As astounding as that game must’ve looked on TV, inside the arena — uh, “pavilion” — it was another level of holy-crap-is-this-happening. About 30 of us who passed on the $3,000 courtside seats formed a decent Michigan section up in the rafters (literally), including relatives of Zavier. (My Stauskas-era maize-and-blue Canadian flag t-shirt was repurposed for the Iggy Era. Time for another printing.)
There’s not a bad seat there, really, especially to witness such frothing aggression. As in-your-shirt as the perimeter defense was, the interior shot blocking/altering/rushing was more impressive.
The house (sorry, pavilion!) was really rocking at the start, and it was with great schadenfreude that we listened to the noise steadily fade. By the end, nothing but dark muttering. Oh, and a chorus of The Victors from the rafters. On the way out, a nice gentleman acknowledged us, gave the visitors props, then added, “But man, that was an ugly game.” We just smiled. It was beautiful.
Interesting. I too would like to see the trend line. Feels like there have been more "mid-afternoon" games lately, which by October quickly become night games.
Which in my old-fart opinion sucks at Michigan Stadium for reasons esthetic (fall sunlight beats metal halide), nostalgic ("Toe meets leather at 1:05" —Bo) and practical (warmth; driving home in the dark).
But the conference sold its soul ages ago. And don't get me started on media timeouts!
(Though I'll admit Notre Dame 2011 is in my top 3 games in half a century of attending.)
Nice people, decent food, generic stadium, good sightlines, low energy, hideous announcer, meh band, isolated setting, little traffic, high winds, low temps, crappy team. Maybe worth going once just to confirm your suspicion that Rutgers doesn't belong in the Big Ten.
Wow, this was the most educational 25 minutes I've spent in a long time. Love to see the plays develop, the slo-mo, the different angles. Plus reliving only the best plays--brilliant! Who are you and where and when did you play/coach?
Again, respectfully disagree. That style of question is a useful construction that forces tight-lipped coaches to construct complete sentences. It yields coherent quotes for reporters and usable sound bites for radio and TV. Specific questions tend to get terse replies. On this day, though, Harbaugh was especially chatty!
Welp, Internet Raj, we will henceforth pay particularly close attention to your predictions. Very impressive. Though I don't think the sharpest of coaching minds in the drawer would have saved the Nits today.
Nope, it's the coach who creates a good interview. Harbaugh is closed off, unhelpful and proud of it; Brown is a sportswriter's dream. The "Talk about" construction is a desperation move by reporters who know he'll mono-syllable them to death unless they pose it that way. Not their fault.
... for a classy, striking salute to our great names from the past.
At each end of the stadium there are now six big, bare pillars supporting the new scoreboards. These cry out for wrap-around poster-like images of our icons. Maybe coaches at one end and players at another, whatever.
Can't you just see a squinty Bo and a posing Desmond and a glaring Yost and a torn-jersey Harmon filling these spaces and greeting the faithful? Check out the latest from michiganstadiumaerials.com and tell me you don't agree.
A friend and ex-IU starter who was jazzed about this game a month ago is now nervous about his team's inability to stop the run, esp. a running quarterback. I'm like Yeah and he's like Gulp. But he does warn that Darius Willis is for real. In any event, take the over. Last team with the ball and all that ...
... when your commissioner is some dipshit from the ACC. You'd think he'd notice how lame the divisional setup in his old conference has turned out.
This quote reflects his cluelessness: "The question is whether you want to confine a game that's one of the greatest rivalries of all time to a divisional game." Nobody who understands The Game would consider it a "divisional game."
Playing The Game twice doesn't make it better. It dilutes it. Basic chemistry.
Anyway ... my memories are especially sweet for all the heartbreak that went before.
1973: Freshman year, end zone seats for a perfect view of ecstasy and agony. Dennis Franklin's terrific tying TD run, then Mike Lantry nearly winning it twice. (Then MSU AD Burt Smith screwing the team out of the Rose Bowl. Eighteen years of silly, mindless hatred suddenly had purpose and focus. But I digress.)
1974: Watching from the Ohio Stadium stands as Lantry lines up for the easy game-winner, I suggest to my friend that we head down the aisle so we can run out on the field to celebrate like lunatics. He thinks we should wait. Kick is higher than the upright; a photog friend in the end zone swears it was good.
1975: Cornelius fucking Greene.
1976: Complete, utter domination. Locker room strewn with roses. Smiles, hugs, tears. Worth the wait.
The weather for each was wonderful—chilly and perfect. What is Brandon thinking?
Amusing Dantonio quote from the News (not the Freep, notably).
Somebody call the NCAA! (Unless this was clever dig at Michigan, but Dantonio's not that clever, is he?)
"When you work 85, 90 hours a week to prepare for one single moment, you tend to remember those things," Dantonio said. "This will be no different.
"We'll come ready to play, I can assure you that."
I have singles for Eastern and Delaware State. Could this group use singles or is that weird?
