It should only take a second to dismiss you, Wolverweenies. Light up Spartan Stadium’s scoreboard and put me on the clock for a single tick — that’s all you’re worth.
Oh, get uncomfortable. Peel off those North Face bubble jackets and have a go with me during this so-called historic rivalry weekend and let me break you down. I don’t need you distracted by your fashion sense. This isn’t a formal affair — your Seven Jeans will do, but don’t think this is your Naked Mile, either. This rivalry draws new state lines within the mitten state — you either bleed green or feel blue. It’s been that way since 1898. A 4-foot wooden statue dubbed the Paul Bunyan Trophy is bestowed upon the winner of the falling timbers matchup. Michigan Fan, you’ve had the best of State Fan, 29-19-2, since the introduction of this trophy in 1953 — and you’ve owned the series 62-28-5 in our 95 contests.
But ownership of this state has been changing sport by sport. Your banners fall in Crisler Arena as ours rise in the Breslin Center. And tomorrow, you come into Spartan Country with twice as many losses.
Michigan Fan, you’re an unfortunate soul. You never attended the University, but you persevere by painting your cheeks every autumn Saturday and rolling your rusted chariot out of Downriver and 8 Mile down I-96 and M-14 to Ann Arbor, hoping a lifetime dedication to a school you never could afford and never had the grades for will accept you like one of its own a half dozen times a year or so.
You blend in with your maize-and-blue camouflage with all the other trailer parkers who could keep their blood-alcohol level under .08 for the ride over. You celebrate in the preseason like the paper champions you are, thinking this will be the year when you run the table and put Ohio State in its place.
But it never is … not since your beloved Bo.
But if it weren’t for you, the Big House would sound like the Ghost House. You’re the best fan the University has and practically the entire denomination of Wolverine nation. You’re the ones who punch in Monday through Friday generating business so the Ed Martin types can afford your athletes. Maybe if you wouldn’t have wasted so much on the Forgettable Five, you wouldn’t have quarterback John Navarre under center. And does Marlin Jackson still play for your team?
Michigan students don’t deserve you, and they don’t notice you unless you sport a Sorostitute-Utilized Vehicle — that of the BMW class. Maybe a X5 3.0i or a X5 4.6i.
Oh, hello, Michigan student. I was just writing about you. I’m honored you put down your “Cliffs Notes” on Emily Brontë’s “Wuthering Heights,” and picked up this protested paper — don’t let these 18,000 rags go to waste. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to impress a prefrosh later tonight. Heathcliff dies in the end. Besides, acknowledge her kate spade bag, and you’ll roll with more than digits.
Consider this a public service announcement: Ahem. For those of you who can make it over to Main Street to Espresso Royale for a little dark grounds to wake up Saturday morning, there’s a football game at noon: your school versus mine.
Now, I realize most of you don’t understand your university has a football team until the Ohio State game or you don’t comprehend why the football has to be made from animal and not a polyurethane because it’s noted for its ability to withstand repeated impact under pressure.
But maybe even you can show a little school pride before you graduate. School spirit is more than hanging your sheepskin on the wall or your sorority letters on the back of your Beamer.
Michigan student, the first time I conversed with one of you on the Ann Arbor campus, you had the aspirations of playing bongos on a Californian beach after graduation. Let’s just say I could hear the ocean crashing between your ears. I thought maybe this was an exception until I saw your faculty walking toward the drum circle by your Diag to celebrate Hash Bash. The leaf doesn’t fall far from the plant, apparently.
Hopefully when the smoke clears on Saturday, our team will be standing, and your fans eventually will be legal to drive home.
Oh, your Diag looks like a glorified manhole cover.
Second’s up. Time to celebrate.
Kevin Hardy is the State News editor in chief. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. He doesn’t really care what you think, just like he didn’t care when you sat next to him in high school, talking about how your boyfriend didn’t get you a Tiffany’s bracelet.