There’s a foul stench drifting down from Ann Arbor these days, and it has nothing to do with nearby Detroit. Take a deep breath. Can you smell it? It’s dirty laundry. Ripe, stinking, lost-in-the-back-of-your-locker dirty laundry. And it’s making me sick.
When Michigan hired Rich Rodriguez to be its next coach, we all knew big changes were afoot, though we expected them to revolve around the spread offense. Instead, we got the Jerry Springer Show.
In less than a month as coach, Rodriguez has managed to bring more melodrama to Ann Arbor than Gary Moeller after three cocktails. The headlines are relentless, and have nothing to do with football. I’ve now read more than I care to about bad blood between Rodriguez and his former university, the meddling (or not) of West Virginia’s governor in the affair, lawsuits over buyout clauses, and recently released email squabbling between the university and Rodriguez’s agent.
Rodriguez’s agent? Here’s a challenge, Michigan fans: name a story—any story at all—in the last thirteen years that discussed Lloyd Carr’s agent.
Yes, things have changed in Ann Arbor.
As a Buckeye fan, I view these changes with a sad and wary eye. In the long, storied history of our rivalry with Michigan, we’re used to having coaches on both sides focus on just two things: honoring tradition and winning football games. Sure, there are occasional controversies. Sometimes a player just needs to get in a bar fight or solicit a prostitute after class. Sometimes a spectator feels the urge to light an opponent’s car on fire. These things happen in a sport featuring prima donna athletes and lunatic fans. But our coaches? They remain above the fray.
I can think of two exceptions, and both led to the termination of the coaches involved: Gary Moeller nipping a little too much grandma’s cough medicine and chewing out a cop, and Woody Hayes punching a kid in the throat. Okay, that last one was pretty bad, but at least Woody was trying to fire up his team when it happened. If anything, he went down because he loved the game too much.
What’s at the heart of the Rodriguez controversy? Money and power struggles. Petty things. Things that sound ugly and out of place for a man now serving as custodian of one of the nation’s greatest football traditions.
To be fair, all of the controversy stems from Rodriguez’s tenure at West Virginia, and has nothing to do with his new job at Michigan. Nor is he necessarily to blame for all the bad press. For all I know, West Virginia is run by crazy, spiteful, petty people who just want to bring a good man down and will conjure up any story to do it, knowing the press will leap on it like a Michael Vick pit bull on a three-legged cat. That’s beside the point. The stories are out there, and they’re distracting.
Where are the stories about what Rodriguez is doing at Michigan? How is he building his team to replace the enormous loss of talent to the NFL? How is he reaching out to returning players? How will he tweak both his program and his offense to get the best fit? How is he endearing himself to the Wolverine nation?
Unfortunately, only one article concerning Rodriguez’s actual job in Ann Arbor has made headlines. Know what it was about?
His salary.
So now, all we really know about Rich Rodriguez as head coach of Michigan is that for the next six years he’ll be making $2.5 million per year—a million more than Carr, who maybe should have had a better agent.
That’s some really expensive laundry to have stinking up the back of a locker. I hope someone gets that cleaned up real fast.
Showing posts with label Lloyd Carr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lloyd Carr. Show all posts
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Dear Buckeyes: Your bid for respect has been postponed.
Well, tickle me blue. The Gators got beat by a Big Ten team. And by a Big Ten team that got beat by Appalachian State, no less. Can we forget that one now?
It’s not often Ohio State fans get to celebrate a Michigan victory, but it would be a cold-hearted Buckeye who didn't feel a warm, fuzzy glow watching Michigan players hoist Lloyd Carr onto their shoulders after the Capital One Bowl. Good for Lloyd for going out on top. Good for Chad Henne for having the game of his career and leading his fellow seniors to their first bowl victory. And good for Mike Hart for seizing the opportunity to make a giant ass out of himself one last time on national television. Who but Hart could offer such a rich display of chest pounding, muscle flexing and smack talking on his way to two goal line fumbles? Brilliant. Had Michigan lost, Hart would have been the reason. As it is, he’s the reason they didn’t win by more. Well done.
Of course, any Big Ten celebrations were somewhat tempered by the game that came next: a 32-point emasculation of Illinois by USC in the Rose Bowl. No one really expected Illinois to win this game, but we did hope they would at least show up. I swear I haven’t seen a Big Ten team look that helpless since…uhh…last January’s national title game.
But really, where was the Illini team that beat Ohio State in November? Where was the Juice Williams who ran at will against the Buckeye defense? I think I know what football analysts Mark May and Dan Wetzel would say: “Right there on the field, getting trounced by USC.” And they wouldn’t be alone. For much of the college football world, the Rose Bowl—and later Georgia’s fleecing of Hawaii in the Sugar Bowl—proved that next week’s BCS title game is just that: a “BCS” title game. No matter who wins between LSU and Ohio State, people are already speculating that either USC or Georgia may top the final AP poll. Buckeye fans, you had to see this coming.
So just what is Ohio State playing for at this point?
A national title, certainly. No matter what, a victory places the Buckeyes number one in the final BCS, and a convincing win just might keep us atop the AP, as well—though with plenty of grumbling.
But how about earning respect back for the Big Ten? Well, with the Penn State, Purdue, and Michigan wins, a Buckeye victory would bring the Big Ten to a solid 4-4 in bowl games, proving that we’re not an awful conference…just mediocre.
How about at least getting a little revenge on the SEC? Sure, I’d never overlook the satisfying, wonderfully petty feeling of revenge as motivation, and I would hope that Big Ten victories over Florida and LSU—two teams who supposedly challenge light itself in the speed category—would finally debunk the myth that the Big Ten is full of slow, plodding plough horses. Though those same victories would also seemingly reinforce the belief that the conference really is just a two-horse race, regardless of whether they're plough horses or thoroughbreds.
So what does this all mean? It means that next week the Buckeyes will be playing for, well, for the Buckeyes. A victory gets us a national title, a very drunk city of Columbus, and an eight-month reprieve, if not outright respect, from football critics.
The bid for outright respect has now been moved to the USC game next fall.
It’s not often Ohio State fans get to celebrate a Michigan victory, but it would be a cold-hearted Buckeye who didn't feel a warm, fuzzy glow watching Michigan players hoist Lloyd Carr onto their shoulders after the Capital One Bowl. Good for Lloyd for going out on top. Good for Chad Henne for having the game of his career and leading his fellow seniors to their first bowl victory. And good for Mike Hart for seizing the opportunity to make a giant ass out of himself one last time on national television. Who but Hart could offer such a rich display of chest pounding, muscle flexing and smack talking on his way to two goal line fumbles? Brilliant. Had Michigan lost, Hart would have been the reason. As it is, he’s the reason they didn’t win by more. Well done.
