From Fear in Ann Arbor to Loathing in State College

From Fear in Ann Arbor to Loathing in State College

Submitted by jhackney on November 9th, 2011 at 11:17 PM

Take a week to recuperate and all hell breaks loose. Although in the buzzed reality I lived in last week, I should have seen it in some sort of shaman vision. Let us begin from the Purdue game I barely remember and will never forget.


The anticipation of attending the Mecca of football for the first time this year was excruciating. My trusted confidant from Pennsylvania and his lady friend made their presence as well. The night started in Flint when we stocked up on a variety pack of the strongest liquids that would do the most damage to even an Irish elephant. We took a pit stop at the Greektown Casino and chased around the American Dream for a bit. All I caught was a headache from the goddamned noise of slots and the cheap rum they sold. The only winner in our traveling band of miscreants was my confidant. He walked away with $38 and a smirk I wanted to wipe off his face with a scythe, bleach, and salt.


The next morning we stopped for sustenance, ice, and rolled a Panamanian cigarette. As the last ashes blew in the wind of a crisp Michigan morning on Route 14, I began feeling giddy as a valley girl winning dairy princess in Wisconsin. We parked our vehicle across the street from the stadium at the lovely golf course. Many complain about the $40 charge for parking there, but if you get there early it is in a prime location and as the chemicals settle in, every strange character rolls in you know you have to keep an eye on later.


I timed the rum consumption perfectly.  As my enlightened feeling from the devil’s lettuce wore off the Sailor Jerry’s kicked in. It was only 930 in the morning and I was almost out of my fifth. The phone calls then began to come in. Friends from Detroit looking for me to travel to their locale kept coming in every two minutes. I kindly explained that if I attempted to traverse to their locations around campus, I would most likely end up in prison, or worst yet, East Lansing. This must have been a warning for them to keep a wide berth since no one dared came to our little spot in Ann Arbor. Only one true brave soul had courage to experience my posse this lit up, Blue Dragon. After many minutes of playing drunk Where’s Waldo in a crowd of over 110,000 of the human race we met up. As I polished off my last sip of Sailor Jerry’s, he bared his timely gift of nature’s Prozac. As we huddled into the front of a SUV to initiate peace talks and revelry, my confidant looked more scared than the Lohan family at a law enforcement conference. He spotted two older men of a good looking upbringing in the front of their vehicle along side of us. Tensions were eased when my confidant saw the men pull out a baggie of something that resembled flour. Someone forgot to inform them that making bread does not involve the step of snorting the flour. The bread doesn’t rise as well when done so.

As I tapped into one of my last beers my usually trusted confidant pulled out a fungus substance. I was immediately stricken with panic as I was already on multiple substances and about to embark on a journey to loud noise and sitting among many suspicious looking people. As I argued this would be a terrible idea, Blue Dragon proved to be a true pioneer as he gulped his down within seconds. Faced with immense peer pressure and the assurance I would be ok on a smaller dose, I reluctantly took it expecting impending doom.

Ten of noon struck and our band of heathens took our shit show to the stadium. My confidant and his lady friend had to check into gate E due to her over sized satchel. All that was left was Blue Dragon and I in a sea of drunken irritable fans looking for blood after a bye week gave all time to stew about the first loss of the season to the Fighting (literally) Dantonio’s. As Blue Dragon and I neared the entrance, he heard an angry voice call out to us that we ruined his fucking day because we supposedly cut in front of him. Half in shock of a surreal experience, and half in awe due to the lack of line to cut in, I believe I uttered… “Ok.”


Blue Dragon split way to our seats hopefully to cross paths on another trip in Ann Arbor. I arrived at our seats alone. I noticed a truck driver and his son had two of the seats I purchased.  Still in a dream state, I muttered something about them moving the fuck out of the way. Finally my confidant and his lady friend arrived to a surprising 7-0 Purdue lead. Not that I can manage to remember much of the details of the game except the ill timed RAWK music, sappy 80s pop songs, and the constant hypnotic HD screens, but Fitz Toussaint ran the distance of the Intercontinental Railroad and back against the Fighting Stache’s of West Lafayette. Michigan controlled the line of scrimmage on both sides all day and dominated the game 36-10. The rain at the end of the game, I actually enjoyed. It felt good to be rained on when the score board was tilted our way. It was like a Gatorade bath for those of us that continually support Michigan through thick and thin.

The night in Ann Arbor was even more of a hazy semi-unconscious trip. After losing complete composure in a camping store and downing more alcohol at Ashley’s, I vaguely remember ending the night drinking out of a boot, getting hit on by an architect major at U of M in a Robin’s costume, and arguing with a MSU student and her Australian boyfriend about the validity on their school being eligible to be accredited in anything but underwater basket weaving.

PART II: Corn Guzzled

As I slowly came out of the daze of sampling leftovers throughout the week, I wish I would have saved them for the Iowa game. The game first resembled a MANBALL marathon as both offenses looked sluggish and the defenses bent a little at the most. MANBALL advantage tilted in the favor of Iowa as the game went on. As I paced around my house in a furor I began swearing like a man with severe Tourettes. Denard made his fame on his legs. For Spaghetti Monster’s sake, his nick name is “shoelace”, not “glove Velcro.” I understand the wish to change the system to a semi-west coast offense that Gorgeous Borges is used to and wants to implement, but Denard is not made for that purpose. If a coach cannot tune the offense to the strengths of the star player’s advantage, you are neutralizing yourself. One of Rich Rodriguez’s many accusations and partly true was that he did not try to ease into a new system with players from an old system. I believe Gorgeous Borges is doing a better job of this, but has glaring deficiencies in some of the play calling. If a lane opens during a passing play and no one is immediately open, instead of bombing to a fly route, throwing to Tacopants, or trying to squeeze in a pass between three defenders, he should…..wait for it…RUN THE DAMN BALL! Yes this increases his risk of injury, but it also gives the most electrifying player in the NCAA a chance to make something happen in his own comfortable way. Did they tell Barry Sanders not to go lateral so much in his day? Probably, but lucky for us who got to witness him, he didn’t listen.  Will Gorgeous Borges adjust for the last four games? I guess you could say there is a better chance of Gorgeous Borges adjusting than growing a mullet.

The day became late and the fate of Michigan looked grim early in the fourth quarter. Down by more than two scores it looked as if the Michigan 2010 team put up a better fight. I walked out to the backyard and contemplated whether to down two bottles of root killer but decided that if I wasted it on myself, the women of the house would dice my body into pieces and send them down the Detroit River if the water backed up into the house again. After returning to the man cave I was shocked to see Michigan’s anemic offense twisted its way back to the game with a fighting chance. Hoke must have done some serious pointing in my absence.

  I am not one to pin blame on referees. Teams that effectively execute all game won’t be put in a position that comes down to a few bad calls. After that said, the referees need to be audited or whatever it’s called where they get an occupation proctology exam. Hemingway’s catch was a touchdown with a knee in and the mauling of Roundtree on the last play was so obvious that Helen Keller rose from the dead to boo the call.

Another Michigan loss to a mid-level B1G team triggers flashbacks of two previous deflating seasons. I still hold out HOKE…I mean hope that this won’t end like years past. The defense is better, adjustments after halftime (at least on defense) are apparent, and a larger chip is growing on the seniors that have experience possibly the worst years of Michigan football. In order for bloodthirsty players and fans to be happy this year, there needs to be at least two more wins. If not, next year is not going to be any easier and the offseason of Michigan infighting will seem all for naught.


PART III: Disgraced Valley at Pedophile State University

Much has been said on the Penn State/Sandusky matter. My only words are as follows. They won’t change a thing and some if not many won’t find any value in them. As a rabid college football fan and a recent citizen of the state, I must express them as I have yet to do so.

In 1998 accusations of inappropriate interactions between Sandusky and a young boy surfaced on the campus of Pennsylvania State University. In my opinion, this is what suddenly put the heir apparent of the football program into retirement. This was the first acknowledgement of wrong doing by the coaching staff and university. For four more years Sandusky was given unfettered access to the university facilities to continue his monstrous campaign of ruining the lives of future men.

Again in 2002 a graduate assistant (Mike McQueary) walked in on Sandusky naked having sexual intercourse with a ten year old boy. As the boy and Sandusky most likely turned to see the act was seen, the boy hoping that this nightmare may have been over was dashed when McQueary turned his back and rand home to his daddy. After his dad convinced McQueary to report the act to Joe Paterno and he did so, Joe Paterno then reported it to the now defunct AD. The authorities were never brought in for an investigation and no follow ups were had. An agreement between Joe Paterno, the AD, and the president of the University, Graham Spanier signed off on barring Sandusky from the campus. This would be the second acknowledgement of wrong doing. Again, no follow up and no outside investigation.

Sandusky moved his horror show to the town I then was going to college in. He became an assistant football coach for the high school team and still lured vulnerable boys in his Second Mile program. Finally getting caught again, the guillotine came down. Sandusky’s fate is sealed as I read it in the Grand Jury report. The man has a first class ticket to hell to have the offenses he exercised on youth done to him with Satan’s pitchfork.

Because his fate seems to be sealed, the attention has turned elsewhere on Joe Paterno, the school administration, and Mike McQueary. Attention deserved. For at least 13 years, Joe Paterno knew something was awry with his assistant coach. In 2002 Mike McQueary had a chance to save a ten year old child from the worst day of his young life. The administration was given notice. All chose to do nothing. If Joe Paterno is a man that holds those around him to  a higher level of accountability, then a man that holds more power than the board of trustees and the president of the university should have made sure the matter was taken care of and no more young boys were hurt. Instead he either thought the matter would go away or wanted to maintain a squeaky clean image of the football program.  Either way, it was wrong. Of course he did what he was technically supposed to do, but he chose a football program over the lives of children. No sport or program is worth more than an opportunity of a normal childhood. Many asked me if I would feel as strongly if this was in Michigan’s house because of my unvarnished hatred of PSU before this went down. The answer is yes. I could not continue to cheer on a program that was complicit in the molestation of young vulnerable boys.

Mike McQueary had a firsthand account to the sadistic acts Sandusky was capable of. He told Paterno and washed his hands of it. When he became a coach, he literally watched as Sandusky paraded more victims to PSU coaching functions and practices knowing damn well what that fucking swine could and would do. I believe there is a law in PA I came across in my occupation that said if any abuse to a child is witnessed or even plausibly true, it MUST be reported to state authorities. The fucking coward could have even anonymously called and told state authorities what had happened. Instead he received a coaching job and stayed mum.

The administration did more of the same. The top of the food chain chose to ignore and to minimally punish Sandusky. The “responsibility” lay with them and they did nothing. This is why the AD and VP of Finance resigned and the president who spoke ignorantly that he backed both unabashed is tonight getting axed as he well should be. All of them should be tarred and feathered and drug through broken glass and rusty nails.

