do, “Take it more seriously.” Way, way too seriously.

What I’m trying to say is this. This weekend, my Columbian friends, this weekend only we are enemies. And we must do our best to crush one another beneath our heels. We can do no less to our enemy. But the rest of the time we’re brothers and sisters. After all, I rather liked my time down there – it was exciting if nothing else – and I know some great people who’ve passed through your fine university. I’m going to hear it if my Wolverines lose this weekend just like I have plans, oh yes, I have plans for *when* their precious Buckeyes lose. That’s just how it goes. But any university that can churn out someone who once seriously considered covering the Diag in lime green jello has more than a little in common with the Dead Schembechlers. Great band by the way. Awesomely absurd. At the weekly meeting of the Arbor Illuminati (Shh!) we’re constantly planning ways to marginalize them so the rest of you nut-lovers don’t catch on to the Wolverine Conspiracy. But, well, your university and its traditions gave birth to that particularly odd little stepchild. And ours gave the world If I Don’t Six. We do take things seriously around here, just like you do, we just do it in our own way.

Best of luck on the weekend because I’ll be hoping you lose something fierce.