Fan fiction is hands-down one of the most bizarre corners of Internet subculture. Millions of words have been spilled out into the digital ether on fan-penned renditions of the most inane and meaningless intellectual properties. There’s Boy Meets World fan fiction; there’s Rugrats fan fiction, and there’s even fan fiction devoted to Legos.

But the most ridiculous fan fiction I’ve ever stumbled across was a “Parallel Universe” feature hosted by the Michigan State blog The Only Colors. The author, for reasons only known to him, conjured up 3,000+ words about a hypothetical matchup between Michigan and Michigan State wherein the Spartans conquered the Wolverines in an elaborate and mysterious “parallel universe.” The blog post adds yet another chapter to the infamous legacy of “Defeated with Dignity”, perhaps one aptly titled “Victorious in Fiction.”

It’s only fitting, then, that we indulge in some Counterpunt Fan Fiction in honor of MSU week. I knew my brain wasn’t twisted enough to write this myself, though. To truly go deep into the Spartan mind, I had to wade into the depths of the Red Cedar Message Board, found a poster with 74,598 posts and a three-page rap sheet, and paid him $3.50 to come up with MSU fan fiction.

Here is what I was sent.

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Mel Tucker’s eyes snap open. Adrenaline is already pumping through his veins. On this morning, on this day, no alarm clock is necessary.

Today is the Michigan game.

Mel jumps out of bed and immediately commences his daily morning routine. He promptly knocks out 17,000 pushups, his muscles rippling with well-defined contours that are definitely natural and not the product of injecting himself with the unmarked vials the prior coaching staff left in an abandoned cooler in the weight room.

“You’re so much stronger than Jim Harbaugh,” floats a voice from the bed. Mel smiles at his wife, exuding an effortless cool.

“I know baby,” he replies as he shoves 5 cigars into his mouth, one for each million dollars he’s getting paid per year. His phone vibrates and he looks down at it. It’s Rico Beard texting him for the 97th straight time: “Good luck Coach, by the way did you get my other messages about maybe hanging out?” There was also a string of emojis with heart eyes. Mel nonchalantly dismisses the notification and makes a mental note to block Rico later and make up some lie about getting a new phone number. But now was not the time for distractions. Mel turns his back on his wife like she’s a high school senior committed to the University of Colorado and sprints out of the room with a 3.9 40 speed.

The cigar isn’t filled with tobacco but rather the MSU athletic department’s budget

“And faster than Denard!” is the last thing he hears from the bedroom as he races down the stairs and makes his way to his top-secret bookshelf. Mel looks around with a suspicious wariness, making sure no one is spying on him. He wouldn’t put anything past those vile scUMers. Now a routine task, his hands effortlessly dance across the shelves until they rest on the copy of Endzone by John U. Bacon. The book was a powerful reminder to Mel of the fake news industry and Blue Wall that continuously conspire to tear MSU down while propping up their bitter rival. He grits his teeth, cursing Bacon and his love for mowing lawns and then gently pulls the book from the shelf. Hidden gears deep within the recesses of the wall begin to churn as the bookshelf gives way to a winding staircase leading to Mel’s secret lair. Even from the top of the stairs, Mel can hear a strained, guttural groans. He smiles. It’s time.

When Mel reaches the bottom of the stairs, he takes a moment to appreciate the laboratory he’s built, and the sheer audacity of his plan. His eyes scan the pristine medical-grade equipment, beeping health monitors, and—at the center of it all—the hospital bed housing his grand prize. There, strapped to the bed, is a bewildered and panicked Mark Dantonio, struggling to free himself from the shackles pinning him to the bed. The struggle is futile.

“I see the tranquilizers have worn off, Mark. I’m truly sorry you had to wake up like this. We love you. We respect you. You’ve given a lot to the program, but today….” Mel can’t help but let his face contort into a dastardly smile.

“…Today you will make your final contribution.”

Mel takes a seat in a plush leather chair next to Mark and inserts an IV into his arm. To Dantonio’s horror, the other end snakes directly into his own arm.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mel says, taking only a small measure of glee in his predecessor’s slow realization of what is to come, “I am taking all of your blood… but more importantly, your Hate. Your Hate of all things Michigan. The Hate that powered your teams to so many wins against those vile scUMers. And now… that Hate…. will be my Hate. And it will lead us to victory!”

“Hey man, can’t you just find a reason to get mad at Michigan and generate your own hate? I mean, I don’t think Hate is like a molecule in someone’s body you can take and just absorb… and I definitely don’t think it would be carried in blood… and even if it was couldn’t you just take a little bit why take all of my blood?”

“Silence!” Mel shouts with a thunderous roar of contempt. He flips the big red switch on the blood transfusion machine and immediately feels Dantonio’s Hate coursing through his veins. It’s so powerful. Decades of festering inferiority complex, projection, and overcompensation for personal inadequacies and failures overcome Mel. It’s too much. This was a mistake. He should have never attempted something so bold so quickly. The Hate consumes him and he cannot control it. He crumbles to his knees beside Dantonio, who has now adjusted himself into a seated position.

Dantonio’s eyes flicker with life and his mouth turns downward into his patented scowl. “You fool!” Dantonio hisses, his scowl turning into a wry smile. “You absolute fool! Only I can wield this power!” Cackling, Dantonio tears himself free from the restraints and rips out the IV from his arm before tossing it on now crumpled, unconscious body of Mel Tucker.

“I am the coach now!” Dantonio triumphantly proclaims.

In a stunning twist, Dantonio returns to the sidelines to lead MSU against Michigan. The bands are done playing and the players are lined up for kickoff. He screws on his headset and stares intimidatingly across the field at his arch nemesis, Jim Harbaugh, who can’t help but immediately avert eye contact and shrivel up in fear. Meanwhile, on the field, Rocky Lombardi unseats Trevor Lawrence’s Heisman campaign by throwing 3-yard dart after 3-yard dart under new offensive coordinator Jim Bollman’s wide-open run-and-gun scheme. After one quarter of play, the score is 1,000-0 and Jim Harbaugh begins bawling and has no choice but to concede the game, immediately resign, and accept a position as a grad assistant for Alabama. Kirk Cousins parachutes into the stadium from a fighter jet flawlessly piloted by Le’Veon Bell, his shouts of “You like that?!” ringing around the empty stadium. Mark Dantonio refuses to shake Jim Harbaugh’s hand and pushes him to the ground taunting him by asking him if “he had trouble with the snap.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” mutters a completely dejected Harbaugh, but it’s too late and Mark Dantonio is giving him a noogie with the cleats worn by Devin Bush when he defiled Spartan Stadium.

Spartan Glory has been restored.

Alright, alright fan fiction sucks.

Michigan: 63, MSU: 10.