The one item that is increasingly heinous is the victimization of the three parties above. As a recent citizen of PA I experience the cultish trust and invincibility of the PSU football program. Going to college a half an hour from PSU, I experienced this on an extreme level. This football program was so tight knit that it is another reason I cannot believe JoePa and others had no idea that Sandusky’s felonies were known and were suspected to probably to continue. The blind faith many in PA have of the football program is now at a disgusting level. Instead of lashing out to get to the bottom of this disgraceful episode in their history, they lash out at those accusing Paterno and those surrounding the case for unfair targeting. This is not all alumni and fans, but most. I believe it is this cult like following that allowed for this kind of horrific act to take place. PSU football became bigger than life. These children and their families were probably PSU football fans and bigger ones once this “trusted” program chose to include them into this James Johnson hypnotic organization. Families entrusted their young to the care and support of Paterno and his football family. Now instead of talking about victims and whose ass should burn for this, many in the cult of PSU football have had their reality challenged. This is something that has never happened in the age of Paterno. The grasping at straws to defend this program’s wide cover-up of the most atrocious crimes is a desperate attempt to hold onto a reality that really never was. Sandusky was a monster predator and Paterno, McQueary, and the PSU administration were complicit in his actions. Yesterday another 20 plausible victims came forward that could have been prevented if corrective actions were taken at first notice. Instead Paterno and the administration allowed a serial child rapist full access to their facilities for four years after knowing something was not right. The headlines today said Paterno has chosen to retire at the end of the season? The president of the university is getting fired and he gets to stay?! Fuck no! No longer does he get to decide PSU football. He has already shown grave mistakes and has admitted doing so with this simple quote said today:

“This is a tragedy. It is one of the great sorrows of my life. With the benefit of hindsight, I wish I had done more."

This man and those around this scandal will be taking the field Saturday with the privilege of doing something they love when men and boys around PA were betrayed by that same blind and dangerous love of moving on and forgetting the past in the name of PSU football.*

Nebraska, you better fucking annihilate these cowards and mutant freaks into further humiliation and disgrace.**


*As posting this, The PSU Board of Trustees have fired Graham Spanier and Joe Paterno. What about Mike McQueary?

**Nebraska- Green light to humiliate these freaks is still a go.

go maize.

Withdrawal With a Bowie Knife And Steve Lattimer does XFL

Withdrawal With a Bowie Knife And Steve Lattimer does XFL

Submitted by jhackney on October 20th, 2011 at 10:55 PM

Well that blew. So did the game. As the hopes and dreams of a rose covered field similar to the bed in American Beauty got ugly, so did the rules and reactions of Michiganders everywhere. Riding high on a drug better than K2 or bath salts, our HOKE supply dried up. Like junkies hooked on a drug, Michigan fans in withdrawal began lashing out with a bowie knife everywhere and on everyone. Some of the slashing was justified, but some was just pent up rage left over from three disappointing seasons previous.

Pass the Asparagus:



As the first quarter reared its ugly head on my boob tube, I instantly recognized this game was going to be peculiar. It seemed that the Oregon Ducks broke out their 379th uniform combo and some clown college broke out of a birthday party training and took the field in Michigan’s place. I would find out that the real clowns were the other team and the other dudes wearing stripes. When the graceful intelligence of the sportscasters acknowledged that this was actually Little Brother University and Michigan I felt a queasy feeling I hadn’t experienced since my friend's pet mongoose swallowed a family of ducklings and its mother whole at a local pond in front a group of Catholic school kids. The poor kids got a real life lesson on life’s abrupt and messy ends at any age. I’m sure the nuns got a kick out of it and turned it into a behavioral incentive program.


After gaining my orientation back from the kick to the senses the uniforms of both teams provided, I was shocked and disappointed. I was shocked that the Fingerpaint Department at LBU did not whisper into Dantonio’s ear that their colors and fight song include the colors green AND white. Maybe they did, but his school’s Napoleonic Complex was in the way.  I was disappointed that even though it was most likely planned, the boys in blue went in to the locker room a half an hour before kickoff to change into their uniforms. It gave off the feeling of a combination of Project Runway and keeping up with the Joneses.

The uniforms were not the only disgusting factor in a game that blew more than two ways from Tuesday. The play calling as you all have noticed or heard by now was less than stellar. Why have a QB that has just an average pass game pass into tropical depression strength winds? Maybe Gorgeous Borges didn’t notice his own hair blowing in the wind. The wind was devastating and underrated in the game in my opinion. Combined with the wind and Gorgeous Borges’ play calling, Gardner’s sporadic appearances in the game wasted plays. At one point a wide open tailback was left hanging out playing jacks in the middle of the field with nothing but end zone and ugly sorority girls in front of him. If Denard was also supposed to find any rhythm in the howling winds of autumn, then he surely wouldn’t get it knowing he could be pulled at any second with the thought in the back of his mind that Gardner was getting in because Gorgeous Borges got frustrated with his pass game and put in Gardner to spark the offense. That kind of thing in a hostile territory like East Lansing would eat at your brain like a super dose of E.

These thoughts came to the front of Denard’s mind as Gholston spun the front of his head 180 degrees. Gholston decided to celebrate Halloween early by becoming his all time role model of football, Steve Lattimer. Like Lattimer, Gholston couldn’t control his inner thugness by doing most of his hitting after the whistles. Why Lewan didn’t gouge his fucking eyes out and pitchfork his dome into a crowd of three legged mules, I will not know until the day I die. The referees acted like 80 year old substitute teachers in Watts by tossing their hankies when they should have brought a hammer down and thrown their asses out for showing up to a NCAA football game with an XFL mentality. Then they should have thrown their crowd, stadium, waste management, and coaches out for unnecessary ugliness.



With the distractions of nauseating uniforms and cage match free for all rules the offensive line must have been confused with the concept of snap counts and picking up blitzes. This compounded the problems listed above that already made for a miserable day that even Poe wouldn’t touch with a 34 and a ½ inch pole.


As the results reverberated through MGoBlogdom and beyond, the crazies made an appearance and rationality of the season at large checked out. Even though I would be the first to panic on a ship with water on it in the middle of the Sahara, I did not feel a sense of panic as the previous two years…yet. The defense for all of the problems had on offense this sad day still looked eleventy billion times better than last year. The offense with a pinch of logic and constant practice can still improve. No we are not a national contender nor do I think even a B1G championship contender right now, but I didn’t think we were going to be August 31st either.  So far I am pleased with the progress, not necessarily losing to LBU, but given the growing pains of a tumultuous three years of coaching changes, roster exoduses, and a Pimp Hand looking to sponsor the ring on his hand with Evil Pop while bringing back consistent winning ways doesn’t seem that bad. This could all change but I am willing to stay to be a champion and because I have donated way too much emotional and physical time with a team since I graduate from pull ups and mushy dinners.



-go maize

-on wisconsin

The Cure to Premature E-Jubilation

The Cure to Premature E-Jubilation

Submitted by jhackney on October 13th, 2011 at 6:52 PM

As few of you noticed, I didn’t meet my Thursday night deadline for posting. I was in the midst of a bi-polar episode that threatened all of Wayne County to the point where even gang members were put on high alert and locked their doors. The Detroit Tigers were playing the hated Skankees of New Amsterdam. I could not focus on much more that Cabrera’s baby face and Delmon Young’s long ball. Not that there was much to write about last week anyways. To my five followers, I apologize.

Two Saturdays ago, Michigan humiliated and kicked the LOLophers 58-0 like Lewan kicking a three legged donkey destined for hell after being pushed through a meat grinder. The only surprise I had out of the game was that the lowly LOLophers couldn’t even manage a field goal. Props to the defense for getting the first shutout in a long time. Minnesota, the team who cannot beat the Dakota’s I-AA teams even though their roster out numbers both Dakota’s population combined, couldn’t even score if they were at a blind swinger’s party carrying Spanish Fly. The game was a not even a contest from the beginning to the end, especially when Michigan sent out their color guard team after halftime.

What was interesting was the dual play of Gardner and Denard. This idea was clamored for all of last year but perhaps Gardner wasn’t ready yet or Josh Groban’s greatest hits were playing too loud in the locker room for anyone to hear the idea. I have a distinct feeling that we will see this package expand in numbers played and the playbook expanded in different looks. I am sure Gorgeous Borges has something up his sleeve for the slime west and sludge south of Ann Arbor.


The past weekend’s B1G matchup brought an experienced QB and a higher quality team over all in Michigan’s first road game*. Dan Persa, who seems to me to be currently enrolled on the Van Wilder eligibility program, posed a threat to a defense for the most part untested by a quality QB. Yes, I know we played Carder, but Carder wouldn’t be able to hold Persa’s grandchildren’s pacemakers. Not only was Northwestern a better quality opponent than all but one of our past five games, but we were sitting on the record of 5-0 with a #12 ranking in the nation. #12?! The Notre Dame voters must have finally given up on overrating the fighting Holtzssffff and switched their attention on Michigan. We are definitely better than last year, but not yet at an almost top ten level in the nation. The ranking, along with the curse of Premature E-Jubilation that MGoBloggers has embarrassingly suffered from the past two years was heavy in most rational minds**. The fear and angst of being on the brink of bowl eligibility without ever accomplishing it until late in the season was almost too much for me. I once had this feeling of fear and angst before. The target:  the prom with a beautiful girl from my senior class. The outcome; scrambling to pick the best of the leftovers, reaching the dance with a less than preferred date, and getting blown…….out at the after party when the fruit punch and Oreos were gone. Everyone was tired from such a fuckin wild night. How we didn’t get arrested, I do not know. Luckily I have ceased my behaviors of illegal persuasion and currently am applying for priesthood. Whoa, went on a tangent. Back to the story. I once had a goat named Sally…..


Northwestern came out in command of offense and defense for almost the entire first half. I felt the curse of 5-0 lurking in the shadows like some angry pedo-bear ready to pounce on a young, unexpecting defense. As I sat in a Flint living room, at halftime I had to take drastic measures. I started munching on Zingerman’s Black Magic Brownies expecting the best medicinal buzz Michigan could provide in a tasty snack. Waiting for it to kick in, I chugged a bottle of Robitussin for my “head cold” and the last four beers of my Rascal White Ale for a runway easer for my magic brownies. I was ready to take on the sorrow and pain of Premature E-Jubilation like a champ.


After halftime I began to feel a little better. The perfect doom preparation concoction was working. I began hallucinating the Michigan defense literally ripping the head off Persa and Pat Fitzgerald getting a flag because his face color matched his purple jacket. He and Brian Kelly would make a wonderful profit on creating a coloring book for young children with anger management issues. At any rate, the Michigan offense also began to trip me out by actually moving the ball all the way into those colored zones on each end of the field. Somehow HOKE always eludes media by slipping out of the locker at halftime, installing magnets in those end zones, and then installing the matching magnets in his offense’s shoes, or for Denards case, his socks.

By the end of the game, Michigan post magnets shut out Northwestern 28-0. Add that to pre-magnets, and you get a final score of 42-24. As I came down from my E-Jubilation concoction, I realized three things.

1. We are bowl eligible. Is the curse finally broken?

2. If we are defensively talented enough and offensively diversified enough to beat the slime from the east, Michigan could make a legitimate run at the B1G title. The rest of the B1G seems to moving downwards. This means our last greatest challenge of the year as of right now may actually be the fighting Zookers.

3. There is nothing magic about the Zingerman’s brownies. I want my money back for false advertising. I also want to congratulate Robitussin for coming through in the clutch and picking up Zingerman’s slack.


Seems as if little brother experienced a three year growth spurt. Along with puberty comes wild mood swings, false confidence, violent behavior, trouble with the law, and lots of acne. Time to pop the zits.



*Road game to Michigan-Chicago campus at Ryan Field.

