It was the first week of the 07 season, and Ann Arbor once again buzzed as students arrived and kickoff grew closer. Michigan was entering the season ranked 5th in the nation, and was poised to make a monstrous run through the Big Ten. A team that was one win away from a trip to the national championship game was returning its top 4 offensive players, and a large part of its highly touted defense from the previous season. This was our year. It was to be the icing on my final semester, the semester that I stayed around for in part for another season ticket package. The last national championship happened when I was in 7th grade, I could remember only bits and pieces of it, but, oh baby, 2007 was going to change all of that. We were finally going to put it all together again.
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September 1st. Halftime. ASU 28, UM 17. I stomp through the parking lot fuming. I know this team has struggled against mobile QBs, but this is ridiculous. We are being picked apart by a team we specifically scheduled to be a sure thing. They are a Div. I-AA school for crying out loud.
I march steadily to my car. I can't even go home I'm so upset. This is the first game I have ever left early that hasn't been long decided and well into the 4th quarter. Its not the players, the score, or even a belief we were going to lose that bothered me. It was everyone else. I have a hard time watching Michigan games around other people. I want to yell. I want to critique coaching decisions. Most of all, I don't want to hear what anyone else has to say. Especially some of the things I heard from the people around me in the student section. There was the drunk sorority girl standing behind me who's utter lack of football knowledge (especially her understanding of the pass interference penalty, which contrary to the vile expletive-laced suggestions she yelled to the officials, does not need to be called every time we throw an incomplete pass. Its football for chrissake) didn't stop her from boo-ing every call that went against the Wolverines. Then there were the two guys seated a couple rows ahead of me who were convinced that Chad Henne did not actually posses the skill to run our offense, and thus needed to be killed or beaten severely, and threatened to do so at several junctures in the first half.
I was certainly not giving our team glowing reviews for their play in the first half, but I seemed to be the only one capable of maintaining my sanity in the vicinity. People were shocked, pissed, depressed, and confused all at the same time. I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to take in the rest of the game in peace.
As I reached my car I could still hear noise from the stadium in the distance. I had parked back in an adjacent neighborhood so my driveway off of State St. could be rented out for parking. The whole walk would have been wonderful had it not been for the scene that I had just left, the trees were swaying softly in the warm breeze and the sun was shining past the occasional wisp of cumulus cloud. I started to drive and found the game on a crackling AM feed.
Let me make this clear. At no point during all of this did I think it was a possibility that we were going to lose this game. Not as ASU went up two TDs, not as I walked through the packed parking lot past the few stunned tailgaters who remained outside for the game, and not as I drove around. We would come back. David doesn't beat Goliath in real life. I mean, they were a Div. I-AA school for chrissake.
I drove for a while, I stopped at a friends house to watch the end of the 3rd quarter, and I returned home to listen to the rest of the game in my empty apartment. My lease was up and my landlord was letting me stay a couple days extra til I found a new place. All I had in the apartment was a laundry basket full of clothes, an air mattress, and an clock radio. I dialed up the game and sat with the doors and windows wide open. My house was a stones throw from the stadium, just across the street from the practice facility. I could hear the PA announcer over the roar of the crowd as it poured in through the front window. I just sat and listened.
Things were better. UofM had pushed back to within five points in the 3rd quarter, and had held them to only a field goal in the second half. It was all playing out like it was supposed to, inch back in with defensive pressure and better production on offense, the tide turns, and the cupcake team always shrinks under the pressure of the Big House.
That's when we score.
Game over. Thanks for coming.
We did it, we took the lead and now after a quick stop and turnover we get the ball back and everyone forgets about how close the season came to disaster in a couple weeks. I had kept an unwavering confidence in the team's ability to win up to this point. But then something funny happened to shake that confidence. ASU didn't die.
As the drive unfolded I became more and more concerned. This was all to familiar, too much like 2005 vs. Ohio State. The defense played too far off and gave up too many yards underneath. The prevent defense was too soft and ASU exploited it. As their field goal sailed through the uprights it finally occurred to me. We could lose.
Henne's 46 yard pass to Manningham briefly restored my faith. We still had some life, but it was going to take a big kick in crunch time. Something didn't quite feel right. We had a new kicker who was making what would probably be one of the most important kicks of his life. The whole thing just felt scripted. Huge underdog wins after botched FG. It felt too much like the end of a Disney movie.
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Fast-foward to the fall of 2008.
Its easy to get caught up in the pursuit of championships, perfect seasons, and Big Ten titles. These become the goals of we the fans. We want greatness and we want to beat our rivals for bragging rights at school or work, we want to win National Championships, and we are ultimately disappointed when these things don't happen.
Its easy to get caught up in the pursuit of championships, perfect seasons, and Big Ten titles. These become the goals of we the fans. We want greatness and we want to beat our rivals for bragging rights at school or work, we want to win National Championships, and we are ultimately disappointed when these things don't happen.
Last season was very hard to stomach. Losses piled up and soon we were just fighting to finish .500. But something happened after a few games, when it became completely obvious that this team was woefully young and unprepared to play against some talented Big Ten teams. I started watching each game differently. I was appreciating the little things more and more. A big run gain on first down or a third down conversion became reasons to celebrate. I looked for improvement in individual players. I cheered extra hard when Stevie Brown executed a technically sound tackle. I looked for the way Threet or Sheridan responded after a turnover. I got pumped up when the defense came out after a short rest because of a turnover and played their asses off to get the stop on a short field. My focus on the season shifted. I was excited by the little joys of football again, the ones that can get overlooked when you focus too much on the nearly unattainable goal of a national championship. I got past the disappointment of not winning every time. I was a kid again. I just cheered my team on in the present with no regard for the standings, bowl committee, or BCS.
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Laying there in my empty apartment, staring up at the ceiling from my air mattress, I was inconsolable. The worst had happened. We were a laughingstock, no one ranked 5th in the nation loses to a D I-AA team. The calls and text messages came in slowly, sympathy from Michigan fans, laughter and joy from Michigan haters. I called one of my closest friends, but had trouble finding words to describe what happened, a game that was all but a sure thing had turned into a nightmare. My father, who hadn't been able to watch the game because it was on cable, asked me how I felt. I told him that I felt like the cards were stacked against us from the beginning. The perfect storm had happened: we came out cocky but played unfocused. They gave us a couple quick shots to the head and knocked us down. By the time we realized it was going to be a fight, we were too far down and feeling too mortal.
"It almost feels like destiny was working against us the whole time," I said to my dad. I couldn't help but chuckle a little as I said it.
