"Coach Mattison told me what the Ravens were about, what he thought," Beyer said. "He definitely encouraged me. I hold his opinion in high regard."
40 years ago was the 1969 game.
Woody was owning the rivalry until 1969, then Bo got hired. Which began the 10 year war.
Recently, Tressel has been owning the rivalry. In 2008, Rich Rodriguez gets hired for the job.
When was the last time OSU blew Michigan out?(besides 2008). It was in 1968.
Exactly 40 years later we get blown out again, 2008. RR was the coach, but we had a horrible year with lots of youngsters.
Also, 40 years ago when we hired Bo, he was the last coach outside being a "Michigan man". RR wasn't a "Michigan man", when he got hired.
Not only is this a coincidence. Guess who the last Michigan coach from West Virgina is? Fieling Yost. RR has a little bit of yost and Bo in him.
All I'm sayin is, we got another war coming for us. While adding a Michigan Dynasty.
Berets and Rednecks
Or, Hey, this is actually like a diary entry
The 1984 Sugar Bowl was one heck of a game and a bitter-sweet memory for me. My sister lived in New Orleans at the time, so I decided to make the journey. Almost everything worked out perfect. As I was flying down, sis was flying up. I had her apartment to myself and was met at the airport by one her friends—I’ll call her “Betty”. Well, Betty was one heck of a hostess. She took me to that famous New Orleans restaurant (a scene from “Pretty Girl” was shot there) where she worked part time and we ordered (literally) everything on the menu. All it cost us was the tip.
Attended the pep rally held at one of the ballrooms in the motel where the team was staying. Governor Blanchard was there and made a complete fool of himself when he admitted he went to Ohio State and his wife attended MSU. Everybody barraged him with chants of Recall Blanchard and Boo. (What a jerk. I actually sat in the row next to him on the plane ride home. He’s shorter than Mickey Rooney). Even cooler was the fact that I decided to hang out in the back of the room, and that is where all the players started showing up.
The night of the game we dined at Antoine’s before heading over to the Superdome. It was great. Auburn fans, at least back then, were great people. They would break out with chants and “War Eagle” and the Michigan fans would respond with “Hail to the Victors”. No one got vicious or too obnoxious. Walked to the Superdome after that with my little crew of hometown fans talking trash every step. Remember, you can walk down the street dranking in New Orleans for free. Watch out for the cops on horses though. Them horses can’t exactly stop on a dime.
And then there was the game. What a game it was. Talk about hitting! After the game Bo Jackson was quoted as saying—and I am paraphrasing her—that when the Auburn team looked over at the Wolverines before the game they couldn’t believe how small they were. They were sure they were going to whoop up on them big time. But after the game, Bo said he felt like he had just been in a heavy weight championship fight. Auburn knew they had escaped with a victory. Watch the game on the Classics channel if you can. That is truly vintage Bo Defense. It surely wasn’t one of Bo’s best teams, but that D was a monster that night. Bo Jackson was running for all he was worth that night, and was getting pounded for every yard. Regardless of the outcome, it was great to be a Michigan Wolverine in New Orleans New Year’s Eve 1984.
My seat was somewhere near the 10 yard line. In front of me were a couple of good old boys in flannel shirts, chewing Skoal, chain smoking and sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels. But, they were cool and well behaved and acting like good Auburn fans. In front of them was this old guy wearing beret and who was a member of the UM Alumni band. He was with his wife and both were resolute Wolverines.
After half time the announcer asked everyone to refrain from smoking. The accumulated smoke, which was thick as morning fog, was bothering the players on the field. Well, the two rednecks ignored the request, which apparently irked Mr. Beret who turned around and started chastising them. At first they just laughed the old guy off, but then Mr. Beret got stupid and reached over and slapped the cigarette out of one of the redneck’s hand. The rednecks were so stunned that they just couldn’t figure out what to do. Apparently, they had never had such an experience before. Thankfully, Beret’s wife reacted quickly and got control of her out of control husband. The rednecks said something like, “Sit your ass down, Old Man!”, and sat down. Beret guy pouted some, and then it was over. Saved by grandma.
Hooked up with some elated Auburn fans who bought me all the Black Russians I could drink and joined my little crew of Wolverine fans at Tippatina’s (when Tippatina’s was Tippatina’s) for the rest of the night.
At the airport, waiting to board the plane, I spotted Jerry Cooney trying to hustle some long-legged blonde at a bar. I cocked blocked the crap out of him begging him for an autograph—which he reluctantly gave me. He was a dang bum anyhow.
Hey, it’s the offseason. I’m posted up some junk.
I'm doing a research project, and the official MGoBlue page isn't helping me very much.
Is there anywhere I can get historical schedules/results for every Michigan hockey team ever (or at least since 1922)?
It was 1969, a year Iggy Pop would immortalize in song. A year in which many a body bag got filled in ‘Nam. Some guy called “Bo” came up from Ohio to replace some guy named “Bump”. The whole freaking world was changing at a rate hard to measure without an electron stopwatch. Hippies were promoting free love and revolution and drugs. The White Panthers and the Rainbow People’s Party had houses on Hill Street. Black people were demanding to be treated like actual human beings; not asking, demanding. Walter Cronkite was still cool, but so was Joe Namath.
Me and Allan, my best bud, walked from Melrose Street to the stadium. No tickets. Didn’t have a nickel between us, but we were going to the Game. Our friends would be there, like always, in the south end zone about sixty or seventy rows up.