Of course, any Big Ten celebrations were somewhat tempered by the game that came next: a 32-point emasculation of Illinois by USC in the Rose Bowl. No one really expected Illinois to win this game, but we did hope they would at least show up. I swear I haven’t seen a Big Ten team look that helpless since…uhh…last January’s national title game.
But really, where was the Illini team that beat Ohio State in November? Where was the Juice Williams who ran at will against the Buckeye defense? I think I know what football analysts Mark May and Dan Wetzel would say: “Right there on the field, getting trounced by USC.” And they wouldn’t be alone. For much of the college football world, the Rose Bowl—and later Georgia’s fleecing of Hawaii in the Sugar Bowl—proved that next week’s BCS title game is just that: a “BCS” title game. No matter who wins between LSU and Ohio State, people are already speculating that either USC or Georgia may top the final AP poll. Buckeye fans, you had to see this coming.
So just what is Ohio State playing for at this point?
A national title, certainly. No matter what, a victory places the Buckeyes number one in the final BCS, and a convincing win just might keep us atop the AP, as well—though with plenty of grumbling.
But how about earning respect back for the Big Ten? Well, with the Penn State, Purdue, and Michigan wins, a Buckeye victory would bring the Big Ten to a solid 4-4 in bowl games, proving that we’re not an awful conference…just mediocre.
How about at least getting a little revenge on the SEC? Sure, I’d never overlook the satisfying, wonderfully petty feeling of revenge as motivation, and I would hope that Big Ten victories over Florida and LSU—two teams who supposedly challenge light itself in the speed category—would finally debunk the myth that the Big Ten is full of slow, plodding plough horses. Though those same victories would also seemingly reinforce the belief that the conference really is just a two-horse race, regardless of whether they're plough horses or thoroughbreds.
So what does this all mean? It means that next week the Buckeyes will be playing for, well, for the Buckeyes. A victory gets us a national title, a very drunk city of Columbus, and an eight-month reprieve, if not outright respect, from football critics.
The bid for outright respect has now been moved to the USC game next fall.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places
Has anyone else noticed that Michigan seems a little out of step lately? As if the pep band had been sacked and “Hail to the Victors” replaced as Ann Arbor’s theme song by Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me”?
Think about it. In the past week, Florida’s Tim Tebow became the first sophomore to win the Heisman, Ohio State basked in the glow of Laurinaitis’s Butkus Award and Jim Heacock’s Assistant Coach of the Year honors, and scads of other schools made room for new hardware in their trophy cases.
What did Michigan get? Snubbed by another coach. Rutgers’ coach to be exact.
How embarrassing.
Well, since my Cooper plan for replacing Lloyd Carr hasn’t gained any traction in Ann Arbor and my cat has yet to receive a call for the position (see posting from November 20), I have some new advice for our archrival’s athletic department: lower your expectations.
Hold on. Hear me out.
By this, I don’t mean settle for a lesser coach. Far from it. I mean, perhaps it is time to look outside of the Division IA family.
“But wait!” I hear you protest. “We are the winningnest program in college football history! We have more tradition in our toenail crud than LSU has on its entire campus! Our mascot is a very large weasel! We have those cool helmets!”
Yes, yes, I hear you. But along with that tradition and those pretty helmets comes the stress of a fickle fanbase and a very high expectation to perform…all coupled with one of the lowest salaries in major college football. Not exactly a dream job to pull a well-known coach away from a comfortable position with an established program.
But there is another route: the Football Championship Subdivision, or Division IAA to you and me.
Don’t laugh. It’s worked before, as you should know well by now. In 2001, after Ohio State finally came out of its Cooper Coma, the athletic department’s first thought was to do what you are doing now: try to net the big fish, the known entity. Well, Lou Holtz turned us down. Said he didn’t want the pressure. Said he preferred to stay in South Carolina, a program with as much tradition as Canada where he made a nice salary and everyone was just happy to have a guy of his stature in town. Winning, if it happened, was just a bonus.
So where did the Buckeyes go from there? To Division IAA’s Youngstown State, where a little known coach had quietly made a name for himself amongst these lesser schools by leading the Penguins to three national championships in the 1990s. The man’s name: Jim Tressel. You might have heard of him. He’s the guy in the sweater vest that makes you very depressed each November.
After his success at Youngstown State, Tressel arrived in Columbus and just kept doing the two things he does best: wearing the vest and winning. The formula worked just as well in Division IA as it had in IAA. In seven years, Tressel has led the Buckeyes to three national title games, four Big Ten championships, and the highest win percentage against Michigan of any coach in the history of the rivalry. Not bad for a man from the “lesser” division.
Now, I know that Michigan praises tradition, an inside connection, as does Ohio State. And of course, Tressel did have a previous Buckeye connection: a little experience at the Horseshoe coaching under Earle Bruce in the 1980s. So let’s think about this. Who out there has a proven track record in Division IAA and a little experience in the Big House to boot?
Answer: Appalachian State coach Jerry Moore.
This weekend, Moore will lead the Mountaineers into their third title game in as many years. If he wins, he will have done something no one—not even Tressel—accomplished at that level: win three national titles in a row. Even if he doesn’t win, he has proven his ability beyond doubt to recruit and coach in the big games. Oh, and he apparently knows how to win at the Big House. How could this guy not get a call from the Michigan athletic department?
“But we don’t like Appalachian State,” you whine. “They made us look girly in front of our fans.” True, but that only works to your advantage. Think about it. By hiring Moore, you shed the shame of losing to Appalachian State. Their man is now your man. You’ve internalized your conqueror, made him your own. His success is now your success, something to be bragged about, crowed from the rooftops.
Seriously, how is his phone not ringing right now?
Sure he’s old as dust, but so what? At 68, he’s twelve years younger than Joe Paterno, ten than Bobby Bowden. And unlike those coaches, he’s still winning. Heck, even if he only stays five years, consider the possibilities. Had Tressel retired after five years, he would have done so with a national championship and two Big Ten titles to his credit, while leaving behind a team full of blue chip recruits, including five future first round draft picks and a future Heisman trophy winner, for the next guy. Things could be a lot worse.
Are you dialing the phone yet?
