My first car was a used 1995 green Ford Taurus. Actually, describing it simply as “green” would be charitable – it was more of a “mold green”, the exact shade of gag-inducing emerald that you find spreading its tentacled spores across a long-expired loaf of bread.

The only car whose value would probably rise if it was spray-painted “STAEE”

But it was the best car my parents could afford and as a high school junior, I was just grateful to have one. It got me from point A to point B, even if it did so just barely. The speedometer did not work once the car was driving faster than 25 mph, at which point the needle would swing wildly from 0 to 60. “That’s good,” my dad said. “It will build some great instinctual driving skills.” The steering wheel, meanwhile, was so misaligned that I had to hold it at a 45-degree angle just to go straight. “Look at the bright side,” my dad would say. “At least it’s reliably unreliable.” The air conditioner worked sporadically, the “check engine” light was never not illuminated, and the muffler had a disturbing proclivity to just fall off while driving.

It was at this point of the ever-growing list of mechanical failures that my dad would eschew optimistic spin for a blunt dose of grounding candor: “At least you have a car” And that was that. I’d nod and always come around. My Taurus was far from flashy, it was magnitudes shittier than the cars my friends drove, and I’m convinced it almost killed me a handful of times. But, on balance, he was right.

At least I had a car.

Coming into this season—one set against the backdrop of a global pandemic, unprecedented political turmoil, and a general feeling of existential unease and uncertainty—I didn’t have my usual lofty expectations and preseason delusions of grandeur. A brand new, raw quarterback, plenty of roster turnover and critical departures, and the persistent disappointment that has become a hallmark of the Harbaugh Era all conspired in shaping my sober outlook. When it came to the 2020 Michigan football team, the parts were rickety, any boldly optimistic prediction would likely be just as wrong as my speedometer, and even the slightest nudge of the steering wheel could send the entire season careening off the road.

But hey, at least we have a season!

I experienced something relatively new after MSU decisively throttled Michigan last week. Instead of spiraling into the familiar bowels of disenchantment of the BPONE, I instead was comforted by the warm, cathartic embrace of a new sensation: the Liberating Panacea of No Expectations, or “LPONE.” In the LPONE, I could take a step back and accurately judge Michigan football for what it has become: a washed-up lemon of a car full of familiar warts, defects, and flaws. One that I’ll always love and cherish, but one whose status is so far from reach of the suped up sports cars zooming by it that I would truly be foolhardy to let its deficiencies bring me down. Just take a deep breath, a long exhale, and let the soothing waves of the LPONE lap over your soul.

Michigan vs. Minnesota

I’ll never forget one particular time when my Taurus’s engine died on the middle of Telegraph Rd. Using the dwindling momentum of the car, I quickly cut across three lanes and pulled into the first available parking lot. It was a BMW dealership. My stalled Taurus, waiting for a tow truck and sitting alone in a thick of sparkly German-engineered luxury, is an apt metaphor for the Michigan football program of 2020. We’re not Ohio State, we’re not Alabama, we’re not Clemson. Hell, over the last decade, we’re not even MSU.

But I loved my Taurus and I do love my Wolverines. And I’ll be there even when we pull out of the parking lot after the Indiana game with a few new dents and a missing muffler.

At least we have a season.

Michigan 17, Indiana 21