A Minnesota February Night, Dontcha Know

Heavy traffic on westbound I-94 on a route from NE Minneapolis to Uptown -- "seven luminary events tonight, KARE 11 News said, they must all be at the same lake," I observe from the passenger seat; that, or high school hockey games, I think without saying. Outside my window the frozen Mississippi River dissects the city like a fault line, steel bridges arching over it, smokestacks and loading docks on either side; when we reach the far side of the river, the skyscrapers of downtown Minneapolis rise up alongside U.S. Bank Stadium, the domed residence of the Vikings, to form the skyline, dazzled by a thousand city lights. 

It's been some time since I stepped foot in my studio apartment. Open the door, flip on the lights, and scan the floor for mice with a silent prayer. Phew. No signs of rodents. Put on a clean pair of long underwear and fill my new jumbo Stanley mug with Michigan Cherry-flavored coffee. Pull on my Charlie Conway jersey over my winter jacket. Water my three plants. 

Kim and I walked to World Street Kitchen on Lyndale for dinner. Sat down at a two-seat table with a view of the city street outside, where cars of a monotone chalk gray color motored through boulders of slush and pedestrians trudged down the salt-coated sidewalks. Across the street, above a yoga studio, an old-fashioned neon sign said "TRAVEL" in red. 

After dinner, we walked up 27th Avenue towards Lake of the Isles. Outside of Nat's Books, the bookstore with live-in rabbit, I first heard the cover band playing from the lake. They must be playing loud!

Double snowblower engines revved across the street, obscuring the music, annoyingly, momentarily. "Sounds of a Minnesota February night," I mused, adding, "scrapers mashing ice off a windshield, engines breathing heavily, grunting, as if hacking up phlegm." We'd gotten about 5 inches of heavy snow overnight and into this morning.

The Luminary Loppet took place on the frozen surface of the lake, this year (last year, the event consisted of a hike around the lake as the lake was not frozen across); the garden canopy of hanging ice orbs glowed from the middle of the lake, visible as we crested the residential hill that slopes down to the lake, the tire swing hanging from the gargantuan oak tree in the front yard to the right.

The band played "Hot to Go," "Pink Pony Club," "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life," "Don't Stop Believin'" and other bangers that made me dance and sing out loud. We followed the various trails in every diagonal direction across the lake, each one bordered by rows of sand-filled paper bags lit by candlelight. We saw the ice pyramids, the life-sized sailboat sculptures carved from ice, multiple hot cocoa stands consisting of long wooden tables, the aforementioned garden of hanging ice orbs, and a fire dancing performance, where two androgynous bodies twirled flaming batons as spectators surrounded in a circle. We also passed ice fishing tents, a pop-up sauna tent, porta johns, and the neon-lit party zone, which included the bandstand, adult beverage stands, and a dance area. 

Lakefront houses, many of which feature vast windows that invite voyeurism, hosted big parties in conjunction with the event. The social aspect of the whole affair, undisguised, reminded me of a scene from Sinclair Lewis' Main Street, perhaps at White Bear Lake; it made me proud to be a Minnesotan, dontcha know, celebrating rather than hiding from winter. With the wind nip it felt like zero degrees and you felt it when you took off your gloves to take a photo. 

"That's a hard-ass jersey, dude," a solo loppeter remarked in passing. Behind him a quartet of snowshoers pushed ahead, onward to the next station a quarter mile down. The jersey felt like a fitting choice for an event in Minneapolis, at one of the filming locations of the movie no less, fitting for a night of winter magic. 

The stars and moon glowed a whitish yellow overhead, making the sky above look like the cold purplish midnight blue of a Graveyard slushie from Dairy Dan. 

 

the paradise of snakes

" Two big lamps with unpolished glass globes bathed in a soft and abundant light the four white walls of the room, with a glass case of arms, the brass hilt of Henry Gould's cavalry sabre on its square of velvet, and the water-color sketch of the San Tomé gorge. And Mrs. Gould, gazing at the last in its black wooden frame, sighed out:

"Ah, if we had left it alone, Charles!"

"No," Charles Gould said, moodily; "it was impossible to leave it alone."

"Perhaps it was impossible," Mrs. Gould admitted slowly. Her lips quivered a little, but she smiled with an air of dainty bravado, "We have disturbed a good many snakes in that paradise, Charley, haven't we?"

"Yes; I remember," said Charles Gould, "it was Don Pépé who called the gorge the paradise of snakes. No doubt we have disturbed a great many. But remember, my dear, that it is not now as it was when you made that sketch." He waved his hand towards the small water-color hanging alone upon the great bare wall. "It is no longer a paradise of snakes. We have brought mankind into it, and we cannot turn our backs upon them to go and begin a new life elsewhere."

He confronted his wife with a firm, concentrated gaze, which Mrs. Gould returned with a brave assumption of fearlessness before she went out, closing the door gently after her.

In contrast with the white glaring room the dimly lit corridor had a restful mysteriousness of a forest shade, suggested by the stems and the leaves of the plants ranged along the balustrade of the open side. In the streaks of light falling through the open door of the reception-rooms, the blossoms, white and red and pale lilac, came out vivid with the brilliance of flowers in a stream of sunshine; and Mrs. Gould, passing on, had the vividness of a figure seen in the clear patches of sun that checker the gloom of open glades in the woods. The stones in the rings upon her hand pressed to her forehead glittered in the lamp-light abreast of the door of the sala.