Oh, and one last thing: to properly emulate your rival and pull this off, Jerry Moore will need to bring a fashion statement to Ann Arbor. Tressel has the sweater vest. It’s copyrighted. No one else can do it. But perhaps you could persuade Moore to take another route, something that speaks of his previous roots. Overalls perhaps? Something in burlap? Cultural items also work: replacing the Gatorade cooler with a moonshine jug, for instance, or adding a banjo and fiddle section to the marching band.
Anyway, you’ll think of something. That’s the easy part.
The hard part is getting that Human League song out of your head.
Think about it. In the past week, Florida’s Tim Tebow became the first sophomore to win the Heisman, Ohio State basked in the glow of Laurinaitis’s Butkus Award and Jim Heacock’s Assistant Coach of the Year honors, and scads of other schools made room for new hardware in their trophy cases.
What did Michigan get? Snubbed by another coach. Rutgers’ coach to be exact.
How embarrassing.
Well, since my Cooper plan for replacing Lloyd Carr hasn’t gained any traction in Ann Arbor and my cat has yet to receive a call for the position (see posting from November 20), I have some new advice for our archrival’s athletic department: lower your expectations.
Hold on. Hear me out.
By this, I don’t mean settle for a lesser coach. Far from it. I mean, perhaps it is time to look outside of the Division IA family.
“But wait!” I hear you protest. “We are the winningnest program in college football history! We have more tradition in our toenail crud than LSU has on its entire campus! Our mascot is a very large weasel! We have those cool helmets!”
Yes, yes, I hear you. But along with that tradition and those pretty helmets comes the stress of a fickle fanbase and a very high expectation to perform…all coupled with one of the lowest salaries in major college football. Not exactly a dream job to pull a well-known coach away from a comfortable position with an established program.
But there is another route: the Football Championship Subdivision, or Division IAA to you and me.
Don’t laugh. It’s worked before, as you should know well by now. In 2001, after Ohio State finally came out of its Cooper Coma, the athletic department’s first thought was to do what you are doing now: try to net the big fish, the known entity. Well, Lou Holtz turned us down. Said he didn’t want the pressure. Said he preferred to stay in South Carolina, a program with as much tradition as Canada where he made a nice salary and everyone was just happy to have a guy of his stature in town. Winning, if it happened, was just a bonus.
So where did the Buckeyes go from there? To Division IAA’s Youngstown State, where a little known coach had quietly made a name for himself amongst these lesser schools by leading the Penguins to three national championships in the 1990s. The man’s name: Jim Tressel. You might have heard of him. He’s the guy in the sweater vest that makes you very depressed each November.
After his success at Youngstown State, Tressel arrived in Columbus and just kept doing the two things he does best: wearing the vest and winning. The formula worked just as well in Division IA as it had in IAA. In seven years, Tressel has led the Buckeyes to three national title games, four Big Ten championships, and the highest win percentage against Michigan of any coach in the history of the rivalry. Not bad for a man from the “lesser” division.
Now, I know that Michigan praises tradition, an inside connection, as does Ohio State. And of course, Tressel did have a previous Buckeye connection: a little experience at the Horseshoe coaching under Earle Bruce in the 1980s. So let’s think about this. Who out there has a proven track record in Division IAA and a little experience in the Big House to boot?
Answer: Appalachian State coach Jerry Moore.
This weekend, Moore will lead the Mountaineers into their third title game in as many years. If he wins, he will have done something no one—not even Tressel—accomplished at that level: win three national titles in a row. Even if he doesn’t win, he has proven his ability beyond doubt to recruit and coach in the big games. Oh, and he apparently knows how to win at the Big House. How could this guy not get a call from the Michigan athletic department?
“But we don’t like Appalachian State,” you whine. “They made us look girly in front of our fans.” True, but that only works to your advantage. Think about it. By hiring Moore, you shed the shame of losing to Appalachian State. Their man is now your man. You’ve internalized your conqueror, made him your own. His success is now your success, something to be bragged about, crowed from the rooftops.
Seriously, how is his phone not ringing right now?
Sure he’s old as dust, but so what? At 68, he’s twelve years younger than Joe Paterno, ten than Bobby Bowden. And unlike those coaches, he’s still winning. Heck, even if he only stays five years, consider the possibilities. Had Tressel retired after five years, he would have done so with a national championship and two Big Ten titles to his credit, while leaving behind a team full of blue chip recruits, including five future first round draft picks and a future Heisman trophy winner, for the next guy. Things could be a lot worse.
Are you dialing the phone yet?
Oh, and one last thing: to properly emulate your rival and pull this off, Jerry Moore will need to bring a fashion statement to Ann Arbor. Tressel has the sweater vest. It’s copyrighted. No one else can do it. But perhaps you could persuade Moore to take another route, something that speaks of his previous roots. Overalls perhaps? Something in burlap? Cultural items also work: replacing the Gatorade cooler with a moonshine jug, for instance, or adding a banjo and fiddle section to the marching band.
Anyway, you’ll think of something. That’s the easy part.
The hard part is getting that Human League song out of your head.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Thanks for the Memories: Now perhaps you'd like to hire my cat?
How’s everybody feeling out there this week? Pretty good? I would hope so. Me? It’s Tuesday and I’m still drunk.
I don’t know what to celebrate more: Ohio State’s fourth straight victory over “that team up north”, the release of HBO’s documentary dedicated to the storied rivalry, or Oregon and Oklahoma losing and getting the Bucks back into the national championship conversation? Any way you slice it, last week was a good one for the Buckeye Nation.
So why, then, do I feel a hint of sadness in the air, a nagging sensation that tugs at my heartstrings like a three-legged Wolverine begging to be put out of its misery? Could it be that we have some goodbyes to say?
Ah, Mike Hart, how Buckeye fans will miss you. Though you are likely saddened by your abject failure against Ohio State throughout your college years, I urge you to take comfort in the fact that you’re going to have an extraordinary pro career. How do I know this? Because you have exactly the right amount of class for the NFL. Which is to say, none. Last Saturday, I marveled at your seemingly limitless machismo. Having to be restrained at the 50-yard line prior to the game was a nice touch, but pushing Ohio State defensive back Chimdi Chekwa to the ground after a block and pounding your chest was pure gold. Anybody that can show such bravado en route to a season low 44-yard rushing effort on 21 carries is truly a special kind of stupid. Yes, you’re going to fit in with that whiny, overpaid NFL crowd just fine.
