Learning To Be A Fan Again

Sometimes a moment seems so perfectly stacked against you that you can't help but laugh just to drive off the tears.

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.

--

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.

--

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.  

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.

--

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.

In defense of the trade(salary dump) of the season

A quick side note in the interest of full disclosure.  I am writing this without investing significant time in watching the first round series between the Pistons and the Cavs, I've caught a few minutes of the games here and there, but not a whole game.  Fortunately, I don't have have to watch the action firsthand to understand that this series rings out across the NBA as the first step of LeBron James towards his place at the top of the NBA.  We will doubtlessly see him win his first MVP trophy next round, and smart money has him collecting a couple more important trophies before the playoffs are over.

This isn't about LeBron dismantling this version of the Pistons.

This is about LeBron doing the same for the next 10 years, and how to stop it.

Grumblings abound across Detroit these days as Chauncey Billups leads the Nuggets toward the second round while Allen Iverson has been hidden away like nuclear waste after what many called a failed experiment.  Iverson was supposed to shake things up, give us the crunch time scorer that we always missed in the playoffs--the guy who can put the team on his back when it is necessary.  Now that back is hurt and 'stones fans everywhere long for Chauncey.

My defense of the decision of this controversial trade lies not in its affect on this season, but on the need to do something for the future of this team.  I dont claim to have a wholly new viewpoint on the matter, the salary dump angle has been worn out like an old shoe.  Yet this series tells us all we needed to know about why the trade makes the Pistons better in the long run.

Chauncey or not, the Pistons were never going to beat the Cavs in the playoffs this year, or next year, or the year after that with this roster.  LeBron is about to enter his prime years, and will be in the front of the pack every year until he hangs up his sneakers.  This means that the Pistons will be fighting for a conference title against a player who could redefine greatness in the NBA, the most complete package of physical prowess, competitive instinct, and basketball sense that we have seen since Jordan retired (in '98, not quite Jordan circa the Wizards).

Chauncey this year doesn't solve that, nor for that matter does Iverson, but the outlook for the next ten years is better. The Pistons have a good mix of young talent and role players who could develop into a championship caliber supporting cast.  What they need now is someone to lead the show.  The fact that Iverson's contract comes off the books this summer makes this an easier task.

Like I said before, this isn't a big revelation.  However, in light of what we know about the future of LeBron's NBA tenure, rebuilding the Pistons to compete for the next few years is much more important than saving face this year and perhaps losing another conference final.  If Detroit wants the same level of basketball success that it has enjoyed over the past 7 years it will have to deal with some hard times.

Coaches and GM's are often derided for the moves that they make, but the alternative--not making any moves--can be even more damaging.  Trading Chauncey, and essentially the season, for Iverson and financial flexibility may be a bitter pill to swallow now, but its going to take a lot of preparation to build a team that can compete with the LeBron juggernaut for the next few years.  Things may not work out in the long run, but at least the Pistons know that something needs to be done, and aren't afraid to do what is necessary.

Destiny

If you are a mid-Michigan resident and have any inclination to follow sports than you were probably witness to the "Michigan State Spartans as Heroes to inspire Michigan's working class" theme that nearly every media outlet picked up on as soon as the final whistle blew Saturday evening and the Spartans claimed their place in the national championship game.

This was not a team that many expected to make it to the final game. They outlasted a scrappy USC squad that dripped with psuedo-cinderalla potential. There was a scare against last years champs, a very strong Kansas team. Followed by the upset of the team, Louisville, that most thought would be cutting down the nets in early April. This improbable road to the final 4 even went so far as to diminish the underdog status that MSU still held on to as it faced #1 seeded Uconn. Again, the team played strong and the media was aghast at yet another victory for sparty.

Believe me, I dont fault the news stations for picking up on the significance of a team from an economically collapsing state playing for the national championship in the fading remains of the car capitol of the world. The team even embodies the characteristics which the blue-collar residents of our great state like to see in themselves. No flash, all fundementals. This is a team that plays tough defense, fights for every rebound and loose ball, and grinds down opponents with physical play and mental toughness. If ever there was a team for this state to identify with, this would be it.

All this adds up to a perfect mixture of feel-good story and fate.

Michigan does need something to feel good about, but a National Championship would be akin to reattaching an arm with a few band-aids; simply a distraction from a bigger problem. I do not begrudge the Spartans anything in their run to the title game. Even though I hold an allegiance to the other university in Michigan I still found a lot to like about this team. They played well as a group, were led by some tough and talented players, and supported by a capable slew of role players and spark-plugs off the bench.

Perhaps this post should have been titled "Hype" (as I had originally planned). All the talk of destiny and all the adulation thrown at this team made a hard task that much harder. It already seemed like they would need a miricle to beat the team that had previously run them off the very same court in December. Pile on the weight of an entire state's worries and you have a recipie for disaster.