**Rational descriptor for MGoBloggers may be an overstatement.

John Wayne Mattison Is Wrestling Pre-Pubescent Black Bears

John Wayne Mattison Is Wrestling Pre-Pubescent Black Bears

Submitted by jhackney on September 29th, 2011 at 10:15 PM

It is quite a surprise we are all here. After the performance of the offense and defense at various times against the Fighting EMUs I expected the worst heading into a game with a talented San Diego State. SDSU’s mascot is the Aztecs. These violent lots of people from history were neighbors to the Mayan civilization. Being so close to 2012, I began thinking Saturday against the Aztecs was a bad omen. If we played like we did versus the Fighting EMUs against this bunch, at the very least there would be a sacrifice of one of our former Aztec coaches.

HOKE also gave fuel to SDSU’s fire because of the way he left. He sent them a text, put on his Sony Walkman and looped the Proclaimers’ smash hit, “I would walk 500 miles.” It left a sour taste in the mouths of many Aztecs and they were ready to stuff MANBAWW FOOTBAWW down HOKE’s throat. But it turned out that HOKE went from being an Aztec to being a Tlaxcalan with the help of his coordinators Cortez and Pedro de Alvarado in the conquering of SDSU.


I wanted to attend this game but the realities of reality would not allow for it. If I were to descend into Ann Arbor for any game at any time, I would not return. I would end up waking on a park bench to a police officer with a cattle prod. Out of respect to my job that pays, I stayed home and watched it on the tele. My roommates thought it would be an excellent day to drop cleaning day at the exact time as the Michigan game. I reminded them that nothing takes precedence over my 3-3 ½ hours of joy I get out of a whole week by shot putting the vacuum cleaner onto Farmington Road. The point was made and the game began.

Pre-Rage Pic of Roomy and Vacuum Cleaner: I think it is a Dyson:

I could not fathom the start that I witnessed. Michigan jumped out to a 14-0 nothing lead quicker than Gorgeous Borges fixes his hair in the morning. The way this game was going, I could enjoy a wonderful trip from my trusty suitcase and enjoy the colors on the screen hoping that a double rainbow appears at midfield. Lou Holthsss would appear and Mike Martin would eat him like a bowl of Luck Charms. Luckily I didn’t take my doctor’s approved amount of blotter or else I would I would be writing from a room full of rubber pads and foam razor blades. The momentum ceased immediately after the numbers 14 dotted the scoreboard.

The defense fought SDSU into a stalemate for most of the game forcing three turnovers. This started prompting the question on many minds if these turnovers were made out of skill or luck. It seems that this year the defense has as many turnovers as Bret Bielema has steaks in his jock strap. All the guessing and analyzing can be done by the professional stat guys in our MGoBlog community, but the fact is that no one really knows. We all know the defense is at least one shade better than the defense last year and that might mean you can pin the answer on that, but Michigan has also being playing with fire the whole year so far with all but one team in the field position battle. EMU and SDSU entered Michigan territory many times luckily coming away with very little. It was like the man and his wife who hung around grizzlies for an extended time period. It seemed fun, dangerous, and amazing that a grizzly didn’t swipe a piece of their fuckin taint and guzzle it down with a side of salmon eggs and fresh spring water until they became the main course one evening as we received a bone chilling feeling listening to their blood curdling screams until their larynx became dessert. Not a scene I want repeating in my head ever again. Michigan’s defense is paying the same game, but with pre-pubescent black bears for opponents save maybe Notre Lame. Eventually we might get a big ole bear swat that deflates our jubilation at the current moment. Maybe not. Maybe Mattison has installed true grit into his players and the bending is all part of the plan as long as he blitzes like bipolar hell banshees until the opponents QB shits the bed like Lindley did this past Saturday. We won’t know until further into the season as we test ourselves against a larger talent pool.

John Wayne Mattison's True Grit Secret Blitz Play:


Offense? Well we have Denard Robinson who sprinkles diamonds on his food because even his shit sparkles.  That is unless he passes. Denard sparked the Wolverine offense with his legs once again and helped the team to a 28-7 victory with another 200 yard rushing game. There is no doubt that he is a special human and we all feel like associate doctors watch him surgically disembowel opponents from stadium seating with RAWK theme music. There is one brighter spot that has emerged from an offense that only possessed a Denard Maglite last year that was beaten and thrown around as if sociopathic 6th graders got a hold of a kitten. Vincent Smith is the epitome of a true Wolverine this year. The man who is often confused for a TLC little person show character that runs like a bull moose and fights like a wiry wolverine. This is hopefully a viable option the whole year.  There was no other option than Denard last year, and our opponents knew that. He was ran into the ground last year carrying the offense on his shoulders, a tough task to do with a donkey kicking Lewan that sends Chinese Buffets scrambling to lock their doors when he walks down the street. Again, time will tell if Smith will continue to be an option down the road and if Denard’s passing game make’s Dick Cheney’s heart beat more than our opponents. (Dick, I still want fuchsia colored boa back if you are reading this. Until then, I refuse to be bunk mates again if there is another intercontinental emergency or bad Michigan season.)


Never before seen Vincent Smith recruiting video:

With that said we face another opponent that should seriously consider heading up a powerful community college league for a farm program of the USFL. The LOLophers looked like a competitor in their game against USC and then fell apart quickly afterwards. It is bad when your program reminisces about the glory days of Glen Mason. I predict a big win with big Denard numbers again. I will sleep well, but anxiously for the season ahead. I can take care of the anxiety with whisky, codeine, and some glue, but I cannot fix the wrinkles Gorgeous Borges and John Wayne Mattison face ahead. Let the B1G season begin by playing some whack-a-Lolopher and gaining some momentum for the same beginning with a different ending.

P.S. For a sure winning bet on a big game this weekend in Madison, place your bets on the team in red and white.


-go maize.

Plaid Sports Jackets Will Not Be The End Of Me

Plaid Sports Jackets Will Not Be The End Of Me

Submitted by jhackney on September 22nd, 2011 at 9:16 PM

It has already been three weeks of college football season and I have the self mutilation scars tallying every time I thought a game was lost or became frustrated with the Pitbull Dr. Pepper commercials. After spending an afternoon staring at my scars, I realized this habit must stop or else I will be sucking up all the good blood at the hospital for selfish reasons. This past weekend was supposed to be a “healing weekend.” It turned out to be just as frustrating as the past two.

The Eastern Michigan University football team has been compared to a punching bag or even an ugly mannequin used for those loners down in their basements to beat up on after losing their six hour quest of Dungeons and Dragons to install confidence for the next life wasting night full of pizza, funny dice, and no estrogen save in their man breasts from too much pizza and coddling at a young age.  I debated whether to even watch this game or to take natural medicine and travel fast as I could to the Medieval Festival in Holly to take in the wonderful colors, music, belly dancing, and a turkey leg the size of Mattison’s head. I decided that in order to keep a weekly diary going it would be in my best interest to stay and watch. I expected an avalanche of offense and a punishment of defense from the get go by our beloved Michigan Wolverines. I soon found myself trying to remember how to tie a slipknot and finding a tall enough place by halftime.

The offense started out anemic and the defense played as if they were on the winning side of the game Tag and trying not to get tagged back. For a while I thought this was some cruel hoax of a uniform swith in the locker rooms so that Mike Hart would be able to coach the Michigan Wolverines incognito. Eastern Michigan manhandled Michigan as their offense stampeded down the field on at least three straight occasions but only coming away with three points from the whole ordeal. Thank the all knowing Spaghetti Monster that this was an inept team that didn’t know how to handle momentum against quality opponents and made buffoons out of themselves on national television. If this were any BIG opponent, our ass would have been grass, and they would have turned it over to the authorities.  The Michigan offense was just as putrid as Gorgeous Borges still looks for an offensive strategy besides Denard Left, Denard Right, Denard Center, and Denard Please Fucking Save Us. He still hasn’t found it. MANBAWW FOOTBAWW. Sure Vincent Smith got over 100 yards on various attempts, but again, this is Eastern Michigan School of the Fighting Stuffed Animals. Denards’s throwing seemed to regress as he sailed passes to Tacopants and to Lloyd Brady tailgating outside the stadium.

At halftime I decided it was a bit hyperbolic to hang myself this early in the season. I should save that for Michigan State or Nebraska. I don’t want to waste my finale on a team that my old University President from Pennsylvania who wore plaid sports jackets stepped in for in the past to serve as Emergency President at Eastern. No way. Plaid sports jackets will not be the end of me. I knew Michigan would pull this out from the beginning, but the way in which they started the game was discouraging. Mattison and Gorgeous Borges better take note that an imitation Division III team pushed them around for one whole quarter.  

After halftime, Michigan had a fire lit under their ass and the lighter fluid to ignite it was the usual brand, Denard Robinson.  The defense also stepped up their game to begin to look respectable, but the rushing attack by the fighting EMU’s still plagued them. Denard galloped his way on his feet, which I am convinced are small unicorns blessed by the Pope. (How else would he always make the Irish look like chumps?) As the scoreboard raced higher for Michigan after unanswered touchdowns quicker than Tyrone Biggums  racing higher after stealing a car radio, I still felt a level of disappointment. If Michigan were an ice cream shop going head to head with Baskin-Robbins for the Internationally known Lactose Award for Variety, they would lose 37-1.

Last year Michigan leaned heavily on Denard until he docked in at the end of the season with more bumps, bruises, and injuries than Whitney Hill after a good night out with Bobby. Not only was Denard beat-up by the end of the season, everyone figured out the game plan of a hobbled legged QB trying desperately to save his team from losing and his coach from trying out for Glee.  The end result was a predictive offense with a defense that would have won Last Comic Standing and an embarrassing end to the season by being drubbed by Mississippi State 52-14.

The FEAR is afoot again. Whether it is Gorgeous Borges’ fault that he hasn’t tried to implement more offensive strategies using Denard’s threat to open up other plays besides a quick slant and a zone read, or because we are not there offensively with the talent up front and around someone like Denard can be debated until the cows come back to tsio’s many sororities. The defense has improved slightly, but is nowhere near a level accustomed to Michigan’s past or a level that can sustain a season in the Big Ten 2.0. The FEAR is creeping up my leg and beginning to look like a rabid warthog with pieces of kitten flesh dripping from its tusks. The game against Eastern Michigan may have been rewarding in it brought us another win and national ranking, but it also served as a curse in possible false hopes and a déjà vu that is beginning to resemble a Greek  tragedy rendition of Groundhog Day. Then again, I’ve been known to worry too much.



-Go Maize

BBQ Sauced Kittens and Homeland Security

BBQ Sauced Kittens and Homeland Security

Submitted by jhackney on September 15th, 2011 at 6:35 PM

Week two. Ann Arbor. Shit got peculiar. 

Going into week two I had a nervous feeling that a chicken may get when crossing a high wire over a pit of rabid mauling crocodiles. Coming off a win of an abnormal scenario, there was a chance of a letdown that would put Charlie Sheen’s live standup routine in Detroit to shame. There was going to be lights, security shipped in from Blackwater, jets flying over, paratroopers dropping in at halftime, and uniforms that a future art student at age seven made on NCAA ’12. If it weren’t a football game, many people in the Ann Arbor vicinity may have thought Red Dawn 2 was being filmed in the Big House.

Notre Dame was coming off an embarrassing loss to a far less talented team from the swamps of Florida. One emotion of the Notre Dame Fighting Kellys was obviously anger. Brian Kelly is the only coach I know of that earned his coaching degree from the Homeland Security Department. It was Kelly that spurred Tom Ridge and other brainiacs to come up with the color coded alert levels. After last week, the South Florida Bulls are now on the U.S. Terrorist List.