Someone with infinitely more class who I will miss is Michigan coach Lloyd Carr, who resigned on Monday—and, believe it or not, I say this without the faintest hint of irony. I really am going to miss ol’ Lloyd. I watched his retirement speech on Monday from beginning to end, and I have to admit: the guy’s a good guy and, as the record shows, a helluva coach. Over the past 13 seasons he racked up five Big Ten titles, a national championship, and a win percentage that ranks up there with the best coaches in history. All of which makes the fact that Tressel beat him six out of the last seven years even more remarkable. And unfortunately for Lloyd, it is this last fact that both Michigan and Ohio State fans will dwell on for awhile. To that end, he’s become Michigan’s John Cooper—the Buckeye coach who managed just two wins over the Wolverines in thirteen long, painful seasons—which I suppose allows me to use the phrase “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy” with complete apropos.
As Ohio State fans bask in the glow of our recent victory and daydream about extending our rivalry win streak to five in a row for the first time in history, the media madness accompanying Michigan’s search for a new man at the helm has already begun. With this in mind, an interesting though disturbing trend occurs to me: new coaches have an uncanny ability to knock off their archrival in their inaugural year. Now, I don’t want to take the glow off of any Buckeye daydreams out there, but this beginner’s luck, or dogged determination to prove oneself worthy of the new position, or whatever one wants to call it has struck with alarming consistency over the past four decades. Bo Schembechler inherited a floundering Wolverine team in 1969 and promptly beat the top ranked Buckeyes his first year. Earle Bruce reciprocated when he took over for Ohio State in 1979. Gary Moeller sobered up enough to win in 1990. Lloyd Carr prevailed in 1995, and so did Jim Tressel in 2001. And in each of these inaugural match-ups, the quality of the opponent didn’t seem to matter: the 1969 Buckeyes entered The Game on a 22-game win streak and had been hailed as one of the greatest college teams of all time before losing to Schembechler. Carr’s inaugural victory came over a #2 ranked Buckeye team.
So where am I going with this? It occurs to me that next year the Bucks have a lot of firepower returning and will almost certainly be ranked high going into the last week of the season…and Michigan is going to have a new coach. I don’t want to be an alarmist, but we have to start planning now if we don’t want next season to be hijacked by some upstart overachiever in a cheap maize and blue polo.
Fortunately, I have an idea as to how we can avert such disaster. A foolproof plan, if you will. We simply need Michigan to replace Carr with the only coach who didn’t win The Game in his inaugural season over the past forty years. That’s right, Michigan needs to hire John Cooper. If Cooper doesn’t work out, I could also be satisfied with Donny Osmond, my cat (Mrs. Bigglesworth), or Charlie Weiss, though not necessarily in that order.
So enjoy your victory, Buckeye fans, but know that, even though the Big Ten season is over, there is still much to be done. Root for anyone playing teams ranked ahead of us, for one, in hopes that we might still make that title game, and, most importantly, get those petitions for Cooper circulating through the Michigan athletic department. Otherwise, be prepared to face Coach Bigglesworth next year.
I don’t know what to celebrate more: Ohio State’s fourth straight victory over “that team up north”, the release of HBO’s documentary dedicated to the storied rivalry, or Oregon and Oklahoma losing and getting the Bucks back into the national championship conversation? Any way you slice it, last week was a good one for the Buckeye Nation.
So why, then, do I feel a hint of sadness in the air, a nagging sensation that tugs at my heartstrings like a three-legged Wolverine begging to be put out of its misery? Could it be that we have some goodbyes to say?
Ah, Mike Hart, how Buckeye fans will miss you. Though you are likely saddened by your abject failure against Ohio State throughout your college years, I urge you to take comfort in the fact that you’re going to have an extraordinary pro career. How do I know this? Because you have exactly the right amount of class for the NFL. Which is to say, none. Last Saturday, I marveled at your seemingly limitless machismo. Having to be restrained at the 50-yard line prior to the game was a nice touch, but pushing Ohio State defensive back Chimdi Chekwa to the ground after a block and pounding your chest was pure gold. Anybody that can show such bravado en route to a season low 44-yard rushing effort on 21 carries is truly a special kind of stupid. Yes, you’re going to fit in with that whiny, overpaid NFL crowd just fine.
Someone with infinitely more class who I will miss is Michigan coach Lloyd Carr, who resigned on Monday—and, believe it or not, I say this without the faintest hint of irony. I really am going to miss ol’ Lloyd. I watched his retirement speech on Monday from beginning to end, and I have to admit: the guy’s a good guy and, as the record shows, a helluva coach. Over the past 13 seasons he racked up five Big Ten titles, a national championship, and a win percentage that ranks up there with the best coaches in history. All of which makes the fact that Tressel beat him six out of the last seven years even more remarkable. And unfortunately for Lloyd, it is this last fact that both Michigan and Ohio State fans will dwell on for awhile. To that end, he’s become Michigan’s John Cooper—the Buckeye coach who managed just two wins over the Wolverines in thirteen long, painful seasons—which I suppose allows me to use the phrase “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy” with complete apropos.
As Ohio State fans bask in the glow of our recent victory and daydream about extending our rivalry win streak to five in a row for the first time in history, the media madness accompanying Michigan’s search for a new man at the helm has already begun. With this in mind, an interesting though disturbing trend occurs to me: new coaches have an uncanny ability to knock off their archrival in their inaugural year. Now, I don’t want to take the glow off of any Buckeye daydreams out there, but this beginner’s luck, or dogged determination to prove oneself worthy of the new position, or whatever one wants to call it has struck with alarming consistency over the past four decades. Bo Schembechler inherited a floundering Wolverine team in 1969 and promptly beat the top ranked Buckeyes his first year. Earle Bruce reciprocated when he took over for Ohio State in 1979. Gary Moeller sobered up enough to win in 1990. Lloyd Carr prevailed in 1995, and so did Jim Tressel in 2001. And in each of these inaugural match-ups, the quality of the opponent didn’t seem to matter: the 1969 Buckeyes entered The Game on a 22-game win streak and had been hailed as one of the greatest college teams of all time before losing to Schembechler. Carr’s inaugural victory came over a #2 ranked Buckeye team.
So where am I going with this? It occurs to me that next year the Bucks have a lot of firepower returning and will almost certainly be ranked high going into the last week of the season…and Michigan is going to have a new coach. I don’t want to be an alarmist, but we have to start planning now if we don’t want next season to be hijacked by some upstart overachiever in a cheap maize and blue polo.