They're good seats ... about the 35-yard-line on the east side.
(Tix for this Saturday are same row, different seats.)
My favorite quote from the Failing Irish locker room:
"Their plays happened a lot quicker, a lot faster rate," Irish linebacker Brian Smith said.
"That's something you can't imitate in practice, the speed of the game. That caught us off-guard at first."
Loved that sense of controlled urgency throughout the game. And all that (perfectly within NCAA limits) conditioning paid off.
... if it was louder, unless you had some Fancy Electronic Device and could compare measurements from past years. We all wanted it to be louder, so it seemed louder. I was on the 50, halfway up, press box side, and it certainly seemed louder than any WMU game had a right to be. We'll know more this Saturday when the full-throated roar is unleashed. Only truly objective observation: a very clear echo of the PA announcements off the new east side facade. Ergo, the crowd noise must also be bouncing around. Don't know if that's true in the end zones.
I found the piped-in music embarrassing. So minor-league, so cliche, so Penn State. Brian is correct. Two other points:
--I think the Silent Band Phenomenon could be solved by new placement OR by having them periodically turn in different directions. These horns are 19th-century technology, extremely directional. So change directions! They know the songs; have a grad student "conduct" as they face South for one song, toward the student section for the next, etc. I was on the 50, press box side (nice shade!) and heard the Western band loud and clear all game long. Because they were facing me.
--The crappy rock music reached its nadir early when the pre-game excitement was allowed to fizzle out while the music was piped in ... and nothing happened for 30 seconds or so ... and we sat there ... and the sucky artificial music continued ... and finally the team appeared at the tunnel entrance and 109,000 voices quickly drowned out that tinny crap. I might be convinced to allow it during the interminable TV timeouts, but at the absolute pinnacle of heart-pounding anticipation? Hideously inappropriate.
Rich Rod is still learning. There will never be piped-in music during games. Such a move would require the OK from the athletic department and the marching band, who would never go along with it. There's no money to be made, so Martin won't approve of it. And it's an absolute insult to the band.
Maybe RR will eventually have this kind of power, but it'll take three or four 10-win seasons to acquire.
I say this with the confidence of one who vehemently opposed the replay screens and the luxury boxes. As you can see, I'm always right.
Remember, it works both ways. Let's not forget the set-up for what some consider the most exciting play in the history of Michigan Stadium, Anthony Carter's Uferific catch-and-run on the final play vs. Indiana.
The set-up was a blatantly intentional fumble out of bounds to stop the clock. Just ask the Indiana coach, one Lee Corso.
Further agonizing details.
One camera angle on the video replay (not that I watched it obsessively) shows the Michigan sideline starting to celebrate because they've seen (and possibly heard) the slight deflection, and it's clear the ball is wobbling like a wounded duck, and of course those partial deflections NEVER go through. Ugh.
More: There's an amazing photo that appears to show the deflection was caused by the INSIDE of Shazor's right elbow, meaning OMFG he actually was so deep into the backfield that the ball traveled BETWEEN his outstretched arms. If he hadn't been so quick, the ball would've smacked his right arm and we wouldn't be having this discussion.
I'd insert the photo here but don't know how.
... anti-luxury boxers don't hold the majority opinion. Just the correct one.
A new, larger press box would have been fine, fixing the blind spots and providing a few boxes. Martin's overreaction is a monstrosity.
But it's too late, and pointless to argue. It'll look fine from the outside, all brick and nostalgia, but wait until you see what it's like on the inside: a glassy Southfield office park incongruously attached to a classic (is that better than "perfect"?) stadium.
You're dead-on correct. Don't let this happen.
I was stunned last fall to hear crappy hard rock blaring during warmups, and I love crappy hard rock--everywhere but in Michigan Stadium. True, the band wasn't out yet, but guess what? I don't need crappy hard rock to get jacked for a game. Neither should Rich Rod or the team.
I go to Penn State games and hear crappy hard rock (and some decent R&B) filling the TV-timeout void and I weep for the state of college football, and for the incredible vanishing Blue Band, which isn't a bad outfit if you let them play.
This all started with the luxury corporate skyboxes (which no euphemism can disguise) that Mary Sue ("Ooh now it looks just like Iowa!") Coleman and Bill (Once a developer ...) Martin foisted on our formerly perfect stadium.
It will continue with piped-in noise and advertising and intelligence-insulting scoreboard graphics unless We the True Fans step in to educate our still-newbie coach. We are at the edge of a very slippery slope, the footing is crumbling, and at the bottom is a hideous commercial hell. Let's stay above it.
Recent Comments
Excellent insights, as usual.
Humble proposal: a tighter definition of “chip shot.”
I’d suggest anything under 33 yards (the NFL extra-point distance).
Is 39 yards a chip shot? Nah. Especially if it visibly draws (to continue with golf terminology).
Bet Jake would agree!
Oh crap are…
Nicely done.
