Former Michigan linebacker Jarret Irons said it best: “When great players play with certain numbers they want to give it to someone who has that type of potential.”

No one scoffs at Vincent Smith for wearing Charles Woodson’s sacred No. 2. Desmond Howard’s No. 21 is worn by another receiver, Junior Hemingway, but hell isn’t raised over it. And Desmond was kind enough to share his number with Tim Biakabutuka. History will stumble over itself like that at a place like Michigan.

Jon Falk, the Michigan equipment manager, has been around long enough to see his share of that history.

He’s just the man I’m looking for this morning. I step into his office, which is cluttered with memories. You’d figure that’d happen if you’ve been around the Michigan football team since Bo Schembechler coached.

My eyes wander, I’m looking for clues, trying to dig deeper into the mystery of one of the loneliest traditions at a school that prides itself on its past.

Why is this jersey so special? How could a singular maize digit ruin a life and complete it at the same time?

Rich Rodriguez had been nearly tarred and feathered over it.

Earlier this spring, Braylon Edwards, the last receiver to wear the No. 1, met with the new Michigan coach Brady Hoke and gave his blessing to the coach, saying it was up to Hoke to choose who was worthy of the jersey.

After he was hired, the No. 1 jersey was the first thing Hoke and Falk spoke about. It meant too much to not take precautions.

A jersey doesn’t make the player, but where would some players be without it?

Anthony Carter, Derrick Alexander, Tyrone Butterfield, David Terrell and Braylon Edwards may have built the legend, but it wasn’t without sacrifice. A little piece of each lives on with it. A price each one paid to wear it.

Anthony Carter was the origin. Without him, there’s no story to tell. Nearly a decade later, Derrick Alexander resurrected the jersey, just like he did his own career. Tyrone Butterfield realized how heavy the weight of the jersey could be. Nearly everyone thought he had disgraced it. Dave Terrell was handed the jersey, but Michigan wasn’t about to hand him the throne. And then there’s Braylon Edwards — the boy who needed time to understand what it truly meant to earn his dream.

Falk looks down at a white sheet of paper he had prepared. It lists every player who’s ever worn the jersey at Michigan.

“Well, as you know, the No. 1 jersey has a little bit of historical value here at Michigan,” Falks begins. “You can go through some of the names.”

Falk rattled off a few of them — a left tackle, a defensive back, a kicker, and a few others. None of whom I was looking for. And I knew Greg McMurtry had also worn the number, but he isn’t a main character.

“Now, and those were all great people,” Falk says, “but the No. 1 got to be a great deal when Anthony Carter got the No. 1…”

THE ORIGIN

Every day of his life, John Wangler wakes up with a sore knee. He can’t run on it anymore or play basketball. It’s bone on bone now, and he knows eventually it’ll need to be replaced. He’s lucky to have gotten as much out of it as he did.

During his last year at Michigan, more than 30 years ago, his knee was in no shape to run Bo’s option offense, but his arm was fine.

He had history to make, stories to tell his kids how he threw the ball to Anthony Carter, the painfully shy, 170-pound, chicken-legged, magical wide receiver that changed the way Bo Schembechler played football.

Bo always had a soft spot for Anthony. Maybe it was because the coach knew Anthony needed a special touch, so far away from his hometown in Florida. Maybe Bo was protective. Anthony left the team for three days, homesick, before his freshman year even started. His mother promptly made him go back. So Bo took care of him on the field, made him comfortable, even called him “Little Schemmy.” Like a father would.

The guys saw how Bo smiled when he yelled at Anthony. How he teased him. How he gave the No. 1 jersey to Anthony because he said he wanted the little guy to look bigger. And yet, deep down he knew Anthony was special.