By my nature, I was reluctant to go, because I don't like the stress of crowds and I didn't want to see one of those games where the big team beats up on the little team so mercilessly that you begin to feel embarrassed. But, when good friends asked if we'd like to have a day trip and go See U of M play Akron, we knew we would have a good time in spite of it all.
And it was a beautiful day. Traffic getting in to Ann Arbor was a non-issue. We sat on the roof deck of the parking garage in the morning sun having a nice tailgate smorgasbord and listening to '80's music.
The sea of humanity wearing maze and blue was truly a spectacle. Each and every one, filing in past parties in the houses on each side of the street marching toward their purpose. Beer pong. Beer drinking. Gorgeous co-eds with blessedly high self-confidence beaming. All moving steadily and surely toward "the Big House" like a wave of confidence.
That same wave of confidence makes me not a natural Michigan fan. It's too easy. Like rooting for the Yankees or Manchester United, or I don't know, the Red Wings.
With the exception of the Red Wings and the Tigers, I pretty much root for the underdog. It seems like I am drawn inexorably to the underdog. The scrappy fighters who seem to always lose. Except when they don't lose, which creates an unstoppable wellspring of positive energy that can last for days. When that slot pays off, it's almost seems worth the years of struggle and tenacity it took to get there. Never mind you lost your house and family in the process. You won!
When the big guys win, it's satisfying. Like a steak at Ruth's Chris, it had better be good. But if you had that same steak at Denny's, you'd talk about it for months.
Since U of M varitably killed my alma mater CMU 59-9 only two weeks hence, I didn't think the Akron Zips, a fellow MAC team to my Chippewas would fair well, either. Which would have been fine with me, as I bear no allegiance either way. It would be easy to "hail hail" half my heart through one game.
As we walked in, we were astride the huge and impressive U of M marching band. They form into ranks like a military caisson might have back in revolutionary war days. The drum line unceasingly vamping its long cadence while the band marches and chatters something about being awesome, only a few words of which I could understand. Most of those were, Michigan. Fight. Kill. Destroy. Victory... you know, football stuff.
It's a long walk into the stadium, but it was made short by the joviality of mood, the awesomeness of the band and the peculiarly gorgeous fall Michigan weather. Good seats. Good friends. Good weather. All was in place as I awaited the boring game in which we would leave somewhere in the third quarter because it would be over like eggs in a diner.
Not so, sayeth Akron who came to play. And they did play, delivering a true nail biter that had the over 100,000 fans in attendance on their feet. Many prayed. Some couldn't watch. You would expect noise, but the silence was deafening as the game literally came down to the last play. Time stood still and one could suddenly feel the theory of relativity in practice as the collective inhaling of massive humanity sucked the air out of the giant bowl and time-stood-still.
The roar of the crowd when the pass fell incomplete and Michigan had won the game was something of a magnitude my mere words couldn't possibly explain. If only out of bald entitlement, rather than any demonstrated talent, Michigan won. And I found myself hugging and high-fiving and shouting "yes!".
No, I am not especially a Michigan fan. I won't be after this game, either. But I sure did have a good time watching Akron bring it to them. And I enjoyed them hanging on, persevering and emerging victorious. I got the game I wanted to see. A game. A real, hard fought game replete with suspense, drama and unremitting concern over the outcome until the last second dripped away.
And I formed a respect for the Akron Zips who punched in a higher weight class and very nearly pulled off the upset. I hope their bus ride home was a good one because they had nothing be be ashamed of. They fought hard. They fought like I wish my Chippewas had just a couple weeks ago.
I knew we would have a good time. I knew we would be in good company. The local news media had assured me we would enjoy fair skies. What I didn't expect was how, by the end of the game, my half-hearted "hail, hail" became fully punctuated and forcefully issued "Hail!" "Hail!" as though somehow, I had actually come to mean it.
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