here's one vote for "John Beilein's head in a Futurama jar"
zoltan the destroyer
You might not know him yet but this is a guest post from a guy who isn't afraid to let it all hang out. Here it is.
I came from the internet, just like the rest of them. I came mostly because of the W’s, the kind of ephemeral letter that flickers like a scoreboard lightbulb in Crisler, the one that always seems to surge with a crackle of electricity as the clock reads zeroes and drives out the bleak emptiness of the losses. I came when I saw Mike Hart, but let’s not dwell on that. The haze of a malleable past where “what ifs” become certain realities lends itself to, if anything, an epically long-winded run-on of creative diarrhea, so that less than cohesive memories strung together like the diamond weave of a basketball net with collegiate adulations will seem to imply there’s deeper meaning.
There’s technically no more time but let’s call for more time.
It was years after the facts if facts even exist but nothing matters anyway. I never knew the Fab Five- nobody really knew them before Jalen Rose appeared on the ESPN scene. Jalen appeared amongst the legions of button-down, over-the-top talking heads and he belonged. The ease of appearing so at ease left me wondering when the background wall of noise, the crescendo of the unanswered allegations and shades of spectres would rise again.
But his self-serving documentary fought back, slashing and hacking as a Crusader against the perceptions of an infamous team that set into motion an avalanche on its alma mater, and stopping to pillage and have its way with the mindful rebuttals of nothing to show. It happened, and it always had.
The tattered remains of dishonorable seasons enchanted, enhanced, and crammed with the semblance of stylish fashionable vogue. Base race arguments whirl as a miasmic harbinger to change, blotting the past til the mutable message emerges at last- we did something great.
It’s like someone saying “So tell me who the Fab Five was” last year. The sun vanishes and I no longer feel the shame and dissatisfaction of achievements left unattained or see the tarnish to the program, and my eyes close and my mind calms, the laudations emerge. Jalen is still half-buzzed by the side of the road and laughing at how easy it was.
This isn’t what you expected. You expected a dextrous homage to a diminutive tailback, legs churning like pistons in a cyclone of mixed metaphor. It’s like being in a movie theater with your popcorn when you were a kid, eyes wide open with that tingling sensation as you sat too close to the screen in an impossibly dark world of possibilities, but leaving with the buttery aftertaste of reality.
They were, and always have been, regardless of origin they might be, if only for a nanosecond, aimlessly disjointed words and commas.
This guy used to write stuff like this before Uncle Tom shut him down. He met Steve Fisher once but Fisher denies it to this day.
July 2008- Daddy Rod is the best daddy ever!!! Daddy said that since I was so good during all these divorce hearings, he would buy me a dog. I hate being in court when all those people say mean things about my Daddy.
August 2008- I FINALLY GOT THE DOG! I named him Sheridan. He's not very good at tricks yet, but Daddy says he'll learn.
October 2008- Sheridan pooped. A LOT. It made a mess on the couch. My uncles all blamed Daddy, but it was Sheridan's fault.
December 2008- House covered in poop. I want to cry most days, but Uncle Barwis yells bad words at me and tells me this is a family business.
February 2009- The house is getting cleaner, but everybody just compares our yard to our neighbors. I hate Mr. Danton! He is so serious and grumpy all the time.
April 2009- I just wanted to tell you about my new pet! Daddy Rod bought it for me. It is a WOLVERINE!!!!! I named it Tater Tot. He is super cute and furry- I can't wait for him to grow up so I can play with him!!
December 2009- Tater Tot grew up, raped the neighbors and escaped into the woods nearby. I can hear him crunching on the bones of all the forest creatures at night. What has Daddy done?
I tried not to write this. I waited, but I have to say it, even if I may get banned.
I wasn't at last night's Michigan-Ohio State basketball game, but the camera angles made me feel like I was on the hardwood. I saw OSU guard PJ Hill reeling backward with one hand on his face, his other arm waving helplessly in the air. Evan Turner was right there, anger coursing through his veins, seemingly unable to grasp the brutality of what he had witnessed. I wished I were down there on the court with him. But that's the difference between men like Novak and pigs: curly tails. That's it. Everything else is the same- not physical enough to legitimately box out, so they just get dirty.
I thought I'd cool off overnight, but I woke up craving bacon. I was pissed; I couldn't even enjoy breakfast without being reminded of one of the most vicious, disgraceful incidents I've seen on a basketball court. Zack Novak should be booted from the NCAA, the local YMCA, and the Special Olympics, period.
Then I read the news. Ejected from the game? A one-game suspension?! What a joke. Skipping a beatdown at the hands of Purdue? Hardly punishment at all. It's superficial. Not .001% of enough. You could start with a ban on the NIT- but seriously, this basketball season is already over.
I watched Novak line up Hill's jaw out of the corner of his eye and then launch his elbow like a coiled snake striking. Hill was just playing a simple game, oblivious to the 100 MPH python that was about to slam into him. At the bare minimum, the NCAA needs to have Novak register his right elbow as a weapon or a pet and never set foot in Ohio again. And even then, they'd just be covering their asses.
I'm still pissed. You should be, too. I thought Michigan basketball was above such thuggery. At least under Ellerbe we just had scandal, not this on-court violence.