Notre Dame was gunning to ruin a night of history in Michigan Stadium. They are not a team that lacks neither talent nor coaching skill (notice I didn’t say class). After doubling up the offensive production and producing a stifling defense against South Florida, they themselves lost the game due to the curse of Lou Holtz. Ever since ridding themselves of Lou Holtz, spittle traced back to Dr. Lou’s DNA can be found on every game ball ND touches. This logically explains the many fumbles and miscommunication. I believed naively that the curse would be lifted against Michigan due to Kelly’s coaching prowess and it just didn’t sit well statistically that Michigan could beat ND three years in a row. I respect statistics and precedence. Three in a row, especially with the transitions and coaching clusterfucks Michigan has experienced the past four years, just didn’t seem plausible.

The game began and I didn’t watch it. The beginning of it that is. I was too busy caught up watching ESS EEE SEE FOOTBAWW as Georgia went 0-2 against the Gamecocks of South Carolina in what seemed to be the longest two minutes of fourth quarter in college football history. I think it can be chalked up to a combination of a lack of number skills and a conference hell bent on ruining the lives of scholarship players and intelligent people everywhere.

When the game finally came on, I witnessed a déjà vu of last week’s first drive by the opponent. Michigan made Rees look like an All-American. Brent Musberger was getting off on being able to show off his counting skillz by constantly updating an already irritable Michigan fan base watching on TV the pass attempt/pass completed ratio of Kelly’s poodle QB.  After the first drive, I expected a repeat performance of Michigan’s offense moving down the field in electrifying fashion. I couldn’t have been anymore wrong. Denard seemed like a mortal man that had his shoes not tied out of choice, but because he was just incapable. The offense was grim and the defense, well the defense was reminiscent of the finest looking Swiss Cheese west of the Prime Meridian. Not only was Notre Dame racking up passing yards that went mostly to Calvin Johnson Jr., but the running game of Notre Dame’s was also slicing and dicing the Michigan defense. The game began looking grim. Michigan looked more helpless than a bag of kittens smothered with BBQ sauce sitting on a silver platter in front of John Madden.  Halftime ended 17-7 in favor of the Notre Lame Fighting Kellys.

Once halftime started, I had to take a shower. I had this disgusting film of disappointment covering my body. As mentioned before, I did not expect this game to have an outcome that I desired, but I did expect MANBAWW FOOTBAWW to put up a better fight than a nun in a UFC fight. I texted one of my colleagues that was sitting inside the Big House amongst the mass of people that was watching the horror show live to walk into the locker room and demand that HOKE either start pointing magical rays of football into the players or get out while he still could and join me at a shindig in Detroit I was readying myself for. The shindig included many beautiful women and alcohol. I was not sticking around to see Notre Dame light up the scoreboard as I sat alone in my Livonia basement mancave. Alcohol seemed to be the perfect remedy to obliterate my memory and women seemed to be the perfect cure for a bad case of grumpypantsitis due to their nurturing demeanor.

Once the third quarter started I smelled good and was ready to cut rug in Detroit. I figured I’d wait one or two more drives to see if HOKE inspired the team, the team, the team to fight back and make this a respectable game. I was at first sorely disappointed again. ND scored making the first night game in Michigan’s history 24-7 bad guys. As I started making the finishing touches on making myself presentable to the public eye, Michigan scored! Not only did they just score, they made a play that became a cliffhanger for me. Denard threw a long bomb to Hemingway as a ND defender gnawed upon his leg. I guess he could make this throw and play due to the drills in practice where Gorgeous Borges holds onto Denard’s legs preventing him from running and making insane plays with his legs. This forces Denard to make insane plays with his arm.

After that score making the game 24-14, I decided to stay, so I could be a champion. I am glad I did. Sitting helplessly in my chair I worried that this game would keep my hopes alive just enough that I didn’t get to use my new pack of razor blades I picked up at Ace Hardware earlier until the end. Then the hour would be too late to get a quality suicide hotline operator to talk me down. The graveyard shift gets its name for a reason. Not only was I working on my third ulcer, but my ex-girlfriend half a world away thought it would be a wise idea to send a shitstorm of insults at my team’s first night game just because she was jealous that her alma mater of Penn State‘s only tradition was waving a cane at a pep rally and excusing himself for foul language the night before. This night could not be anymore nervewracking.

The fourth quarter turned out to be a footballgasm that I will never forget. Michigan outscored ND 28-7 to defeat the Fighting Kellys. Not only was it a comeback of a lifetime, but the way ND crumbled was pure Shadenfreude. The most memorable was when the curse of Dr. Lou attacked Rees into throwing the ball…without the ball. At this point, the Michigan National Guard was put on high alert as the Kelly Alert Level reached violet. From late in the game on, the breaks bounced Michigan’s way. The Hopkins fumble into Denard’s magical hands and the five turnovers in all seemed to be luck that slid in the direction of the Maize and Blue. Michigan pulled out a victory of epic proportions and I felt like a champion for staying. I texted back by ex’s comment of this being an embarrassing moment of Michigan football history, “Fuck your history.”


As for the seeming luck that the Irish did not have and Michigan did, I believe there was something more.  I think it was Vince Lombardi or someone important like that that once said, “Luck is when hard work meets opportunity.” After watching this game I believe this quote a little more. This team for the last three years, would have never been able to pull this off. You can bicker about it being the coaches, player’s age, or lack of skill, but I saw a team believing in themselves that I haven’t seen in a long time. The breaks in the game have not bounced in Michigan’s favor against a formidable opponent in such away for at least three years. You may argue Wisconsin 2008, but they ended up 7-6. As I said earlier, ND is going to be a decent team this year. As a matter of fact, I expect them to knock off Michigan State. Brian Kelly will turn Notre Dame into kamikazes before he lets ND go 0-3. I am sure they are practicing ball handling skills with duct tape and battering rams at this very moment. Anyways, this Michigan team shows fight. Something I knew the last couple of years they didn’t. In the past, as soon as the offensive momentum ceased, so did the whole team’s chances. Not in 2011. This Michigan team may end up 7-6 or something close, but at least I know they will die fighting.

Screaming, yelling, and having your face mocking a chameleon in heat may be therapeutic for some, but a resolve to never give up and keep giving your opponent everything you got on a big stage at home in the style I saw last Saturday night, is true Homeland Security.


-Go Blue

MANBAWW FOOTBAWW Is Beginning To Warm My Aorta

MANBAWW FOOTBAWW Is Beginning To Warm My Aorta

Submitted by jhackney on September 8th, 2011 at 11:29 PM

It was a cold winter. Not just because the mercury in my thermometer froze, but because I felt Jack Frost nipping my aorta. The 2010 season ending in disaster sent me into seclusion in an undisclosed location. For what it’s worth, Dick Cheney is a horrible bunk mate and cheats like hell at Risk. I was lost for months being dissatisfied with the Gator Bowl Massacre, the ensuing drama of Rich Rodriguez firing, and HOKE being hired in his stead. My theory was that if you are going to fire a coach, make sure the next guy is better. HOKE to me at the time fell way below this standard. I thought he’d make a good run at the WWE giving the people’s pointer, but not for head ball coach at the University of Michigan. I dropped away from MGoBlog for the winter/spring/and most of the summer. Although I had many items on my plate such as world domination, running up my phone bill on a suicide hotline, and practicing the French Horn in my hang out to piss off Cheney.


After leaving my bunker and pleasantly surprise that the nuclear radiation was fairly low, I began thawing my icy demeanor to prepare for the upcoming season. I began surfing through the posts of MGoBlog for motivation. Even though the quality of the posts was high, I needed something more. I loaded the canoe, grabbed my closest confidant, dipped into my suitcase of goodies and took to Bearwallow Pond. Bearwallow Pond is home to the most fierce man eating chain pickerel known to man. As I came to peace with myself battling the forces of evil and experiencing a full blown visionquest that would make Jack Kerouac blush, I realized that I must buy into MANBAWW FOOTBAWW or never be a Michigan fan once again. I chose the former because not being a Michigan football fan is forfeiting your soul. If I wasn’t a Michigan football fan, I would be destined to hang out in Columbus being a Blue Hornet’s groupie and bestowing myself a wife that I will only meet in the realm of World of Warcraft named Grundela.

September 3rd, 2011. The long cold offseason is over. I finally get to see the maize and blue streak out onto the feet. Unfortunately, I could not see them due to the heavy haze that settled into Midwest that threatened to pose serious health problems to Gorgeous Borges. It was hotter than a pair of monkey balls in July. The on the field reporter had a gadget that looked similar to a speedometer. She claimed it was to read the temperature on the ground. I then became convinced that it was a speedometer when it read 131. That was definitely Denard just walking by.

The first quarter drive by Western Michigan brought back flashes of beavers, atomic bombs, sad kittens, and death. I witnessed a MAC team slice through the Michigan defense like I had many times before. This time was different though. I did not have razor blades and salt readied for added pain because I held out hope err…HOKE. Thankfully the touchdown by Michigan at the beginning of the second brought me back from the edge.

At the beginning of the second quarter I also noticed that Carder was having difficulties with audibles. I have not attended a game since the finalization of the renovations (soon to change). I was pleasantly surprised that opposing teams may now have to worry about hearing the correct calls before snapping the ball. Lay the largest library bullshit to rest.

Western Michigan again began exacting a slow painful mauling of a defense again in the middle of second quarter. It looked as if the defense once again was helpless as earthworms after a rainstorm before the turning point of the game came in the form of a 94 yard interception return for a TD by Brandon Herron. After I completed a whole rearrangement of my house in a reenactment of the Herron return, much to my roommates chagrin, I had a different feeling in the pit of my large intestine. Something broke in favor of the Wolverines at a time when it was desperately needed. It was a fix that was finally met after a three year withdrawal that put most Wolverine fans in Nirvana.

After the turning point in the game, WMU began to cave. I find myself more empathetic for self destructing behaviors after witnessing a horror show full of them these past three years. This may explain my deep connection to self mutilators, Jersey Shore fans, and ohio citizens.

Gibbons is an animal. Not in the way that separates someone for exceptional accolades, but an animal in that he has instincts for inclement weather. After Michigan’s third TD, Gibbons sensed the Monsoonpocalypse barreling down the I-96 corridor.  He missed an extra point. We should have respected his all powerful warning because the series of storms that followed wreaked havoc on the stairs and fabrics that occupied the Big House.

After one restart and another delay, Brandon showed the WMU athletic director his pimp hand and the game was finished. Although the game was a washout win, many fans in and out of the rainpocalypse felt refreshed. There was a new buzz in the air. A buzz filled with HOKE. The defense became aggressive unlike ever before in the A.C. era. (After Carr). Kovacs proved that his blood lust was not a fluke as he single handily made Carder crawl into a fetal position headless, The kicking game was ok?, no beavers were spotted or harmed in the game, and no one feared a Josh Groban rendition. Rainbows, happiness, and FOOTBAWWW had returned to Michigan, or did it?

I can speak for myself and I am sure many others are in agreement when through all the celebrating in the American traditional way of killing brain cells with multiple substances at a single time, there lingered a itching worry that this may be the same feeling of after the UConn 2010 win. Notre Dame will be the next test. They have plenty of talent but a habit of Plaxico Burressing themselves in the foot. The defense will surely get a test and save any other bat shit crazy act from mother nature, this will be the first full game of the season. Which means the first fourth quarter of the season. If Gibbons starts missing extra points, head for the hills. If Brian Kelly has an aneurism and collapses on his face, stick around.

We shall be one step closer to finding out if we have caught some wind in our sails to the promised land, or if we will continue to wallow in our own poop deck.