With our best pathetic faces, we stood at the corner of Stadium and Main begging for tickets--for all of about twenty seconds. Some drunk rich guy staggers up to us. “Here ya go, boys!”, he says. “Have a good time!” Allan looks over the tickets. 45 yard line, fifty rows up, west side. WTF! Ten minutes later we’d sold them for ten bucks apiece, had climbed under the fence by Crisler Arena and after a quick stop at the hot dog stand, were on our way to our rightful spots amongst the Tappan Junior High congregation. Life was good.
Some idiot, I don’t remember who, was handing out free apples. Jim Lampley, then a budding cub reporter, was standing on a riser in the southwest corner of the playing field doing some advance work for the TV. Well, he was making an attempt. Suddenly a hail of apples descended upon him like cluster bombs out of a Tomahawk Missile. I must admit that I did in fact aim for his head, but was pleased with the chest shot that connected—along with several other young apple snipers. Jim Lampley relocated. We laughed and taunted.
Back then they had no end zone nets. They had the hated Yellow Jackets—the guys responsible for retrieving footballs out of the crowd after extra points and field goals. We hated them. They hated us. We both knew the battles this day would be fierce. Our resolve was strong that day at the start, but after the Wolverines started chewing up some Buckeye ass—well, we would have stomped little old ladies into the ground to secure that pigskin manna falling to us from the heavens. And yes, we liberated more than one trophy that day.
Few people around today are witness to the thundering roar heard for miles that used to crack the atmosphere Saturday afternoons—that is, the stomping of feet on the steel bowl girding the concrete pit of Michigan Stadium. It sounded like a nuclear bomb attempting to extinguish an F5 Tornado hovering over a burning fireworks factory. Opposing teams used to experience anal pucker level 10 the first time they were beseeched by this auditory and vibratory assault. Wolverines used to jack up like crack heads air lifted into Peru. (Key Play? We would have kilt you and ate your young!) I’m telling you, the Wolverine Army could have taken Moscow that day and still had enough left to bum rush Peking.
As the human wave crashed the field after the boom of the final gun, and assaulted the goal posts at the north end, it was evident all intelligence had evaporated in a radioactive cloud of fanatic lust that remains lurking even today. We brought down the goal posts. Toppling over the shared gravitational pull of the goal post brought with it every fan whose muscle, sinew and brainwaves had propelled them into history. A mere two feet from my face, as I was crashed to the turf by the tidal wave of screaming fans, the corner of the goal post dug a good 9 inches deep. It was truly a miracle no one was kilt.
As Allan and I watched the frat boys carry those goal posts out of the stadium that day the sun was slipping behind some clouds and a grayness befell the Earth as if to say, you will never again witness such a contest. Be grateful. Though I had been to many Michigan games before then, that day, I felt truly baptized. I knew then, the Wolverines—win, lose or draw—would be my team forever.
Listening to a Heisman ceremony hype bit on TV...
"Which one of these players shall transcend greatness?"
"The heroes of old will welcome another member into their elite club."
"Will Tim Tebow make history and become the 2nd player ever to win the Heisman?"
Wow. The first two I find in poor taste, but the third statement is just a joke. How is doing something that's already been done "making history"? At least, how is it making history any more than any subsequent incident of the same thing? 2nd, 3rd ... 100th. They all get in the history books just the same, as not-the-firsts. No record would be broken. Sheesh.
Thank man for booze. It makes me numb to the disgracefulness. These awards and things used to mean something, I think.
A Michigan football historical parallel I found interesting:
Fielding H. Yost died in 1946. The 1947 Michigan team won a New Year's Day bowl. After 1947, Fritz Crisler handed the reigns to 42-year-old Benny Oosterbaan, who Crisler described as "the best offensive mind in college football." Oosterbaan proceeded to thumb his nose at Michigan tradition by retiring Ron Kramer's #87 while he was still on the team. While Crisler had never had a season worse than 7-3 or finished worse than tied for 4th in the Big Ten, Oosterbaan had two losing seasons in his 11 years at the helm, as well as 6th and 8th place finishes to cap his tenure before handing off to Bump Elliott.
Glenn E. Schembechler died in 2006. The 2007 Michigan team won a New Year's Day bowl. After 2007, Lloyd Carr handed the reigns to 44-year-old Rich Rodriguez, who many described as "the best offensive mind in college football." Rodriguez proceeded to thumb his nose at Michigan tradition by ending the tradition of having season-long captains. While Carr had never had a season worse than 7-5 or finished worse than tied for 5th in the Big Ten, Rodriguez set the Michigan record for losses in his first season and then ...
Obviously the comparison is ridiculous (Oosterbaan did win a national title and 3 Big Ten titles; Crisler was the outside hire and Oosterbaan was a Michigan guy, whereas Lloyd was inside and RichRod was not), but here's hoping we're not heading for the 1950s and 1960s of Michigan Football (which included a span of 17 years with one Big Ten title from 1952-1968). I guess the bright side is that even if we are, history would indicate that this won't last forever, and that the next Bo is coming around...in 2028 or so?
First "Game" vs. Buckeyes:
Fielding H. Yost, 1901: W, 21-0
George Little, 1924: W, 16-6
Tad Wieman, 1927: W, 21-0
Harry Kipke, 1929: L, 0-7
Fritz Crisler, 1938: W, 18-0
Bennie Oosterbaan, 1948: W, 13-3
Bump Elliott, 1959: W, 23-14
Bo Schembechler, 1969: W, 24-12
Gary Moeller, 1990: W, 16-13
Lloyd Carr, 1995: W, 31-23
Rich Rodriguez, 2008: ________
Go Blue, Beat OSU!