[ed-Seth: A short bump ago, in a board post not far away...]
OPENING CRAWL: It has been a dark era for the Michigan Wolverines. The EVIL BUCKEMPIRE has strengthened its grip in the unending galactic rivalry. Since 2003, the rebels from Ann Arbor have failed in their attempts to foil the evil that rages from the Ohio sector.
In the midst of chaos, a young man lives out his mundane life in south Florida, completely unaware that his destiny lies in a cold land far, far away...
Denard Robinson gazes at the twin suns setting on Deerfield Beach. He ponders his football future. Who will recruit him? Will he ever get the chance to play quarterback, or will he be forced to play slot receiver in the SEC? At the height of his confusion, an unlikely sage happens upon his humble Floridian hamlet...
Who was this strange man in the cloak? Was he here to sell snake oil? Perhaps another huckster hoping to sell Denard on the virtues of becoming the next Devin Hester? Denard regarded this strange man with suspicion; yet there was something mysterious about him.
Slowly, Denard learned that his powers may be of use to some greater cause. In fact, should he learn 'the ways of the spread', he could become a powerful agent for good in the Big Ten Sector, where the great Civil War had been raging. Regional governors like Grand Moff Tressel have taken control, seizing Rose Bowl bids while the Rebellion lay in ruins. Denard slowly warmed up to the notion, but what finally sold him were the immortal words of Jedi Master Rodriguez... "Denard," he said, his eyes pleading, "Our helmet's got wings." From that moment, Denard's fate was sealed.
Under Master Rod's tutelage, Denard learned the vagaries of the spread and the great power it wielded. He flourished - his technique and natural instincts were unsurpassed by any who came before him. However, in a chilling example of Jedi Council infighting, Master Brandon struck down Master Rod before Denard could finish his training. He felt lost, completely rudderless and out to sea. He was not ready to face his nemesis, yet he lacked any means of discovering his true powers. Disquieting weeks followed until a new master, a New Hoke, brought a staff to Ann Arbor capable of releasing Denard's true potential.
Denard immediately began training in earnest. "You must let go of the spread, Denard..." said Master Borges, riding atop his back in the sweltering heat of Al Glick Fieldhouse. Denard faced many temptations (possible transfers, interceptions, and the like), but it was the steadfast support of his biggest fan that kept him committed to excellence. At last, he felt prepared to fire the shot heard 'round the country...
Meanwhile in their Death Star hovering over metropolitan Columbus, Darth Fickell and Emporer Meyer plotted the young man's destruction. "Force him to pass, Lord Fickell..." said Urban. "His inaccuracy will be his undoing. I'm afraid he'll find our secondary quite.. OPERATIONAL when we arrive in Ann Arbor." Darth Fickell cackled knowingly and said "yes, yes...", for 'yes' was the only word he knew.
The night before the showdown, Lord Hoke briefed the Wolverine pilots on the attack plan. It would be complex, a mix of spread and pro-style elements combined. Shaking his head in disbelief, young Devin Gardner said, "There's no way we can fit it into throwing lanes that small. It's impossible, even for a computer." Denard just smiled his bright, knowing smile... "It's not impossible! I used to bullseye patterns like that back in Deerfield Beach, and they're not much bigger than two meters." Brady looked upon his quarterback with complete pride and confidence; he had become a master in his own right.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2011: It's go time. Denard leads the Wolverine convoy into battle over the skies of Ann Arbor. In the distance, he saw the hovering monolith that was the Buckeye-shaped Death Star. He kicked his engine into overdrive, employing the quasi-pro-style Borges techniques to a tee. The battle raged on, with many casualties on both sides.
"Lord Fickell," said Emporer Meyer, watching the proceedings from the comfort of a luxury box. "You must handle this young one yourself. TO YOUR SHIP, FICKELL!"
"Yes, yes!" came the reply, as Fickell trudged down the hall to his ship, occasionally bumping into walls/inanimate objects.
Fickell was hot on young Robinson's tail, breathing the fumes of his modified Buckeye Fighter's sublight engines. Ohio was ahead, with only two minutes until the Death Star would be in-range of Ann Arbor and her noble citizens. Things began to look bleak as Fickell peppered young Denard with laser blasts across his hull. "Yes, yes..." Fickell howled.
At the height of the madness, with only seconds remaining, Borges called a pass play in the red zone... Denard hesitated for a moment, knowing the play would not work. He simply wasn't a pocket passer... He needed to reach deeply into the force and discover its will. Suddenly, a voice from the past rang out to him. "Close your eyes, Denard," the familiar voice whispered in its southern twang. "Let go. Use the spread, Denard." Without thinking, Denard called up his last reserves of energy, using evasive maneuvers to deftly dodge Fickell's blasts. At last, he could see the Death Star's exhaust port.
VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY! The combined sounds of liberty and glory drowned out the sobs of the cursed state of Ohio. Denard had done it. From the desolate sands of Deerfield Beach, he had followed his destiny and finally realized his true purpose... To unseat the Buckeyes from their throne of power.
After the battle, Denard and Hoke were honored for their valor. And while Denard loved Coach Hoke and was certain of the Rebellion's bright future, he couldn't help but think back to the strange Master who brought him to Ann Arbor to begin with, who had opened his eyes to a new world.
Before Denard appeared a holy sight, the beautiful marriage of past, present, and future. The glory of the Force spread out before him like a brightly-spangled mosaic... He had become, once and for all, a Michigan Legend.