That seemed to be just what we witnessed last night. UNC played weightless, effortless, and focused on the task at hand. Their scorching offense looked unstoppable and their shots seemed to fall from any angle or distance. They forced miscues on defense and converted them into points at a blazing pace. Any talk of destiny had died 5 minutes into the game when UNC had pushed its lead past double digits. Unfortunately for MSU, the game was long from over.

The Spartans never looked comfortable. Shots that were normally automatic would fall short, a defense that was usually tenacious looked to be backed up on its heels, and even with three-quarters of Ford Field decked out in Spartan green the energy and momentum clearly donned baby blue from the opening tip.

Destiny is an oft used word in sports. Teams overcome great odds to win championships and our only explanation is destiny. Athletes conquer personal tragedy to accomplish great things against all odds and we write it off as fate. Whether destiny plays any role in sports or life doesnt seem to be important in the end. Many teams or players brave insurmountable odds and fail. Is that their destiny? If there is a feel good story to be found you can bet someone at ESPN will dig it up, no matter what team is playing.

The important thing is not to let destiny interfere with your pursuit of a goal. To believe you are owed a reward is to grow complacent, and complacency doesnt win championships. This years national championship game provides a good lesson to all the future "teams of destiny" out there. Dont believe too strongly in your own destiny, or you may realize that your destiny is different from what you expected.

Ode to the Lions Fan

If you are a sports fan, chances are that there was one team from your childhood that really got you started on your lifelong journey of fandom. It is that team that oftentimes colors your perception of sports for the rest of your life. If you spent your formative years watching your favorite team constantly compete for titles, like the Cowboys or Lakers, you will always expect your team to compete. If, like many generations of Red Sox and Cubs fans, your team suffers from a long title drought and a mysterious curse, you are likely to be pessimistic in nature, always waiting for the worst to happen.

Then there is the special breed of fan, which I can say whole-heartedly that I am: The Detroit Lions fan.

Before you pour out your condolences at my misfortune of living anywhere near a Lions TV broadcast in my youth, you need to remember back to the 90's and get past the utter disgrace that the Millen era Lions have been.

The 90's were a time of great hope and the continual failure to build a winner. This was a team that was usually competitive enough to fight for a playoff spot, but not competitive enough to ever do anything with it when they got there. It seemed like the team was in a rut for my entire childhood, each year squandering the talents of the electric Barry Sanders (who deserves his own post, and might eventually get one, for the impact he had on my childhood) with a .500 season or first round playoff exit.

My first real memories of the Lions didn't start until I was 8 or 9, which would place them past the NFC championship run of the 91-92 season. Every Sunday afternoon was devoted to the Lions games, consumed either on TV or the radio. And through the years as the failures built up, I learned how to be a sports critic. Never happy with the failure of the franchise to surround Sanders with the players that would help him reach a championship. Optimistic Augusts gave way to a creeping sensation that the team would come up short once again, which it always did. I hoped for the best but expected the worst, and I resigned myself that my favorite team might flounder in mediocrity forever.

Fast forward to 2009. The Lions have just emerged from what might be the single worst era endured by a professional sports team. Draft picks squandered on too many WR's (4 in 7 years) and too many busts (Charles Rodgers and Mike Williams), an abysmal record or 31-81, and the utter abortion that was the 2008 season.

This should be a time of hope for Lions fans. We finally have new management, albeit 4 years too late, and an elite wide receiver who may be capable of carrying the offense. To top it all off we even have the first pick in the draft.

Maybe its all those years as a Lions fan that have jaded me, but I'm not convinced. Some management from the old regime actually got promotions, and we still don't have anyone worth a damn to throw the ball to Calvin Johnson.

The first pick in the draft should ideally fix that last problem. But, this is still the Lions we are talking about. Management failed to turn the pick into a proven QB, Jay Cutler, because of the egregious contract that is guaranteed to a #1 pick by the NFL's CBA. Furthermore the Lion's history of taking QB's in the first round picks isn't exactly inspiring. Think Andre Ware and Joey "don't call me Joe" Harrington. Add this to Mel Kiper's claim that Matt Stafford is a can't miss prospect, as well as Football Outsiders troubling point that Stafford's collegiate completion percentage and number of games started are strikingly similar to some legendary early round picks such as Shaun King, J.P. Losman, and Jake Plummer, and you can see why I'm not exactly optimistic.

Time will tell how the Lion's franchise will recover from the Millen era, but one thing is for sure, I won't be surprised if things stay the same. I will still give in to the hype that builds around training camp as coaches and players speak of a new attitude, a renewed commitment to blue collar football, or growing excitement in the locker room. But, come the end of the season, I will most likely be feeling the same ache of hopelessness that I get yearly. I want my team to win, but it'll take sustained success to rid Lions fans everywhere of their defeatist attitudes.

Don't blame me, blame the team I grew up watching.