-Go Blue


P.S. Due to insane first week of work, pictures and videos have been excluded. Please don’t hold it against me. I'll find you.

The Trials and Tribulations of the Michigan Coaching Search

The Trials and Tribulations of the Michigan Coaching Search

Submitted by jhackney on January 12th, 2011 at 4:29 AM

The Trials and Tribulations of the Michigan Coaching Search


January 5th, 2011



   It has been a long strange trip and I doubt the surprises and pitfalls are over yet. The topic of changing the Michigan head coaching job has been popular since the last year of our retired poet coach, Lloyd Carr. After a disastrous showing against a spread offense I-AA school and a shellacking at the hands, or should I say webbed hands of the Oregon Ducks, people were fed up with Carr’s hackneyed style of pro offense. It seemed the underlying mantra to switching to Rich Rodriguez was that if we couldn’t beat a spread offense, we might as well become one. Become one we did. After Bill Martin’s sailing excursion in the Caribbean with Johnny Depp and some Bahama girls, he went out and got the architect of the damn thing.

     The first year of the Rich Rod experiment went as well as a VIOXX addiction. With the changing of offensive systems, bare cupboards in way of players, and a new defensive scheme, a sub par year was expected. Then he finished 3-9, most recorded losses at Michigan for a season in its storied history and no bowl for the first time in over three decades. Seeing how the silver fox alumnus and Detroit Free Press Kool-Aid drinkers were not overly happy with the hire in the first place because he wasn’t a “Michigan Man”, a huge block of the fanbase was ready to throw him to the wolves after one year. Coupled with NCAA allegations and infractions that would make Erik Dickerson giggle a little bit, and a 5-7 season with no bowl again, he was not getting many Christmas cards in 2009. Come 2010, not even a super hero the likes of Flash Dilitium could save Rich Rod from a predestined outcome of being axed on January 5th, 2011. Another day that seemed like another chance to begin another fresh start.


    Throughout the 2010 season a man occupying a coaching position on the west coast caught the attention of a lot of people ready to return to the “Michigan Man” was the only man for the job that was given to a country bumpkin that had no place here while spitting his tobacco juice all over Schembechler’s coffin. There was also a faction of revolutionaries ready to defend Rich Rodriguez to the very bitter end, including me. That was until the Gator Bowl episode, where I became open to a change. Not necessarily getting rid of RR, but at least a major overhaul of the defensive staff like they were some worthless hacks in a company merger ready to be cut loose and beg on the street like vagabonds. It is my general belief that if the Michigan fan base were armed to the teeth, the bloodshed after that game would have rivaled the death toll at Gettysburg. Change of some sorts would have had to happen, no doubt about it.  Within two days of firing Rich Rod it seemed only two options were acceptable and likely. Either Jim Harbaugh would ride in on his white horse and raise the spirit of Bo to win at least six national championships in a row or the same result with Rich Rod and a revamped defense with General  Tommy Franks as defensive coordinator. Then, BOOM, went the coaching change.


     January 5th, 2011, a day not to celebrate a new start, but a day to commence panic and find the nearest lifeboat left as the Michtanic went down in the cold waters of Lake Huron as a string quartet played the final verse of Hail to the Victors. Dave Brandon, Chief Pizza Tosser, announced the firing and then announced he will begin the national search for a new head coach. Begin the search you say? As soon as that pepperoni eating fool uttered that sentence, the hounds of hell erupted into a fit of laughter and began feasting upon the souls of many people near and dear to our hearts.


      Our fearless captain of the S.S. MGoBlog went into DEFCON 5 mode; the blog broke due to heavy traffic, and every two bit expert wanting to weigh in on the wasteland known as Michigan football. I consumed a near dangerous level of Ambien to wake up in 2013 since I could not evoke my disapproval through digital nuclear warfare upon the masses. The national blood pressure average spiked as many of the MGoBlog community and residents of Michigan fandom nationwide erupted into anger that made the drunken Mel Gibson rant look like a children’s bedtime story. The end of Michigan football, along with the announcement of the end of the world in May put very bad vibes in many innocent bystanders of this pitiful saga.


January 7th, 2011

The White Horse and the Other Candidates


     “Michigan Man”, a term coined by the late Bo Schembechler. Many began to think it should have been buried along with our beloved coach. By measuring every football entity with the “Michigan Man” measuring stick, we have duped ourselves and placed a millstone around any future coach that would dare step within the city limits of Ann Arbor. There is nothing wrong with upholding an aurora of decency and model citizenry for a coach, but to only allow a coach to come in with ties to the original “Michigan Man” is foolish at best and self destructive at worst.

      Obviously the “Michigan Man” guard thinks more of the damn term than the jackass that pulled the rug out from under them, Jim Harbaugh. He will be gold digging in the bay area of California while we piss and moan about him not being a true “Michigan Man.” After a years worth of lusting after him he left his obsessive water carriers looking like grafters and shameless dunces. It seems the chosen one chose elsewhere.


     What were our options now? A name that wouldn’t seem to leave the psyche was Brady Hoke. Hoke was a “Michigan Man” and former coach on Lloyd Carr’s magical mystery team. It was clear that only a few felt positive about Hoke in this MGoBubble we live in. Although his die-hard supporters pushed his excellence to lofty and Yost like levels of comparisons, he was wanted by most as much as we would like to swap spit with a former Hutu warlord with leprosy that contracted the bubonic plague and took malaria baths.

     Another candidate was Chris Peterson from Boise State. He was less toxic than that mutant Hoke, but it seemed as if Boise St. coaches forgot their winning ways when they left the Potato State. Our only choice would be to hire him and become the next Colorado NAIA team or paint the Big House metallic blue and raise it about 10,000 feet in the air to induce Boise State like winning.

     Next on the ever lengthening list is Gary Patterson from TCU. Out of all the names mentioned so far, he was my favorite. He would be able to utilize Denard and install a defense similar to the one at TCU. The TCU defense brought purple rain and pain on the mouth breathing meatheads from Wisconsin, and I could only imagine the erotic feeling I would get if it became Maize Rain.  He also has many entertaining superstitions like un-tying and re-tying his shoelaces if his team was winning. That would definitely be a bonding point to get Denard to stay. I was also exclusive to the fact from an unnamed source that he shat rainbows every blue moon and was a close cousin of Horatio from CSI Miami.


     Another choice from the west is Kyle Wittingham, the head coach at Utah. This choice makes no sense to me if we just dumped a proven winner. Wittingham could still be riding the recruits brought in by the Urban Meyer experience and after a slight nose dive at the end of the season, my stomach feels about good on this choice as does the morning after downing a fifth of rot gut whisky. It was appealing the night I got drunk and dumped, but now it sucks feeling this way; waking up next to a one armed mustachioed heifer in some strange lacy red lingerie.


     The MGoUniverse became the chorus of a trendy Spice Girls song as everybody was telling everyone else what they wanted. As the days went by, more names from all corners of the football universe popped into the MGoBoard orbit. Panic became a drink of choice as the hands on the clock rounded through the hours many times. The night after the Cotton Bowl almost became the accumulation of the gnashed teeth and ulcers that were eating their way towards our rectums.

      Les Miles was all but certain to become the next coach at the University of Michigan. Book it. Done deal. Hell, even throw in some grass for him to munch on before we rolled out the red carpet in Ann Arbor for the soon to be anointed Jester-King. The LSU message boards were blowing up to the likes I haven’t seen since The Great Possum Snatching Scandal of 2002. I listened to Jim-Bob and Jimmy Sue’s radio broadcasting postgame show as caller after caller called in from Michigan and Louisiana to accept the fact that the trade was done and the universe could go back to focusing American Idol. Saturday came, no announcement. Sunday came, and again no announcement. Tom VH then came out with the depressing facts that our recruiting class mimicked a hemophiliac with no medicine.

     What the fuck was going on? I told my doctor not to fill up my medicinal horse tranquilizer prescription any more. I was ready to whore myself out to the idea of waking up in the Mad Hatter’s tea house. Back to the veter…doctors I went. Double dose. I had to put up with more flight tracking maps that looked more like an updated version of the Atari game Pong, wild rumors of Hoke riding in on a snow leopard made of meatlovers pizza, and Jon Gruden would be popping out of Schembechler Hall frothing at the mouth while he held Tressell’s skull in a precarious position at waist level height.

    On day six of this bat shit crazy wild ride things seemed to be falling in place. Planes were coming and going to Baton Rouge in the likely outcome of a Les Miles coaching contract. Even Les Miles put out a brief presser that sounded like he was announcing himself pope of the snake wielding, gibberish talking branch of the Appalachian Pentecostal movement. In other words, he was being himself. Eerily strange and vague it was though. It was no doubt however that the Les Tickler had a hankering for taste of Michigan.



January 10th, 2011

Time Travel vs War Eagle


     At least to buy my time I was able to watch the BCS National Championship Game. In my perception I expected two versions of the spread offense square off. Would it be the blazing Oregon offense that was the first ever NCAA team to travel in the future to score? Or would it be the SEC powerhouse bruisers that ran downhill like rabid “war eagles” hell bent on the Scorched Earth policy as a game strategy? My hopes laid with Oregon. Auburn was a dirty thuggish team. I thought even a tad extreme for the SEC. Mostly at the hands of Nick Fairley. Obvious proof of his bully mentality lay across the internets. While we struggle with major problems of an uncertain and chaotic situation with the future of our program, Gene Chizik must grapple with such problems as the obvious character flaw in Mr. Fairley:

"It's real simple. You have a 315-pound defensive tackle and you can't block him, sometimes he's going to be very aggressive and people are going to get hurt," Chizik said. "We don't want that. We don't want to see anybody get hurt. But when you can't block a guy that's 315 pounds, that happens."

That must suck. Poor saps.

     Unfortunately I missed the 2nd quarter due to an impromptu stop into a small Pennsylvanian town and was forced to swallow down the fact that I had to watch the hit long running series “The Bachelor”. The women in the house were serious that night and there was no way I was risking my life to change the channel. The vibes most likely would have shifted very wrong if I had. Finally leaving with the idea that it was a tight turnover prone game when I was last listening to it on the radio, I arrived ten miles to the north to watch the completion.

    What I saw made me squeamish. The Tigers were up 19-11 in the third quarter. As the game progressed, one thing in my mind became clear. The Oregon offensive line was greatly overmatched by the behemoths breathing fire across the line from them. Auburn brutalized Oregon with force and blatant malice by Fairley again. Oregon made a last ditch come back scoring a TD and amazing 2pt conversion try. Oregon’s TE Jeff Maehl was their team last night.

    Bummer for Oregon was that they left two minutes on the clock for Newton & Co. By this time in the game the Auburn o-line was eating up Oregon’s d-line. Oregon wasn’t tired, but they were out muscled. Auburn seemed to collect seven yards on every carry by Newton or Dyer. Auburn won in a close game that was really never that close. The final chapter on a year in college football was written, in which evil won.


January 11, 2011 (1/11/11)

The Day Before The Day After

    Day Seven. It feels like we’ve been in a desert for eternity. No sign of water. We might have to Bear Grylls a snake and recycle our urine to survive.  LSU athletic director Alleva announced that Les Miles will be staying at LSU. BOOM. ROASTED. I was just starting to think the Mad Hatter was crazy enough to handle this nuthouse we have created.