Fortunately, I have an idea as to how we can avert such disaster. A foolproof plan, if you will. We simply need Michigan to replace Carr with the only coach who didn’t win The Game in his inaugural season over the past forty years. That’s right, Michigan needs to hire John Cooper. If Cooper doesn’t work out, I could also be satisfied with Donny Osmond, my cat (Mrs. Bigglesworth), or Charlie Weiss, though not necessarily in that order.
So enjoy your victory, Buckeye fans, but know that, even though the Big Ten season is over, there is still much to be done. Root for anyone playing teams ranked ahead of us, for one, in hopes that we might still make that title game, and, most importantly, get those petitions for Cooper circulating through the Michigan athletic department. Otherwise, be prepared to face Coach Bigglesworth next year.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Here's a Thought: How about avoiding that Capital One Bowl?
Let’s knock this one out of here real fast: the Buckeyes aren’t going to play for the national championship this year.
Did the loss to Illinois stink? Absolutely. Am I going to complain about the coaching staff’s inexplicable failure to challenge an obvious fumble and thereby avert a touchdown? No. How about three interceptions thrown at inopportune moments, or a defense that had more holes than a grunge band’s wardrobe? No and no.
Why, you ask? Because I tried that, and it didn’t work.
Three hours after the game, all of my venting hadn’t changed a thing. And then it occurred to me…we Buckeye fans have become a bit spoiled. Somewhere beneath the scarlet and gray film glazed over my brain, I seem to recall that this was supposed to be a rebuilding year. Yet here we were ranked number one again.
Well, it was fun while it lasted, but we need to maintain some perspective here. There’s still a Big Ten championship at stake, and a berth in the Rose Bowl. When those are the consolation prizes for a rebuilding year, things are in pretty good shape for the Buckeye Nation.
Now here’s the catch: all we have to do to get those consolation prizes is beat our archrival.
Oh, and that archrival? They’re pissed. They just lost, too. In fact, one could almost say they purposefully lost. Or if they didn’t purposefully lose, exactly, they certainly didn’t put a lot of effort into winning. Can anyone tell me why Mike Hart, the Big Ten’s leading rusher, would be sitting on the sidelines watching his team lose to Wisconsin after he had been cleared by doctors to play? Or why Chad Henne came out of the game so quickly to join Hart on the sidelines for the remaining three quarters? I have a theory. It runs something along the lines of: “Wisconsin, Shmisconsin. We want to whoop Ohio State.”
So that’s what we’re up against this week. A team looking to bury the memory of a humiliating September by climbing over the Buckeyes into the Rose Bowl. A bunch of seniors who want to define their collegiate careers by finally getting that elusive win over their archrival. A coach who needs to toss a certain monkey in a Brutus suit off his back before his career comes to an almost certain close at the end of the season.
All I can say is, “ain’t it great?” If the thought of denying the Wolverines such pleasures can’t get the Buckeyes up for this game, somebody needs to check some pulses.
This is the grudge match with an edge. With the national championship no longer an issue, one could almost make the case that Michigan has the most at stake, which bodes well when considering the “team who has the most to lose usually does” tradition. Then again, history may not have much to offer in the way of predictions this year. For the first time since the Eisenhower administration, both teams will enter The Game licking wounds from a loss the previous week.
So what’s going to happen this Saturday?
Hell if I know. Though I will go so far as to make three predictions: 1) a car is going to get turned over and set on fire somewhere (Detroit doesn’t count. That’s just normal crime.), 2) Mike Hart will make an obnoxiously immature comment in the postgame interview, win or lose, and 3) the scarlet and gray film on my brain, aided considerably by several pints of Guinness, will at some point induce me to attempt Script Ohio with a handful of my friends in the living room.
Other than that, all bets are off.
Did the loss to Illinois stink? Absolutely. Am I going to complain about the coaching staff’s inexplicable failure to challenge an obvious fumble and thereby avert a touchdown? No. How about three interceptions thrown at inopportune moments, or a defense that had more holes than a grunge band’s wardrobe? No and no.
Why, you ask? Because I tried that, and it didn’t work.
Three hours after the game, all of my venting hadn’t changed a thing. And then it occurred to me…we Buckeye fans have become a bit spoiled. Somewhere beneath the scarlet and gray film glazed over my brain, I seem to recall that this was supposed to be a rebuilding year. Yet here we were ranked number one again.
Well, it was fun while it lasted, but we need to maintain some perspective here. There’s still a Big Ten championship at stake, and a berth in the Rose Bowl. When those are the consolation prizes for a rebuilding year, things are in pretty good shape for the Buckeye Nation.
Now here’s the catch: all we have to do to get those consolation prizes is beat our archrival.
Oh, and that archrival? They’re pissed. They just lost, too. In fact, one could almost say they purposefully lost. Or if they didn’t purposefully lose, exactly, they certainly didn’t put a lot of effort into winning. Can anyone tell me why Mike Hart, the Big Ten’s leading rusher, would be sitting on the sidelines watching his team lose to Wisconsin after he had been cleared by doctors to play? Or why Chad Henne came out of the game so quickly to join Hart on the sidelines for the remaining three quarters? I have a theory. It runs something along the lines of: “Wisconsin, Shmisconsin. We want to whoop Ohio State.”
So that’s what we’re up against this week. A team looking to bury the memory of a humiliating September by climbing over the Buckeyes into the Rose Bowl. A bunch of seniors who want to define their collegiate careers by finally getting that elusive win over their archrival. A coach who needs to toss a certain monkey in a Brutus suit off his back before his career comes to an almost certain close at the end of the season.
All I can say is, “ain’t it great?” If the thought of denying the Wolverines such pleasures can’t get the Buckeyes up for this game, somebody needs to check some pulses.
This is the grudge match with an edge. With the national championship no longer an issue, one could almost make the case that Michigan has the most at stake, which bodes well when considering the “team who has the most to lose usually does” tradition. Then again, history may not have much to offer in the way of predictions this year. For the first time since the Eisenhower administration, both teams will enter The Game licking wounds from a loss the previous week.
So what’s going to happen this Saturday?
Hell if I know. Though I will go so far as to make three predictions: 1) a car is going to get turned over and set on fire somewhere (Detroit doesn’t count. That’s just normal crime.), 2) Mike Hart will make an obnoxiously immature comment in the postgame interview, win or lose, and 3) the scarlet and gray film on my brain, aided considerably by several pints of Guinness, will at some point induce me to attempt Script Ohio with a handful of my friends in the living room.
