Tonight, sometime around 7:30 EST, I finally pulled myself away from the TV and took the dog outside, letting him paint his favorite tree maize as only my dog can do. I sat out there for a second, breathing in the weak chill of the early September air, and looked up at the sky, and gave thanks.
Thanks for the win. Thanks for Tate Forcier. Thanks for life.
I still don't know how it happened, but we won that game, and a scrawny kid from San Diego became a part of Michigan lore today. Out in my back yard, there was no mass of 108,000 maize-wearing maniacs, there was no locker room, and there wasn't even a TV. But I felt, and feel, a part of something... I felt the echoes of last year sliding away. I felt the hope of what lies ahead. I felt pride in everything we've been through, and the reward of staying the course.
There will be many more days to come, some better than today. But, damn, that was a great win. Congratulations, everybody.