      This coupled an article out of San Diego that Hoke was now going to meet with Dave Brandon for the University of Michigan Head Football Coaching position. This news can do bad things to one’s mind as a snowstorm rolls in from the west and trap you in alone. I expected to become destructive to society at any moment, but it never came. I had a feeling of numbness. If Hoke was hired, ok. Ok. Whatever. We have no other choice but support him and hope that Brandon saw something in his crystal Challis we couldn’t. He would be our coach and the fanbase faced two choices. Either stay on the boat and support our new head coach or load into a lifeboat and abandon ship. What would win out in an MGoCulture War? Michigan and unprecedented faith or a possible millstone necklace of tried tradition?

Lou Mannheim: “Man looks in the abyss, there's nothing staring back at him. At that moment, man finds his character. And that is what keeps him out of the abyss.”

     Two hours later, that decision came down the pipes from HQ. Hoke was our man, no joke. John Lennon once recorded a song titled “Instant Karma”. Then I thought about Jerry Kill.


     The culture war ended that quick.  What seemed like a never-ending all out nuclear war ended with in seven days, third in recorded history only to the Six Day War in 1967 that surprisingly only lasted six days and The Anglo-Zanzibar War of 1896 that lasted a tough 45 minutes. Regardless after a nuclear war, there will be fallout. How much is yet to be seen, but there will be a myriad of emotions for the ones that are left rooting for our beloved Michigan football team. It will only come down to two choices however. We can either band together and make a go of what we have and stand at having a better chance to survive or scatter like cockroaches into factions that continue to practice cannibalism ending in probable epic proportions of fail.

Is our reign as a once traditionally powerful and feared program over? I’ll let Brady Hoke tell you that:


Brady Hoke. Love him or leave him. He is here. I am down with being a Hokeamaniac.

credit: Tom Pickle...WLA^^^^^^^


“Buy the ticket, take the ride…”

Hail to the Doomed and Purple Rain.

Hail to the Doomed and Purple Rain.

Submitted by jhackney on January 4th, 2011 at 1:13 AM

Hail to the Doomed and Purple Rain

     As another rabid college football fan, I was bursting at the seams of my favorite polyester pants in anticipation for the 2010-2011 bowl season. Many criticisms have been leveled at the NCAA for the current way division I-A chooses to participate in a post season, many of which I agree with. The players, without them there would be no bowls, seem to be locked into a NCAA led masochistic agreement with this year’s A-list clients in the way of sponsors for bowl games. It seems every year that any mongrel that has a dollar and something to push gets an added bowl. I am expecting and dreadfully waiting for the soon to become real Maxi-Pad bowl between 3-9 La-Monroe and 2-10 Washington St Cougars held in Flagstaff, Arizona to drive home the “stays dry” selling point.


     Anywhoo, enough with doom predictions, there is enough doom to go around after this bowl season. The 2010-11 bowl season kicked off in New Mexico. The Mormons of BYU versus the upstart UTEP Miners. The result of this dull game gave a menacing outlook for the rest of the bowls. After cashing in a lackluster performance in the regular season, the Mormons pulverized UTEP into smithereens. I of course picked UTEP in a friendly college bowl pool. No worries, 34 more bowls to go, and a heavy stash of mood and reality enhancers to get me through it.


     As the appetizers of the bowl season rolled on, I realized that I judged this bowl season about as right as those taking Jim Cramer’s advice on Bear Stearns did. Not only did the teams I expected to win, lose, but they lost it in Mel Gibson fashion.


     12/28/10  would be the first time for the B1G on the national stage for bowls. The background for this game couldn’t be much worse for Iowa. Players transferred, arrested, and shamed after the swine busted them for a “drug house”.  It is a shame, because I am guessing the Paterno household contains more drugs than any early twenties kid could handle without getting vampire bats high in their attic. I of course listening to the solar winds of the universe picked Missouri to stomp Iowa like a one eyed child orphaned by Satan himself. I was wrong, and again I cursed the Mormons for setting the tone. Iowa slugged Mizzou all game long with the use of the demon infested halfback named Coker and play action passing that could have fooled Bobby Fischer if the game was held on a chessboard. By halftime I thought it was over and I might as well finish my drink and go to bed. Thankfully Lou Holtz opened his mouth and I had to have more of my liquid coping mechanism. Mizzou came out, put up a respectful fight with a surgical passing game. Coker, however, would not be denied. It was as if a methed out Mack Truck driver was at the wheel just running over any hippie that dare get close to him. The Missouri quarterback tried hard to imitate Stanzi and succeeded, except it was the Ricky Stanzi of 2009. The two interceptions thrown at the end put the dagger through the heart of the Missouri team. Ricky Stanzi and every other corn fed, long hair haters were thoroughly impressed and satisfied. Could the B1G be vastly underrated? We all here in Michigan nation hoped so.


     After a night of total debauchery, I woke to a stern looking Jack Russell Terrier staring at me intently. Obviously the love seat that I finally succumbed to because of the toxins in my body was his regular sleeping habitat. Strange way to start the new year indeed. After piecing myself back together and getting necessary sustenance to carry on, I was ready for the New Year Day’s bowl schedule. The first taste came from Tampa Bay in the form of the Outback Bowl. It aggravated me to no end that this bowl was now on at 1pm. I became accustomed to waking in the second quarter of it when it was televised at 11am. The Gator Bowl started at 130pm. I was in a houseful of PSU fans that had just got done pleasuring themselves over the JoePa/Meyer interview by Jon Gruden. Of course they came away with glowing reviews of his genius while I was still trying to figure out if the man was alive and someone was just pulling strings above the set to make him move.


     Finally the Gator Bowl began and I commandeered the remote away from the ring leader of this strange cult, my best friend. The Bowie knife on my side became all in one day a great deterrent and evidence in a surely coming criminal trial. After suffering for weeks upon weeks of coaching change talk, I was ready for an impressive show by Denard & Co. that would have Rich Rodriguez deniers begging to lick the fromunda cheese build up he has been saving them in his upper taint region. I busted open a little hair of the dog and also had a dog wearing a Michigan hat over its hair sitting close to me in case any of these rat bastards tried to go for the remote or my jugular. Michigan got the ball first. I was actually hoping they would go on defense first. I would be able to tell if we had a chance if the defense was on the field first or if I would have to reach in my bag of goodies early in order to be able to tolerate the Neanderthals that surrounded me.


The first drive was something to be seen. Nothing would deter Denard and Michigan from scoring. Not the Miss St defense, not the humidity of a Jacksonville afternoon, not five million fucking cowbells these yeoman farmers brought from their last farm show, not even Mormons could have stopped it. Denard showing flashes of his early performances of the year drove the team down inside Miss St’s 20 yard line. The first touchdown of the game came when Denard tossed a pass as beautiful as Katy Perry to Roundtree. I had about the same reaction as if Katy Perry would have been delivered to me in such a way, with complete insanity and reckless abandonment. I danced with the dog in the Michigan hat (Huxley aka Schnauzer), threw back another Jerry and Coke and got ready for the redemption of the season to continue with the same zeal. It was then bit of a let down when Miss St scored on their first drive. Things became a little darker on the field and in my mind. After another special teams mishap on the punting team, I thought for sure this was it. Game over. Fire Rodriguez and his band of hoodlums. I was wrong, at least for a quarter. The defense bent, but didn’t break and held the Bulldogs to three points. The ensuing drive, Michigan scored on a freak catch by Odoms. I then wondered if this is what it would look like if the archangel Gabriel caught the pass. Doubtful. Odoms is above Gabriel’s level. At the end of the first quarter Michigan led 14-10! Let the good times roll!

     The second quarter on brought a harsh reality to all of us Michigan fans. Nothing has changed when we play challenging teams this year. We start out in a competitive fashion, but then finish like a three legged mule destined for hell. Miss St took total control of the game and Michigan became demoralized very easily and gave up. I have seen this before during the Wisconsin, MSU, and osu massacres.


      Nothing has changed. Our defense lacked the discipline and integrity of a Pop Warner team, our offense folded in the pressure of trying to make swan napkin figures out of shit logs, and our kicking team continued to take the short bus to Terrell Pryor’s school for beginners class.


      At this point I also started to notice the propaganda commercials every break from that told us how to be good citizens and people. How far had our society fallen to be told how to be compassionate and truthful? How far has this team fallen to be pitied and empathized rather than feared and hated? After a little research I found that the Mormons had a hand in the commercials. After a little self reflection and mind altering substances, I have figured out that someone must roast on a pike while being shot in the eye with cobra venom for the embarrassment that Michigan has become. Michigan lost the Gator Bowl 52-14 and I then lost my patience and sanity.


     After watching Michigan drag itself off the field and when the powers of mescaline and devil’s lettuce took hold, I began watching the Fiesta Bowl with my best amigo and Huxley. This was it. It seemed nothing but evil prevailed on New Year’s Day. The ESS EEE SEE spanked the B1G in an aggressive way, not an exotic way. All I wanted now is for these boys from UConn to surprise the Okies from Norman. At the time of this writing, I have yet to see anyone hit harder and throw their bodies as hard as the kids from Connecticut.


     While the game progressed, my friend and I began a lively discussion at knife point on the state of the B1G. In the end I could not argue with his assessment of the conference this year. The B1G had turned into the B1G MAC. Huxley didn’t add much to the conversation except for blank stares. He must have still been reeling from the Michigan loss or got into my blotter sheets again. It could not be argued the B1G was anything more than pretenders this year. The clowns from osu are yet to play, but I don’t expect much from them except embarrassment. Even if they won, it doesn’t excuse the poor performance of the B1G this year. Three co-champs that have turned out to be three co-chumps.

      I then remembered watching the Rose Bowl and listening to the commentators talk about purple rain and the TCU defense treating Wisconsin like fresh meat in a maximum security prison that had just dropped the soap. Purple rain, it was more than just the TCU defense, but a weird description of the 2010 season. No one would have have expected purple rain to fall from the sky, or the B1G with three co-champs going down like Pamela Anderson on a random rock star. Bad craziness. Nothing but the feeling of helplessness and shame could be felt from Pennsylvania to Nebraska. What will happen next year?


I never meant to cause you any sorrow
I never meant to cause you any pain
I only wanted one time to see you laughing
I only wanted to see you laughing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover
I only wanted to be some kind of friend, hey
Baby, I could never steal you from another
It's such a shame our friendship had to end

Honey, I know, I know, I know times are changin'
It's time we all reach out for something new, that means you too
You say you want a leader, but you can't seem to make up your mind
And I think you better close it and let me guide you to the purple rain


     I am not a professional fan at other B1G schools, but I am for Michigan. I want someone to roast in a slow painful public death or a good tar and feathering for the final game. I was an avid RR fan, but it actually looked like the team regressed into a Special Olympics team instead of making any progress after a long period to prepare. There better as hell be changes within the next couple of days or AA can expect a revolt the size of the July 26th revolution. If RR is gone, well, that's the way the cookie crumbles in this line of work.  He may be a nice guy, but this culture, society, and game do not acquiescence to a nice guy as a coach. If not, the defensive staff better be put in pillories to feel the humiliation we all felt the past three years. I want someone that breathes fire and shoves their boot up Tressell’s and Dantonio’s ass so far that when they cough at the site of a Michigan TD the refs take their wheezing as a fucking whistle that inadvertently blows giving Michigan a free penalty on the next possession.


     As New Year’s Day came to a close and I was in the thick of an extreme bender of multiple mind altering substances, I turned to a CNN documentary about John Lennon. It turns out his killer was a religious obsessive fan that thought he became more John Lennon than John Lennon. After finding out about his comment about the Beatles becoming bigger than Jesus, he started a downward spiral of psychosis and murderous tendencies. I then wondered before I slipped into comatose if that is what most of us have become.