Other than that, all bets are off.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Go Blue? A Guide to Unconventional Cheering (Part Two)
Okay Buckeye fans, let’s face some hard truths. If you’ve picked up any newspaper in the last two months or watched five minutes of Sportscenter, you’ll have noticed that the Big Ten as a conference is lacking a little bit of respect. For this read: it has no respect. Various analysts have referred to it as the “Little Ten”, called it “by far the weakest BCS conference” and have otherwise suggested that any team playing in the Big Ten might as well have lined up a series of Pop Warner peewee teams to play this season.
This brings us to reason number two for why Ohio State fans should root for Michigan during all but one notable week of the year: We need Michigan—and all other Big Ten teams, for that matter—to be as good as possible, year in year out.
Let’s face it. That Appalachian State loss was fun—heck, I went to Boone and bought a T-shirt—but it didn’t do much for conference credibility, especially after last year’s bowl season. When Michigan then lost to Oregon in Week 2, I watched fellow Buckeye fans celebrating with a wary eye. Already, the internal conflict had begun: as fun as it is to see our archrival humiliated, what does this mean for Ohio State?
Well, ten games into the season, it appears to mean this: Ohio State is the most doubted team in America.
Every week I read articles about how they haven’t played anybody. Never mind that just who constitutes “anybody” is a constantly morphing and ultimately self-serving concept. When the Buckeyes were 5-0, analysts said the upcoming Purdue game would be their first big test. When the Bucks easily handled the Boilermakers, rather than boost the Buckeyes’ street cred, Purdue was dubbed overrated. When the Bucks were 7-0 with games against Michigan State, Penn State, Wisconsin, Illinois and Michigan remaining, the analysts said the Bucks were just getting to the meat of their schedule. And they were. But after they handled the Spartans, the analysts dismissed that game, saying, and I’m quoting someone I don’t remember from ESPN’s College Gameday here (perhaps Mark May?), “Everyone expected the Buckeyes to be 8-0 at this point, but their first test comes next week against Penn State.”
Well, the Bucks blew out Penn State at Happy Valley, and followed that up with a three-touchdown victory over Wisconsin. But of course now those teams are dubbed overrated, and the first big test is supposed to come this week against Illinois. Do you see a pattern here? In a Big Ten that is perceived as weak, the Buckeyes can’t win respect. If they lose a game, it will instantly be hailed as the just desserts of an overrated team. If they continue to win, it’s because they’re playing a bunch of cupcakes. If Ohio State beats Illinois (who also beat both Wisconsin and Penn State) and Michigan (currently ranked 12th in the BCS), will they have gained respect? Of course not. I can hear it now: Illinois doesn’t count because, well, they’re Illinois, and Illinois always sucks—never mind their record this year. And Michigan? Well, didn’t they lose to that I-AA team earlier this season? Ah, yes, that. You see my point.
I’m not saying such Big Ten bashing is just. Not for a minute. But it’s the perception that counts. As it stands, the only way Ohio State can gain national respect this year is if it runs the table and beats an SEC or Pac-10 team in the national championship game. These are the conferences currently fulfilling the role of analysts’ darlings, and to an obviously biased degree. An example or two should suffice.
Penn State and Wisconsin, who both started the year in the top twenty, have just three losses, and those to Big Ten opponents. Rather than sending the message that the Big Ten is a tough conference, however, the analysts say that the teams were simply overrated and have dropped them completely out of the rankings. Contrast this to the SEC where six three-loss teams are currently ranked in the AP Top 25, as is the Pac-10’s three-loss Cal. And remember, Cal lost to UCLA—the same UCLA that got crushed by Utah 44-6 and handed Notre Dame its only win of the season—so I don’t want to hear, oh, they were all losses to quality teams.
Analysts’ bias is leading them to confusion and even contradictions. They consider the Pac-10 a “strong” conference, yet have dubbed USC’s loss to 40-point underdog Stanford the greatest upset of all time. Here’s my question: how can losing to someone in your own conference be called the greatest upset of all time? If that’s the case, get Stanford out of your conference. Yet somehow, such a scenario doesn’t diminish the respectability of the Pac-10. It does, however, take away Michigan’s status as the victim of the biggest upset of all time—proving that, even in defeat, the analysts scorn the Big Ten.
So what’s the way out of this quagmire? Buckeye fans need Big Ten teams to win every high-profile non-conference game they play, especially bowl games. And this includes Michigan. Yes, I know it hurts. But remember, it’s all in the interest of self-preservation.
And that’s why I root for Michigan—the very team I was born to loathe—every week but one. Any Buckeye fan should be so insane.
This brings us to reason number two for why Ohio State fans should root for Michigan during all but one notable week of the year: We need Michigan—and all other Big Ten teams, for that matter—to be as good as possible, year in year out.
Let’s face it. That Appalachian State loss was fun—heck, I went to Boone and bought a T-shirt—but it didn’t do much for conference credibility, especially after last year’s bowl season. When Michigan then lost to Oregon in Week 2, I watched fellow Buckeye fans celebrating with a wary eye. Already, the internal conflict had begun: as fun as it is to see our archrival humiliated, what does this mean for Ohio State?
Well, ten games into the season, it appears to mean this: Ohio State is the most doubted team in America.
Every week I read articles about how they haven’t played anybody. Never mind that just who constitutes “anybody” is a constantly morphing and ultimately self-serving concept. When the Buckeyes were 5-0, analysts said the upcoming Purdue game would be their first big test. When the Bucks easily handled the Boilermakers, rather than boost the Buckeyes’ street cred, Purdue was dubbed overrated. When the Bucks were 7-0 with games against Michigan State, Penn State, Wisconsin, Illinois and Michigan remaining, the analysts said the Bucks were just getting to the meat of their schedule. And they were. But after they handled the Spartans, the analysts dismissed that game, saying, and I’m quoting someone I don’t remember from ESPN’s College Gameday here (perhaps Mark May?), “Everyone expected the Buckeyes to be 8-0 at this point, but their first test comes next week against Penn State.”
Well, the Bucks blew out Penn State at Happy Valley, and followed that up with a three-touchdown victory over Wisconsin. But of course now those teams are dubbed overrated, and the first big test is supposed to come this week against Illinois. Do you see a pattern here? In a Big Ten that is perceived as weak, the Buckeyes can’t win respect. If they lose a game, it will instantly be hailed as the just desserts of an overrated team. If they continue to win, it’s because they’re playing a bunch of cupcakes. If Ohio State beats Illinois (who also beat both Wisconsin and Penn State) and Michigan (currently ranked 12th in the BCS), will they have gained respect? Of course not. I can hear it now: Illinois doesn’t count because, well, they’re Illinois, and Illinois always sucks—never mind their record this year. And Michigan? Well, didn’t they lose to that I-AA team earlier this season? Ah, yes, that. You see my point.