Oh crap are smelling salts a PED?
Those who Shea will be champions.
I want to see Patterson and DPJ celebrating like Harbaugh and Kolesar in 1985.
Fun note: one of the writers, Rachel Bachman, was at the Daily in the '90s.
As astounding as that game must’ve looked on TV, inside the arena — uh, “pavilion” — it was another level of holy-crap-is-this-happening. About 30 of us who passed on the $3,000 courtside seats formed a decent Michigan section up in the rafters (literally), including relatives of Zavier. (My Stauskas-era maize-and-blue Canadian flag t-shirt was repurposed for the Iggy Era. Time for another printing.)
There’s not a bad seat there, really, especially to witness such frothing aggression. As in-your-shirt as the perimeter defense was, the interior shot blocking/altering/rushing was more impressive.
The house (sorry, pavilion!) was really rocking at the start, and it was with great schadenfreude that we listened to the noise steadily fade. By the end, nothing but dark muttering. Oh, and a chorus of The Victors from the rafters. On the way out, a nice gentleman acknowledged us, gave the visitors props, then added, “But man, that was an ugly game.” We just smiled. It was beautiful.
Interesting. I too would like to see the trend line. Feels like there have been more "mid-afternoon" games lately, which by October quickly become night games.
Which in my old-fart opinion sucks at Michigan Stadium for reasons esthetic (fall sunlight beats metal halide), nostalgic ("Toe meets leather at 1:05" —Bo) and practical (warmth; driving home in the dark).
But the conference sold its soul ages ago. And don't get me started on media timeouts!
(Though I'll admit Notre Dame 2011 is in my top 3 games in half a century of attending.)
Nice people, decent food, generic stadium, good sightlines, low energy, hideous announcer, meh band, isolated setting, little traffic, high winds, low temps, crappy team. Maybe worth going once just to confirm your suspicion that Rutgers doesn't belong in the Big Ten.
Wow, this was the most educational 25 minutes I've spent in a long time. Love to see the plays develop, the slo-mo, the different angles. Plus reliving only the best plays--brilliant! Who are you and where and when did you play/coach?
Again, respectfully disagree. That style of question is a useful construction that forces tight-lipped coaches to construct complete sentences. It yields coherent quotes for reporters and usable sound bites for radio and TV. Specific questions tend to get terse replies. On this day, though, Harbaugh was especially chatty!
Welp, Internet Raj, we will henceforth pay particularly close attention to your predictions. Very impressive. Though I don't think the sharpest of coaching minds in the drawer would have saved the Nits today.
Nope, it's the coach who creates a good interview. Harbaugh is closed off, unhelpful and proud of it; Brown is a sportswriter's dream. The "Talk about" construction is a desperation move by reporters who know he'll mono-syllable them to death unless they pose it that way. Not their fault.
... for a classy, striking salute to our great names from the past.
At each end of the stadium there are now six big, bare pillars supporting the new scoreboards. These cry out for wrap-around poster-like images of our icons. Maybe coaches at one end and players at another, whatever.
Can't you just see a squinty Bo and a posing Desmond and a glaring Yost and a torn-jersey Harmon filling these spaces and greeting the faithful? Check out the latest from michiganstadiumaerials.com and tell me you don't agree.
http://www.michiganstadiumaerials.com/construction-updates.html
Anybody with PhotoShop skills who could create an artist's rendering of what it could look like?
A friend and ex-IU starter who was jazzed about this game a month ago is now nervous about his team's inability to stop the run, esp. a running quarterback. I'm like Yeah and he's like Gulp. But he does warn that Darius Willis is for real. In any event, take the over. Last team with the ball and all that ...
... when your commissioner is some dipshit from the ACC. You'd think he'd notice how lame the divisional setup in his old conference has turned out.
This quote reflects his cluelessness: "The question is whether you want to confine a game that's one of the greatest rivalries of all time to a divisional game." Nobody who understands The Game would consider it a "divisional game."
Playing The Game twice doesn't make it better. It dilutes it. Basic chemistry.
Anyway ... my memories are especially sweet for all the heartbreak that went before.
1973: Freshman year, end zone seats for a perfect view of ecstasy and agony. Dennis Franklin's terrific tying TD run, then Mike Lantry nearly winning it twice. (Then MSU AD Burt Smith screwing the team out of the Rose Bowl. Eighteen years of silly, mindless hatred suddenly had purpose and focus. But I digress.)
1974: Watching from the Ohio Stadium stands as Lantry lines up for the easy game-winner, I suggest to my friend that we head down the aisle so we can run out on the field to celebrate like lunatics. He thinks we should wait. Kick is higher than the upright; a photog friend in the end zone swears it was good.
1975: Cornelius fucking Greene.
1976: Complete, utter domination. Locker room strewn with roses. Smiles, hugs, tears. Worth the wait.
The weather for each was wonderful—chilly and perfect. What is Brandon thinking?