      We became enwrapped with the image of an invincible Michigan image that no matter what, we were Michigan and no one was better than us. To tell the truth, this fanbase is not accustomed to losing and to see it three years in a row, it seems a downward spiral has transformed us from a fanbase that was spoiled by a century of winning tradition to a fanbase that practices cannibalism amongst each other within three years. A sad sight to see and participate in indeed.


     In the end of the John Lennon story, a man was eliminated from the Earth that could have given more to us that we could comprehend. I don't want to see the same thing happen to the talent that is on this team right now. No matter what direction this program takes, I expect there will public execution of someone responsible for our malaise and a coach that will bring immediate hope to a fanbase that so needs it. What I don’t want to see, is a Michigan fanbase become so obsessive that they become the rudder that steers the ship right into a giant fucking rock. That would be a Notre Dame type tragedy. All we can do right now is imagine, but I know I'm not the only one. Mahalo.

Fear and Loathing in Ann Arbor Volume II

Fear and Loathing in Ann Arbor Volume II

Submitted by jhackney on December 8th, 2010 at 2:02 AM

Fear and Loathing in Ann Arbor Volume II

The 2010 Regular Season

Post MSU-Now

Disclaimer: The following diary is a combination of a narrative for the 2010 Michigan football season excluding the Gator Bowl and a collection of work from author Hunter S. Thompson. I made minor changes to his work such as places, names, coaches, players, etc to make it relevant to our 2010 season. The work in this diary was lifted from the pages of Dr. Thompson’s work in “Hey Rube”. If you wonder what lines were his and which were mine, thank you for the compliment and then get the book. Enjoy the second installment of Fear in Loathing in Ann Arbor...or don't!

     They were all laughing at me. I grabbed some whiskey off my leather-covered icebox and went outside to be alone with my thoughts and humiliation. My worst fears came true. I was a public Dupe, soon to be jailed for crimes of cruelty to myself for investing so much damn emotion and confidence  into a game that ended with me stone drunk and stone naked on my porch. How had it happened? Had I finally loved Michigan too much?


     October 16th, 2010. Iowa. I made it to the television set to watch the game. After the MSU debacle, I thought for sure a wormhole would open me up, swallow me whole, and deposit my carcass on the streets of Columbus with nothing but a Michigan themed unicorn tattoo on the small of my back for everyone to aim at. This wasn’t the case. I had to take a step back and realize that the defensive problems were voiced before the season started. The season must go on, we were 5-1, still ranked, and heading into Iowa with a level head and a hope that last years close call will turn in our favor because of our lethal yet friendly QB, Shoelace D Robinson.

     Iowa has seemed to be a team that could beat anyone on any day, especially when you play in Iowa City at night time. Many teams have come out of the visitor’s locker room that resembles a clean vulva only to run into an Iowa team that spreads high concentrate sucrose syrup on their field while they bowl you over with their heated Nike Vaseline IIIs. One would think they would be a perennial powerhouse if this was the case. Not so. Kirk Ferentz has a fine eye for two and three star recruits that become valuable assets to his team. The progression of his players has something to do with their first year training. Most freshman are redshirted at the bottom of his family’s corn silos and will only see the lights of Kinnick Stadium by eating themselves out and sprinting to the field twenty miles down the road. The Hawkeyes may be losers individually, but as a team they are a reliable bet, most of the time. Let’s say a 77.8% of the time, which is not a bad clotting average for Iowan hearts.  

     The much anticipated rebound game to prove we aren’t Michigan 2009, never came. At one point the Hawkeyes were pulverizing us by three TDs. We had four turnovers, Denard looked human and injured, and we lost. The only bright spot was Tater Nutz coming in and exacting his revenge on the Iowa secondary in a way that made it seem like they brutally shit stomped his pet dog the night after Christmas the year before. The loss was not as bad until the immediate thought that popped into everyone’s head a second later. The thought of shitting the bed with no change of sheets hit us like a high-speed collision. Everything else in your world disappeared into a bright yellow flash. No pain because the thought rendered you frozen and unconscious like a dead fish. No noise, feeling, or sight could distract us from it. We were “on our way out” as Doctors like to say. The thought? We were now one step closer to reliving a nightmare that would even scare Charles Manson, the nightmare of repeating 2009. Shoelace D Robinson’s injury was unknown, and we felt like we lost to someone we should have beaten like an ugly stepchild. Oh God! This can’t be happening, again! At least we had a bye week and  thought of it as an incubator bringing Denard back to life as well as our team against a struggling Penn State team and their freshman QB.  I would be in attendance to see the resurrection of the team in one of my personal most hated teams to walk on the face of this planet besides that gang of toothless junkies in Ohio.

     October 30th, 2010. Penn State. Hot damn, it was Halloween again. I was ready to get weird in public. What better place that State College, Pennsyltucky? If there is any place to get weird it would be here where those freaks should all be put to sleep. I arrived at my tailgating position and set up Weird Camp. I was clearly not welcome, but no shit was given. The freaks that worship a man older than god had the audacity to send a meek and unwanted guest to my camp asking for beer as if I owed the bastard even one hair from my scrotum. After I held my tongue and respectfully declined his request for an alcoholic beverage he began berating me for being alive and wasting my body on the colors of maize and blue. The man-child didn’t know he was dealing with the king of weird that was about a 5th of the way through two bottles of rum. I unkindly explained he was another jackass looking for attention that he didn’t receive from his parents at a young age. After he didn’t take to that too well, I conveyed that I would give his lame ass a severe beating if I ever caught the sleazy little freak sneaking around my camp again. In my way of thought, I was sure my team was thinking the same thing about the Penn State Geriatrics.

     As soon as I arrived to my seat, an ominous tone that has been spoken of before raised its ugly head once again. I got the pleasure of getting to sit amongst my Michigan brethren for the first time at Beaver Stadium, but I noticed a Michigan sister paler than the white pom poms the jackwads in PSU’s student section were holding. As soon as I noticed her complexion, she tossed her Coors Light in a warm puddle all over the bleacher in front of her and next to me. I could tell she hadn’t had any food at her camp from the insides that laid next to me. Her friends quickly rushed her out of the stadium after I did a quick clean up job with her scarf. To sooth my nerves and uptick my buzz from the legal and illegal substances I engrossed myself in at the Weird Camp, I drank their unopened 24 oz. Coors Light can they left behind and lit up a cigarette at my cold lonely seat. They came back eventually, but either did not notice or care that I drank their beer that they so ever carefully smuggled into the game.

     After my Turkish tobacco stick, I realized our good chances of beating this team. Their freshman QB had suffered a concussion the week before and now they were forced to play a walk on sophomore that named rhymed with McGroin. Life was good. I felt I was floating. Couldn’t tell if it was a predictive feeling or the buzz I had. As the game reached halftime, I was looking for my parachute cord to no avail. I instantly wanted to find the poor girl who vomited to use her soothsaying powers for the second half. Michigan was down 28-10 at half time and I could only imagine my ex girlfriend sitting somewhere in the student section snickering until she collapsed due to affixation. Well, I bought the ticket; I might as well take the ride. Maybe the second half would bring the supreme comeback of the year. I found out that that was the joint thinking.  Michigan performed valiantly, but ended up on the short end of a 41-31 stick. The weirdest thing about this game in the freak kingdom was that Michigan was outgained in total yardage by a team with a first time starting walk on QB. Maybe this was not an anomaly, but the ineptitude of an ever growing liable defense. Michigan could not stop PSU on a third down even if GERG threatened to pluck out his beautiful locks of hair and sacrifice them to the Bull God.  The positive note? Shoelace D Robinson returned to his usual form passing for 190 yards and rushing for 191 with 4 TDs. He was 19 yards away from being the only player with three 200/200 yard games in a season. The next game on the schedule was Illinois, the land of my birth. Also the land that shit stomped PSU 33-13 and held the number 15th defense in the nation. I thought we were doomed, lost like pigs in the wilderness- a gang of squabbling losers with no pride, shame, and no hope for the next 20 years. Guaranteed fear and loathing. Abandon all hope. Prepare for weirdness again. Get familiar with cannibalism.

     November 6th, 2010. Illinois. In years past, Illinois was a notch above a bye week. The starters would only play half the game and the Illinois cheerleaders would be passed out from a combination bender of booze and hashish. Not this year. Since Monday (Sunday was a blur of a hangover and Dido songs), I was in the grip of agony. Things went downhill in a hurry since the Michigan State game. Besides the impending slip into football abyss on my mind, my dentist botched my root canal, and I slipped on a balcony ledge and sustained a nasty subdural hematoma that almost ended my life.  After getting past a heavy week I thought to myself that not long ago I looked forward to Saturdays in the fall with a certain giddy expectation, like a vacation coming up. No longer, not after these past three seasons of continual pain in my stomach equivalent to blue balls.  For the past three years we were beaten and disgraced. I did not assume it would change against an upcoming average offense and a stout defense that crushed the opponent that de-pants us the week before. I had my blotter sheet and razor blades ready for the inevitable. I was at least leaving this world in a ball of fury and excessiveness.


     The first quarter ended 7-6 in favor of the good guys. The defense looked surprisingly better. Could this last? The answer was no. At this point I would have covered my tongue with some tiny leprechaun stamps on my coffee table however Illinois’ defense seemed to catch the same disease we have been ailing from the whole year. At halftime the score was a dead heat at 31 all. This is why I don’t gamble. If given an over/under I would have most likely picked under. The offensive explosion that unraveled before my eyes could have shocked Larry King so much that his pacemaker would have exploded on air even if his interviewee was Ted Koppel explaining the electoral votes of Wyoming in the 1916 election.  After halftime the horserace continued. It was like watching two speed junkies racing the wrong way on a one way street in order to score a fix that’s end would not only be dangerous, but leave the defenses disgraced. Thankfully most football games end after sixty minutes. Not this game. Not this day. The rocket race to win the 2nd worst defense award ended after three electrifying overtimes. The game was so intense and gripping that I didn’t notice my dog gyrating all over the place and trying to stab the cat with its damn dewclaws. I did notice that my blotter sheet was missing.  Anywhoo, to get back on track from that train wreck of a situation, I was blown away when the play to finally end the game was a defensive stand by the Michigan defense. This told me something. They may be rag-tag division II backups, but they were my rag-tag division II backups and they lived up to the wolverine namesake. Frequently outsized and out popularized by other four legged beasts, they were willing to break their own neck to make that single play to seal the deal and protect the bounty that their offense was hoarding on frequent kills.


     One thing was for sure on the well lit streets of Ann Arbor that night. That Saturday night even fools could cut loose and take risks that would be out of the question on any other night: get drunk, shoot guns, dance naked in the streets, and hack into the Pentagon database. If Sunday is the Lords day, then Saturday night belonged to the Devil. It was the only night of the week he gave out free passes to the Late Show at the Too Much Fun Club.