I’m not saying such Big Ten bashing is just. Not for a minute. But it’s the perception that counts. As it stands, the only way Ohio State can gain national respect this year is if it runs the table and beats an SEC or Pac-10 team in the national championship game. These are the conferences currently fulfilling the role of analysts’ darlings, and to an obviously biased degree. An example or two should suffice.
Penn State and Wisconsin, who both started the year in the top twenty, have just three losses, and those to Big Ten opponents. Rather than sending the message that the Big Ten is a tough conference, however, the analysts say that the teams were simply overrated and have dropped them completely out of the rankings. Contrast this to the SEC where six three-loss teams are currently ranked in the AP Top 25, as is the Pac-10’s three-loss Cal. And remember, Cal lost to UCLA—the same UCLA that got crushed by Utah 44-6 and handed Notre Dame its only win of the season—so I don’t want to hear, oh, they were all losses to quality teams.
Analysts’ bias is leading them to confusion and even contradictions. They consider the Pac-10 a “strong” conference, yet have dubbed USC’s loss to 40-point underdog Stanford the greatest upset of all time. Here’s my question: how can losing to someone in your own conference be called the greatest upset of all time? If that’s the case, get Stanford out of your conference. Yet somehow, such a scenario doesn’t diminish the respectability of the Pac-10. It does, however, take away Michigan’s status as the victim of the biggest upset of all time—proving that, even in defeat, the analysts scorn the Big Ten.
So what’s the way out of this quagmire? Buckeye fans need Big Ten teams to win every high-profile non-conference game they play, especially bowl games. And this includes Michigan. Yes, I know it hurts. But remember, it’s all in the interest of self-preservation.
And that’s why I root for Michigan—the very team I was born to loathe—every week but one. Any Buckeye fan should be so insane.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Go Blue? A Guide to Unconventional Cheering (Part One)
Here’s a confession you won’t hear from many Buckeye fans: I root for Michigan every chance I get. Every week but one to be specific.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Appalachian State loss as much as every one else. And to be fair, my cheers are never vocal (Woody forbid!) or even very conscious. It’s more like an underlying feeling that continually, if subconsciously, suggests: victory for Michigan is good for Ohio State.
Now, before you fly off the handle and holler, “Hey man, that’s crazy talk,” I can offer two reasons for such apparent madness.
First is the old adage which so defines the rivalry, and which I cited in the last posting: namely, “the team that has the most to lose usually does.” The last thing a Buckeye team wants to face—especially a #1 ranked Buckeye team—is a desperate Wolverine team. One with absolutely nothing to lose. A rabid Wolverine, one might say, looking to claim one last victim before the season ends and somebody shoots it in the head.
Instead, we want Michigan to have as much at stake as possible, nearly as much as the Bucks in an ideal world. Consider the 2006 season, when both teams were undefeated and ranked one and two heading into the Big Game. That is the ideal set up, and result. The Buckeyes not only won the game, but in doing so denied “That State Up North” the Big Ten Championship and a shot at the national title. A textbook three-in-one victory.
Last year’s loss to the Buckeyes stung so much, Michigan stars Mike Hart, Chad Henne and Jake Long all turned down certain millions in the NFL to instead play one more year in college. Three goals guided this decision: 1) beat Ohio State (something they have yet to do in their college careers), 2) win the Big Ten, and 3) win a national championship. Well, starting 0-2 on the season with a loss to a Division 1-AA team pretty much put a damper on goal three. But goals one and two are still very much alive. If Michigan were to lose between now and the Big Game, then only goal one would remain. And it would mean more to Hart, Henne, Long and crew than ever.
Recall that, immediately following last year’s game, a hurt and confused Mike Hart, with all the maturity of a third grader who had just lost a dodge ball game at recess, stated, “If we played again it would be a whole different story,” or words to similar effect. This doesn’t say much for his sportsmanship, but it speaks volumes about how bad they want to beat the Bucks. And if a victory over the Buckeyes were the only way to salvage their season, and prove that Hart, Henne and Long weren’t complete idiots for passing up millions by foregoing last year’s draft…well, that’s a rabid Wolverine if I’ve ever seen one.
This alone should provide a compelling reason to root for “that state up north” during the regular season, even though I know how tempting it is to wish pain and humiliation on our archrival. But like a junkie satisfying his base urge with a short-term fix, such behavior might not be in the best interest of the overall organism.
Still not convinced? Tune in to the next posting for reason number two.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the Appalachian State loss as much as every one else. And to be fair, my cheers are never vocal (Woody forbid!) or even very conscious. It’s more like an underlying feeling that continually, if subconsciously, suggests: victory for Michigan is good for Ohio State.
Now, before you fly off the handle and holler, “Hey man, that’s crazy talk,” I can offer two reasons for such apparent madness.
First is the old adage which so defines the rivalry, and which I cited in the last posting: namely, “the team that has the most to lose usually does.” The last thing a Buckeye team wants to face—especially a #1 ranked Buckeye team—is a desperate Wolverine team. One with absolutely nothing to lose. A rabid Wolverine, one might say, looking to claim one last victim before the season ends and somebody shoots it in the head.
Instead, we want Michigan to have as much at stake as possible, nearly as much as the Bucks in an ideal world. Consider the 2006 season, when both teams were undefeated and ranked one and two heading into the Big Game. That is the ideal set up, and result. The Buckeyes not only won the game, but in doing so denied “That State Up North” the Big Ten Championship and a shot at the national title. A textbook three-in-one victory.
Last year’s loss to the Buckeyes stung so much, Michigan stars Mike Hart, Chad Henne and Jake Long all turned down certain millions in the NFL to instead play one more year in college. Three goals guided this decision: 1) beat Ohio State (something they have yet to do in their college careers), 2) win the Big Ten, and 3) win a national championship. Well, starting 0-2 on the season with a loss to a Division 1-AA team pretty much put a damper on goal three. But goals one and two are still very much alive. If Michigan were to lose between now and the Big Game, then only goal one would remain. And it would mean more to Hart, Henne, Long and crew than ever.
Recall that, immediately following last year’s game, a hurt and confused Mike Hart, with all the maturity of a third grader who had just lost a dodge ball game at recess, stated, “If we played again it would be a whole different story,” or words to similar effect. This doesn’t say much for his sportsmanship, but it speaks volumes about how bad they want to beat the Bucks. And if a victory over the Buckeyes were the only way to salvage their season, and prove that Hart, Henne and Long weren’t complete idiots for passing up millions by foregoing last year’s draft…well, that’s a rabid Wolverine if I’ve ever seen one.
