UNLV Links: Preview, The Podcast, FFFF Offense (chart), FFFF Defense (chart). If you're in or around Ann Arbor, the Tailgate is at Venue starting at 12:30.

Something's been missing from Michigan gamedays since the free programs ceased being economically viable: scientific gameday predictions that are not at all preordained by the strictures of a column in which one writer takes a positive tack and the other a negative one… something like Punt-Counterpunt.

PUNT

By Bryan MacKenzie
@Bry_Mac

“It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Okay, but what if it’s both?

Eliud Kipchoge is a 38-year-old physical marvel from western Kenya, and is probably the greatest road runner of all time. He won the Olympic marathon in 2016 and 2020. He is the marathon world record holder, running the 26.2 miles of the 2022 Berlin Marathon in an unfathomable 2:01:09. He holds four of the six fastest official marathon times in recorded history. He also holds the record for the fastest unofficial time any human has ever traversed 26.2 miles on his own two feet: 1:59.40.

In 2019 a British chemical company organized an event to answer a simple question: could a human being, under optimal circumstances but with no actual physical assistance, break the 2 hour mark? Not that his world-record pace was anything other than phenomenal, but a 2-hour marathon would mean a per-mile pace of 4:34.8, shaving more than two and a half seconds off the fastest pace ever run. But he is one of the finest athletes in the history of sport, and he had a pack of elite pace setters, a flat sea-level track, no competitors, ideal race temperatures (around 50 degrees Fahrenheit), hydration on demand, and a pace car with precise pacing lasers to update him on his progress.

[After THE JUMP: Blitzball a-go-go.]

And he beat that batshit insane goal by 20 seconds. I mean, look how fast this dude is moving.

But that’s the end of the race. The part where the adrenaline returns and you can see the end in sight and your mind and muscles decide what they still have left in the tank, divide by the remaining distance, and empty the rest. Nothing Kipchoge did was “easy,” but that was probably the easiest part.

I’ve been an occasional distance runner for a decade or so, and my experience has matched the experiences of many of my fellow runners. The last mile of a long run isn’t the hardest.

Nor is the first mile the hardest; out of the gate, your body is rested, your lungs are full of oxygen, your feet and shins are fresh and un-pounded. The first mile is about getting comfortable, feeling out your limbs and your pace, settling your breathing, and getting settled into a nice pace. Besides, it’s a nice day, and it just feels great to get outside and get some fresh air.

No, the hardest part relative to the amount of effort you’ve put in is the second mile. Lots of marathoners hit a late-race “wall” around Mile 20, but that’s to be expected because of pure energy outlay. The second mile is surprisingly hard given that you’ve just started. The novelty has worn off, you’re sweating and getting less comfortable, and your blood oxygen has dipped because you used up all of that surplus oxygen your body generated by processing last night’s Thai food and Bells Two-Hearted (shut up, that’s how it works). And what’s worst, that’s when you stop being “one mile into your run” and transition to “seven/ten/twenty-five miles from your destination.” And that’s a real kick in the teeth.

But I’m sure it was worse for Kipchoge. Because for most runners, that second mile of a race or a long training run is where you might start to say to yourself, “the ol’ legs just don’t have this pace today, so we’re gonna have to gear down a touch.” Even for a phenom like Kipchoge in a regular race, he might have the option to ease off eeeeeeever so slightly early in a race if he hasn’t gotten comfortable yet. But in this one, Kipchoge wasn’t racing other (significantly more mortal) humans. He was functionally racing perfection. That green line wasn’t going to slow down or tire or run out of energy. And that had to suck.

Michigan isn’t out for a nice long run. They aren’t even looking for a PR. The stated goal is 15-0. No let-up. No off weeks. Perfection. And while getting up for Ohio State or a Conference Championship Game or a Playoff game might be easy, how on earth do you get up for a lower-half Mountain West Conference team in week 2, especially when this game is followed by another non-conference cupcake and then four straight Big Ten teams that provide the aesthetic appeal of running five miles of I-65 in southern Indiana?

With that in mind, you might think that UNLV’s weird offensive style might create a perfect storm. UNLV offensive coordinator Brennan Marion runs the “GoGo Offense,” a two-back spread offense that your author has never seen before. So you’ve got a team mired in the early-race doldrums looking weeks (or months) ahead and with the “it’s everything or we have failed” mentality taking on a unique opponent who might score some early points and put Michigan in a weird spot. Might that cause them to tighten up? Does a 7-0 deficit have Michigan worried about January, rather than the next drive?

I actually think it could be the opposite. It’s why big marathons have music and entertainment and funny signs along the road. It keeps you occupied in what could otherwise be a painful jaunt through some unremarkable semi-suburban neighborhood. It won’t be real competition, but it will help them stay engaged and interested in a way that, say, 2022 Colorado State or Hawaii might not have. Likewise, ECU deciding to play blitzball rather than a passive 2022 Iowa “okay, you can have 8 yards per carry BUT NO MORE” non-in-the-face defense was probably better long term.