     November 13th, 2010. Purdue. 13 has always been a quasi mark of the beast, at least a mark when he unleashes his demon spirits upon the world. The poor number 13 has been stigmatized for decades. This day was no different. I attended the Michigan-Purdue game the year before in Ann Arbor when it was uncharacteristically 65 degrees and sunny. The weather gods fooled me. Michigan jumped up to a 24-10 lead and looked well on their way to a bowl eligible year only to come out and get chewed up and spit out to lose. I was incensed. I burned my ticket and drank the rest of my Miller High Life cammo cans as my ex-girlfriend sneakily giggled inside at the loss of my sanity. Not only did Purdue beat them, but their slime sucker of a coach made it a point to get full embarrassment out of it by having a player suspended for not following the rules assist him in finding mid-field to blame Rich Rodriguez for the situation. After burning my ticket was complete, I raved, babbled, and threatened to piss down their spines to consummate my feelings for them. I claimed that this year Michigan would beat them. They were a puffball team with no soul and we would beat them like the sick rats that they were. It was really stupid, vengeful stuff. It was ugly and wrong. It sounded like something you would hear out of a sleazy drunken sot, which I was at the time. I still did not hide how much I wanted to destroy them this year.

     It was monsoon season in central Indiana. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to see it in person as much as someone that goes out to sea for eight days and nights on the ocean with no engine and no radio. It would be madness by any nautical wisdom. Only a fool or desperate man would even think about it. The risks were too high and our chances of escaping unharmed or dead seemed to be 1-44. Denard would be slowed down by the lakes on the field and our turnover bug would rear its ugly head again.

    Purdue let that little shyster coach take over the once respectable program that enjoyed his slimy role as a pimp and prostitute all at once by playing clearly injured players to beat his new boogeyman, Rich Rodriguez.  It was by no means a pretty ugly game with ten turnovers combined. If this were a healthy Purdue team, there would have been cause for concern, but a crippled team will never beat a healthy team. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for Hope’s players. I still rooted against them vehemently because Hope was a backstabbing punk with the soul of a rat and the heart of a filthy virus. The NCAA should have had him committed to a state mental hospital and locked down with restraints until he gets his entire body dyed bright maize, which will stay on his skin forever. At halftime we were up 14-10. Only leading by four points left me with a queasy feeling in my stomach. Why was I all of a sudden plagued by memories of false hubris and total collapse again? Am I fool? Thankfully Michigan escaped with a victory, albeit an ugly victory. I could still celebrate though. The victory against them was a moment to slip the dagger between Hope’s rib cage and twist. The true Hope haters out there loved the fleecing, whipping, cruelty, and stabbing feeling that Hope must have felt. When you can physically feel their pain, that is what makes winning so fun, it is wonderful. The feeling in Ann Arbor was that this was an ugly win. Winning can be ugly but it is another universal language along with simple mathematics, cold beer, and wild sex with Jimsonweed. Any traveler conversant in these tongues and football too would find friends that night in Ann Arbor. Take my word for it.


     Impending doom lurked ahead. A two headed pig monster in Wisconsin and Ohio State lay ahead. It was definitely going to be a tough road ahead, but at least the feelings of not going to a bowl were put to rest and we gained a little momentum going into these fights with overgrown swine.

     November 20th, 2010. Wisconsin.  Those just checking out of the hospital bed from pneumonia thanks to the deluge in West Lafayette and checking into their own bed to catch the late night sports news may have had a heart condition to revisit a hospital for. During the everlasting water balloon fight at Purdue, Wisconsin was drubbing Indiana as a world power would in a war with Tajikistan. They were like your neighborhood bully that spent weeks training in his basement with rabid pit bulls, a Bo-Flex, and lead weights just to beat your ass. The upsetting part about Wisconsin this year was that their meathead coach was more unlikable than usual. I don’t know what his deal was/is this year. Most likely he found out he was a crossbreed love child of Kenneth the Page from 30 Rock and a hormone injected T-bone steak that set him off on a point rampage the second half of the season. He came to Ann Arbor with his band of cheese heads that wouldn’t know the difference between a carrot from a poison meat whistle.


     Wisconsin had a QB by the name of Scott Tolzien, who has a bitching arm and a nice habit of lulling a defense asleep with normal stuff and suddenly breaking their backs with long weird strikes to the heart. Right down the middle-so fast that it catches you flat footed, two steps behind and stupid.  If we were going to win this one, it was going to be a shootout. In order for us to participate in a shootout, our offense made one big mistake at least in the first half. They forgot to score points. It was ugly. I was left at halftime smoking half a pack of my cigarettes trying to catch cancer as soon as possible. The game was over at halftime, but after two halves the score ended 48-28. It wasn’t 83, but it might as well have been. The Wolverines were ripped to shreds. They were utterly demoralized. It was painful. They were like helpless bums being chewed up and spit out, right in front of our eyes. They withered and turned to jelly. I felt sorry for the poor souls. The players seemed to be suffering the whole game from a severe dose of ether. You lose all functions of your body but your head still knows what is going on. Until the same is done to Bielema and his meatheads, I fear I will have recurring nightmares about it, causing me to wake up sweating and screaming like some kind of pig being eaten my meat bats.


     Next week wasn’t going to get any better. Our brutalized Wolverines were going into the dumbest and most dangerous city in America for anyone with an IQ over 23, Columbus. If you haven’t started with cannibalism, you better start. The Detroit Free Press was arms and legs ahead of anyone.

     November 26th, 2010. Ohio State. Hatred is a funny thing. It is usually viewed as a negative attribute of someone’s character. Those that think this  have obviously never been stabbed, beaten, or walked out their front door in their lives. That or they are lying. There of course is the feeling of intense anger. That is what everyone knows about hatred. What most don’t know, or won’t admit is that hatred is also balls to walls pleasurable. If we didn’t have hate, what motivation would we have had in creating fast food, the second amendment, and the death penalty? Motivation was in huge order for our boys. They were just humiliated by Wisconsin and faced an opponent unabashed to show hatred for them and intellect. The hate didn’t only come from their players and coaches, but also their fans. The Buckeye nation is beyond doubt the sleaziest, rudest, and most sinister mob of thugs and wackos ever assembled under a single “roof” so to speak, anywhere in the English speaking world. They are a profoundly disagreeable cult that meets every Saturday from August to January.


     Days before the game, the Buckeyes release images of the jerseys  they would wear for The Game. I was expecting them to sport numbers no higher than three on a vest with nipple holes cut out of the chest. It was worse. We would be playing bloody tampons honoring the smartest class that ever graduated that godforsaken college, the 1942 Ohio State Buckeyes. Over 12% of them graduated that year. All I could think is how any of us could need this public lewdness in such a time of fear and depression.  I believe we were 18 point underdogs. I am surprised Vegas just didn’t take us off the board coming off a lackluster performance against Wisconsin. I was hoping for anything to give us an advantage before the game, maybe with luck Jim Tressell was caught in the act of fondling a foreign flag on his vest while prancing around the streets of Columbus in black tuxedo thong. This however never came to fruition. We were going into this game as heavy underdogs. There are many things in life that suck waking up to. Ague fever, shin splints, chicken pox, projectile vomit, rickets, and even black hairy tongue disease, which is highly contagious, are all better than waking up knowing you lost to Ohio State the day before.

      High noon. The Game begins. The first quarter blew my mind away. We looked as if we were controlling The Game. A 0-0 tie at the end of it. I would settle for that score because it would piss them off more than us. End the game oh god; end it now with a good old fashion dust storm. As proved true the whole season, the gods were not with us. After competing at a high level for most of the half in a 10-7 ballgame, things immediately went south. After kicking the ball off to the Buckeyes, they returned it all the way to make it 17-7. I knew then things would unravel for our uncannily young and hobbled team. The score at halftime was 24-7. We were flogged, flummoxed, and humiliated on worldwide TV. By halftime I felt stupid and wrong in every way. It was like dying and going to hell. We lost the game as expected, 37-7. Losing to Ohio State was bad. Luckily or unluckily my friend hid every sharp object in my house. This loss was worse though, it was seven in a row. I longed for the nostalgia of the days of that poor sap John Cooper. Hanging with Mr. Cooper was fun because we owned him.


     We lost two in a row in disgraceful fashion. A spiral that goes straight down at unholy speed is called a vortex, I think, and a spiral that whirls straight up is called a tornado. The only sure difference between being sucked down a bottomless sinkhole and getting sucked up in the air while strapped into your car and then dropped like a bomb on a schoolhouse 12 miles away is that your scrambled remains will be easily identified if you fall from the sky on a schoolhouse. Your family will be disgraced and their auto insurance will be canceled for unexplained reasons.  Winning becomes a habit and losing does in the same way. When failure starts to feel normal in your life, work, or even your darkest vices, you won’t have to go looking for trouble, because trouble will find you. Count on it.

     November 27th, 2010. End of regular season. The autumn season is coming to a close. In comes Old Man Winter whose breath reeks of death and uncertainty. Some say this season was a joke. To which others viscously disagree, to which I say there are no jokes. The truth is the funniest joke of them all. Actually I didn’t say that, Muhammad Ali did. The harshest lesson one can learn when being an avid and rabid sports fan like I, is that there is a difference in having fun and being smart. It is the only thing that keeps me sane. Most “experts”, including myself expected a seven win season, eight at best. After seeing the possibilities on this team I could lose what’s left of my mind in trying to live for just fun. The smart in me is telling me that this season was just reality, case closed. We are now in a limbo period of slow football news. Every injury update, word, tweet, and tidbit of news drives us to be rats in heat clawing amongst each other. It doesn’t help that the inflammatory so called journalists hailing out of Detroit are making things worse. The dumbness of Detroit sportswriters is a subject long thought to be settled and exhausted, but let’s hit on it one more time, just for fun….Many, or maybe just I have described them as “a rude and brainless subculture of fascist drunks” and “more disgusting by nature than maggots oozing out of the carcass of a dead animal….” But they keep coming back for more like pimps and real estate agents, and this season my patience is running out with them. They are hell bent on destroying our program from outside and within by printing lies and shit a dog wouldn’t even eat out of a catbox. It has been quite painful to sit and watch as everyone involved in the program twist in the wind until those swine are put in their place and the truth is brought to the light.

     Of all the shocks and pain that the past three football seasons brought, the worst of all is the ending of it. Fortunately this season bucks the trend. We were invited to the Gator Bowl to play the Bulldogs of Mississippi State. All I know about Mississippi is Brett Favre, Eli Manning, and disturbing scenes from the movie Deliverance. None of which are very popular right now. However the chance of redemption whirls in the wind. That wind takes us to Jacksonville, Florida. It is no accident that this viscous mess has come to a head in Florida. I have known great happiness in Florida and I still have a certain love for it. But I also know it to be the most corrupt and profoundly degenerate state in the Union besides Ohio. More murders and rapes go unreported in Florida each year than in Corsica and Sicily combined. The state has no income tax and essentially no laws. Its cities are ruled by depraved sots and its universities are snake pits of cheating and random sex in public. To redeem our season, we must dive deep within the cesspool filled with said snakes and grab victory from the jaws of a team of overweight bulldogs. Good news is rare these days, and every glittering ounce of it should be cherished, hoarded, worshipped, and fondled like a diamond necklace around a beautiful Amsterdam hooker.

     I will root one more time this football season for my beloved Wolverines with everything I have left inside me from this rollercoaster of a ride they call a sport. I am more than just a serious Wolverine fan. I am a lifelong addict. I was addicted from a young age, in fact, because I lived in Michigan and I learned, early on, that habitual dominance was a natural way of life. The first time I managed to suit up for football practice, I knew I was destined to lead the University of Michigan to another Big Ten and national championship. Even now, so many years later, I still believe Michigan will go undefeated and win everything when August and Autumn roll around again.

     That is it for now folks. There is no more until after the Gator Bowl. Hail to the Victors.