This alone should provide a compelling reason to root for “that state up north” during the regular season, even though I know how tempting it is to wish pain and humiliation on our archrival. But like a junkie satisfying his base urge with a short-term fix, such behavior might not be in the best interest of the overall organism.
Still not convinced? Tune in to the next posting for reason number two.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Poisonous Nuts and Overgrown Weasels: A Symbiotic Relationship
Like most Ohioans, I learned to walk, talk, and cheer for Ohio State at an early age, and not necessarily in that order. This ingrained Buckeye fanaticism came with a corollary: a natural inclination to abhor all things Michigan. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with Michigan. It’s just that they were, well, Michigan.
The rivalry was hard to ignore. In my 35 years on the planet, the Buckeyes and Wolverines have combined for 28 Big Ten titles and 35 top ten finishes in the AP rankings. And that pales in comparison to their accomplishments in the years before I sprang into existence. To say the teams have dominated the college football landscape is to barely hint at their influence on the game—and on each other. At least twelve times in the last forty years, one or both of the teams have been undefeated going into their annual November match-up. And as history has shown, the team that has the most to lose usually does. In the early 1970s, Michigan had five out of six perfect seasons ruined by a loss to Ohio State. Three times in the 1990s, Michigan returned the favor.
Having two such competitive teams in the same conference would alone be enough to constitute a world class rivalry, but it took the genius and conscious gamesmanship of legendary coaches like Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler to create what ESPN deemed the greatest rivalry in all of sports, edging out Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier for the honor.
Woody’s disdain for the Wolverines was legendary. He refused to call Michigan by name, instead referring to it as “that state up north”. When his car was low on gas during a recruiting trip to Michigan, he forbid his assistant coach, who was driving, to pull over to fill up, preferring instead to coast into Ohio on fumes rather than give one cent of revenue to a Michigan gas station. By such stories are great rivalries cemented.
Naturally, the rivalry has fluctuated over the years, with Michigan sometimes dominating (the dreaded Cooper years), and Ohio State currently enjoying a decided edge under Jim Tressel, whom many consider the second coming of Woody. Just swap the eyeglasses for a sweater vest, and instead of punching opposing players, extol their merits.
But at the end of the day—or season, if you will—the outcome of the game is quite beside the point. Michigan sucks not because they beat us, or because they lose to us, but simply because they are Michigan. And naturally they feel the same way about us. In this way, we have established a wonderful relationship. We complete one another, much like Superman could not exist without Lex Luthor, or Austin Powers without Dr. Evil. (Note: Michigan shall assume the role of Luthor and Dr. Evil in above examples.)
This rivalry now looms so large, it even has the power to bring people together—bonding like immature middle school cliques over our common disdain for another group. A few of my friends and our families, who have all scattered to far flung parts of the country, get together each year to cheer the Bucks against Michigan. It’s a great excuse to see everyone, and reaffirms our faith in one another and a certain poisonous nut. So far we’ve cheered the Bucks together in New York and St. Louis, and this year will do so from my home in the Blue Ridge Mountains, 15 miles from Boone, North Carolina—a town still given to spontaneous bursts of moonshine-induced celebrations over a noteworthy football upset earlier this season. As this will be my first year hosting the gathering, I wanted to have a little pre-game entertainment for my guests. Thus, the song: That State Up North.
I’d like to think it’s written just as much for Michigan fans as Buckeye fans. Because really, guys, when I say you suck, I’m sort of saying…thank you? Consider it a term of endearment.
The rivalry was hard to ignore. In my 35 years on the planet, the Buckeyes and Wolverines have combined for 28 Big Ten titles and 35 top ten finishes in the AP rankings. And that pales in comparison to their accomplishments in the years before I sprang into existence. To say the teams have dominated the college football landscape is to barely hint at their influence on the game—and on each other. At least twelve times in the last forty years, one or both of the teams have been undefeated going into their annual November match-up. And as history has shown, the team that has the most to lose usually does. In the early 1970s, Michigan had five out of six perfect seasons ruined by a loss to Ohio State. Three times in the 1990s, Michigan returned the favor.
Having two such competitive teams in the same conference would alone be enough to constitute a world class rivalry, but it took the genius and conscious gamesmanship of legendary coaches like Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler to create what ESPN deemed the greatest rivalry in all of sports, edging out Muhammad Ali vs. Joe Frazier for the honor.
Woody’s disdain for the Wolverines was legendary. He refused to call Michigan by name, instead referring to it as “that state up north”. When his car was low on gas during a recruiting trip to Michigan, he forbid his assistant coach, who was driving, to pull over to fill up, preferring instead to coast into Ohio on fumes rather than give one cent of revenue to a Michigan gas station. By such stories are great rivalries cemented.
Naturally, the rivalry has fluctuated over the years, with Michigan sometimes dominating (the dreaded Cooper years), and Ohio State currently enjoying a decided edge under Jim Tressel, whom many consider the second coming of Woody. Just swap the eyeglasses for a sweater vest, and instead of punching opposing players, extol their merits.
But at the end of the day—or season, if you will—the outcome of the game is quite beside the point. Michigan sucks not because they beat us, or because they lose to us, but simply because they are Michigan. And naturally they feel the same way about us. In this way, we have established a wonderful relationship. We complete one another, much like Superman could not exist without Lex Luthor, or Austin Powers without Dr. Evil. (Note: Michigan shall assume the role of Luthor and Dr. Evil in above examples.)
This rivalry now looms so large, it even has the power to bring people together—bonding like immature middle school cliques over our common disdain for another group. A few of my friends and our families, who have all scattered to far flung parts of the country, get together each year to cheer the Bucks against Michigan. It’s a great excuse to see everyone, and reaffirms our faith in one another and a certain poisonous nut. So far we’ve cheered the Bucks together in New York and St. Louis, and this year will do so from my home in the Blue Ridge Mountains, 15 miles from Boone, North Carolina—a town still given to spontaneous bursts of moonshine-induced celebrations over a noteworthy football upset earlier this season. As this will be my first year hosting the gathering, I wanted to have a little pre-game entertainment for my guests. Thus, the song: That State Up North.
I’d like to think it’s written just as much for Michigan fans as Buckeye fans. Because really, guys, when I say you suck, I’m sort of saying…thank you? Consider it a term of endearment.
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