Michigan is in this thing for the long haul, but any little thing that can keep them engaged is more than welcome. Michigan 51, UNLV 17

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COUNTERPUNT

By Internet Raj
@internetraj

There is a curious, paradoxical phenomenon in modern day society wherein untold terabytes of information are at our fingertips, yet it is precisely that ease of accessibility that shackles us in gilded handcuffs. I call it the “Tyranny of Optimization.”

Let me paint you a picture of what should be a relaxing Friday night in my house. After a long week of work, my wife and I finally get our two boys to sleep, a triumphant culmination of wrestling down a thrashing infant for the 9.7 seconds it takes to haphazardly tape on an overnight diaper, and disrupting our toddler’s infinite loop of “But I’m still thirsty” and “Can I have another story?” Victory in hand, we collapse into our sofa and simultaneously pull out our phones, taking for granted that these pocketable supercomputers connected to a blazing fast network of free-flowing and on-demand information were, not too long ago, likely deemed too fanciful for even the most fantastical science fiction novels.

“So, what do you want to order?”

“Eh, Mexican?”

“Chinese?”

“Thai?”

“I’m up for anything. You decide.”

“Hmmm. You decide.”

“But I picked last time.”

And thus begins the protracted journey of scrolling through multiple food delivery apps while cross-referencing delivery times against my independent due diligence from Google reviews, foodie Instagram feeds, and boutique blogs. After 37 agonizing minutes, I settle on a pick: a Thai restaurant that I’ve confirmed is not a ghost kitchen and boasts a 4.7-star rating with only a 29-minute delivery time. I eagerly curate an embarrassingly gluttonous order and triumphantly smash “Place Order” before receiving a soul-crushing checkout error: “Restaurant Unavailable.” I check the time: it’s 9:31pm. In my fugue state of trying to find “the best” Thai food instead of “good enough” Thai food, my wife and I were left with “no Thai food.” Glumly, I navigate to the easiest restaurant that’s still open: Little Caesars, a pizza chain that so fully embraces its own mediocrity, its most recognizable slogan is “Hot-N-Ready”, two basic factual adjectives that represent the lowest possible benchmark of servable food. This, in a nutshell, is the Tyranny of Optimization.

If “Keep Choppin’” was pizza.

While my wife and I dejectedly wait for the Little Caesars to arrive, we console ourselves with the fact that we still have the sweet, sweet Novocain of TV ahead of us. Her very first question, though, is a harbinger of doom:

“So what do you want to watch?”

And back again we descend into the 7th circle of hell that is internet-fueled decision paralysis. The phones come out. Streaming apps are vetted. YouTube TV. Apple TV+. HBO Max. Disney Plus. Paramount+. Netflix. Hulu. Potential TV series and movies are shortlisted and plowed through our makeshift algorithm consisting of checking Rotten Tomatoes scores, Metacritic scores, IMDB scores and whether we truly are in the “mood” for that genre. By the time our doorbell rings signaling the arrival of our cheese-topped cardboard, we haven’t made any progress beyond watching and unceremoniously rejecting 19 trailers. The Office re-runs it is. This, my friends, is the Tyranny of Optimization.

I remember a time when, if I needed a water bottle, I’d just go to the store and grab the first bottle I saw that looked moderately passable. I didn’t have to drill down on Amazon reviews, Wirecutter breakdowns, and immerse myself in Reddit threads on r/BuyItForLife to see whether Hydro Flasks really retained cold water temperature longer than a Yeti. I remember a time when if I wanted to watch a movie, I’d just call the local AMC hotline, listen to all the showtimes, and pick whatever had the most interesting title and tagline. I didn’t have to find that one incredible 98% Rotten Tomatoes score, critically acclaimed classic.

The type of movie I’d watch without hesitation on a Sunday afternoon.

Don’t get me wrong; the smartphone and the Internet are revolutionary advances for human civilization, and they have unlocked all sorts of economic and emotional value. But, among other things, they also unmistakably grease the wheels of information overload and corner us into an unsustainable and harmful mental model of hyper-optimizing everything, when sometimes “boring” or “good enough” should suffice.

In a year where Michigan is projected to be a Big Ten and national title contender, there is a seductive temptation to gloss-over the non-conference slate and over-index on the sexy matchups in the back-half of the schedule. Those are, of course, the optimal games. But in doing so, you lose sight of what I like to call “beautiful mediocrity.” I mean this with no offense, but UNLV is the epitome of “beautiful mediocrity.” They have a familiar brand name of a school you assume is vaguely competent at most sports, but then you check the line and you are immediately comforted with what should be a comfortable win. And you know what, I’m going to take a moment to stop thinking about MSU, Penn State, Ohio State, Indianapolis and the College Football Playoff. I’m going to just enjoy what’s in front of me today, something I may one day wish I never took for granted if we find ourselves plumbing the depths of the BPONE once again. And, for anyone reading this wondering what kind of superficial, barebones analysis this is for an esteemed publication like MGoBlog: free yourselves from the shackles of the optimization and just bask in my mediocrity. After all, even I can claim that these 900 odd words are more than just “Hot-N-Ready.”

Michigan 24, UNLV 10