I was brainwashed to be a Michigan fan.
That’s what my dad likes to say. He went to Indiana, but with our family living in Ann Arbor, his chances of raising me to be a Hoosier were somewhere between slim and none. The combined forces of my hometown and my mother’s U-M degree basically sealed my rooting interest in the Wolverines from the day I was born in the University of Michigan Hospital.
So yes, I was indoctrinated into the maize and blue. Brainwashed, if you will.
Both of my parents love college sports, and I watched countless games with them as a kid. On Saturdays in the fall, if I wasn’t watching Michigan football with my mom, I was watching Indiana football with my dad. During basketball season, I’d watch the Hoosiers nearly as often as I’d tune in to see the Wolverines.
But there was a clear hierarchy in my collegiate fandom. I owned a couple articles of clothing in cream and crimson, but far more gear in maize and blue. I knew all the words to “The Victors,” but never bothered to learn “Indiana, Our Indiana.” I cheered fervently for Michigan, but watched Indiana games with more detachment. And whenever the Hoosiers played the Wolverines, I pulled for Michigan without fail.
My dad was always outnumbered in our house during those games, him wearing red, my mom and I dressed in blue. But other than the occasional joke about my brainwashing, my father never complained that I had chosen my mother’s school over his. He understood that I was quite literally born to be a Wolverine, and supported me wholeheartedly as I worked to make that dream a reality.
I applied to Indiana during my senior year of high school. It had everything I was looking for in a college: good academics, a lovely campus, Big Ten athletics. My dad and I were very pleased when I got in. But I think both of us knew my heart was set on Michigan, and had been for a while. And so I chose the Wolverines over the Hoosiers all over again.
Once I got to Michigan, though, something interesting happened.
I became a bigger Indiana fan.
I still cheer for the Wolverines as passionately as I did before, and the hierarchy of my youth is still firmly entrenched in my heart, but I now root for the Hoosiers with nearly equal intensity. On a chilly January night during my freshman year, I sat in my dorm room, glued to my laptop, as unranked Indiana battled No. 4 Purdue in men’s basketball. It was a thrilling game, and I practically jumped out of my chair in excitement when the Hoosiers hit a late 3-pointer to seal their first victory over the Boilermakers in five years. Last fall, my housemates and I were about to head out, but I held them up because the NCAA men’s soccer national championship between Indiana and Syracuse went to penalty kicks. I don’t remember where we needed to go, but I do remember watching the PKs. I’ve enjoyed following the Hoosier women’s basketball team as it’s become a Big Ten power over the last few seasons, and I gushed to my dad about how impressive they looked after I saw their victory over the Wolverines in February.
One of my favorite things about sports is how they connect people, and every time I watch Indiana, I feel a bond with my dad. More often than not, we’ll text after games, sharing our observations and thoughts. Occasionally, if a game is important enough, we’ll talk about it beforehand. When No. 3 Purdue came to Ann Arbor this January to face Michigan in men’s basketball, my dad texted me a numbered list of four reasons to bring “extra juju” for the game, pointing out how a Wolverine victory would help both Michigan and the Hoosiers in the Big Ten standings. He concluded the message with this:
“We can debate the sequential prioritization at a later date as long as we’re aligned on the objective.”
We certainly were in alignment. The Wolverines lost a close game that night, but not for lack of effort, on their part or mine. As I’ve done for every Michigan-Purdue basketball game I’ve attended, I brought an Indiana t-shirt to wear under my maize pullover, in homage to one of my favorite stories of my dad.
Years ago, he went to a Michigan men’s basketball game against Purdue at the Crisler Center. A group of Boilermaker fans had made the trip north, and they filled up a section in the upper bowl. My dad, wearing a conspicuously crimson quarter-zip with “INDIANA” boldly written across the chest in white block lettering, decided to walk directly in front of their section in order to get to the bathroom.
When the Purdue fans noticed him gallivanting toward them like a matador flaunting a deep red sheet before a raging bull, they voiced their displeasure by loudly booing as he walked past.
My dad eventually returned to his seat, much to the amusement and appreciation of the Michigan fans around him. He still can’t tell that story without chuckling, and it’s why I responded to his “extra juju” text with this:
“The tradition of Kracht men antagonizing Purdue fans in Crisler WILL continue.”
I’ll never love the Hoosiers as much as I love the Wolverines. But I love my father more than either of them.
So here I am, waxing poetic about Indiana in a Michigan publication. I don’t know how he’ll react to this article, since I didn’t tell him I was writing it, but I think he’ll get a kick out of that.
Not bad for a brainwashed kid.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Go Hoosiers.
Statement Contributor Garrett Kracht can be reached at gkracht@umich.edu