"Who's there?" she asked, in a startled voice. "

Joseph Conrad

Nostromo

MICHIGAN VS. EVERYBODY: NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME

 National Championship Game

NRG Stadium - Houston, TX - January 8, 2024

#1 Michigan (14-0) vs. #2 Washington (14-0)

"To all those nights it never went our way" - Lucero

Sunday, January 7, 2024

A rough end to the work week left me stressed Friday night, in dire need of a long unwind. Head lice has run rampant in my classroom the past two weeks, affecting almost everyone. Then, on Friday morning, Rachel stuck me in PKB after both teachers in that room called out. A rotten way to end the week. Also, I’m broke with little to eat at the apartment.

Kara came over late Friday night. We watched Shutter Island in addition to Rose Bowl highlights on YouTube. I could have slept eleven hours but had to get up by eight Saturday morning in order to get to the airport. The highways looked relatively empty on the drive to MSP, yet I waited almost half an hour in line to get through TSA security. While in line I saw quite a few South Dakota State Jackrabbits fans and almost as many Montana Griz fans. It turns out those teams met in Frisco, Texas to play for the FCS Championship later in the day (SDSU won their second straight FCS title by dominating Montana, 23-3). A guy wearing a Vikings jersey, noticing my “Michigan vs. Everybody” beanie, said “go blue” to me in the bathroom. Feeling the spirit, at that point, I repeated the “Go Blue” greeting to a woman wearing a Michigan winter cap whom I passed on the walk to my gate. 

On board the plane, I ended up sitting across the aisle from a forty-something mom who wore the same “Michigan vs. Everybody” hat that I wore. The only difference between our hats was that hers said “BET” on the back. 

Somehow, she knew me intuitively. “Where are you going to watch?” she asked me as we waited for the rows in front of us to deboard, “alone at home?”

“Actually,” I stammered, “that’s exactly how I like to watch. So I can pace.”

While I was in the sky, Mom had to take my grandma to the Emergency Room for wheezing and shortness of breath, so Dad picked me up instead. He informed me that grandma has covid, adding that the hospital was going to keep her overnight to monitor her condition. Earlier in the week, my sister Kate had also tested positive for covid, so to avoid the germs at my parents’ house Dad drove me straight to Cousin Frank’s in Wolverine Lake. We had a good conversation, Dad and me. As we neared Commerce Charter Township, I spotted a maize and blue billboard on the side of M-5 that said only “Win the Natty.” I pointed it out to Dad. It was a stark but inspiring reminder of what I’d really come home for, and it stirred up solemn emotions within me, as well as memories of various Michigan football moments from the past 25 years.

Peaceful skies over Wolverine Lake made for a calm Saturday on Tampa Shores, with the collective attention focused on one-year-old Ainsley and her battery of baby toys spread through the living room, including an enclosed playpen with mini-basketball hoop and ball pit. Her mom and dad were on their best company manners, as I was not the only visitor; Brooke and Kenzie stopped by for a bit during the Ravens - Steelers game. Lamar Jackson sat the game out as the 13-4 Ravens had nothing important to play for, having already clinched the top spot in the AFC Playoffs; it was a smart decision, for a torrential downpour in Baltimore made for slippery conditions and blurred camera lenses throughout the game. Pittsburgh won 17-10, keeping their playoff hopes alive. As for me, I started in fast on the orange powder. I felt pretty good by the time the Saturday night game between Houston and Indianapolis started. In that game, former Wolverine Nico Collins caught a 75-yard touchdown pass from former Buckeye C.J. Stroud as the Texans defeated the Colts to secure a playoff berth. 

Afterward, I stayed up late in Frank’s office, which doubles as my room. Watched the Netflix movie Happy Ending, a romantic comedy, then a documentary about the disappearance of Malaysian flight MH370. 

On Sunday, the Lions hosted the Vikings at 1:00 E.T. Just prior to kickoff, I drove to Target in Commerce. Francis was supposed to join me, but a dispute between him and Mariah resulted in a solo mission. Using gift cards my students gave me for Christmas, I bought some travel toiletries, Nicotine lozenges, LifeSaver mints, Naked smoothies, and a 2024 planner. 

Monday, January 8, 2024

On a fittingly solemn note, Al sent the first message of the day from his morning commute.  Sent to the BOX House group chat, his message contained a photo of his car radio. Playing on it – and spelled out in green, digital letters – was “Du Hast” by Rammstein, the heavy metal song we blasted at 5:30 a.m. wake-up call on gamedays in college. In response, I informed the guys that, last night, I had offered to sell my soul to the devil in exchange for a win. This was not an exaggeration but an actual wager I’d pondered the night before. Before going out to the living room, I put on my JJ McCarthy shirt-jersey over my block M sweatshirt, having chosen it as my gameday attire prior to my flight. 

On the Big Ten Network pregame show, they declared it was “one of the biggest days in the history of Michigan Football.” I told Mom and Dad, who picked me up from Frank’s at 11:20 a.m., “it has the feeling of a monumental day.” They had just come from the hospital, where they visited Grandma. It felt good to go back to my childhood home on gameday, to see the block M flag waving from the porch, as it has every gameday for the past 15-20 years, and to see the marquee billboard in the kitchen. Mom changes the marquee weekly, during football season, and this week it read: “Go Blue: Beat the Huskies.” I felt a bit nostalgic as I sat in the living room watching pregame shows while Mom performed her tradition of making game day chili in the kitchen.

In error, I only packed one pair of underwear; actually, I only brought the ones I wore to the airport, so I started a load of laundry, then made some Wild Mountain Blueberry coffee using my 2022 Michigan Football mug. I sipped the coffee while I read through some emotionally-charged columns and message board posts on Mgoblog. On TV in the background, of course, was the Big Ten Network pregame show, hosted by Michigan’s own Jake Butt. 

Mom and Dad both went upstairs to nap around 3:00. I told them I loved them and departed with a resounding “Go Blue,” feeling the gravity of the evening sinking in. On my route back to Frank’s, I listened to 101.1 the WRIF, which lined up some bangers in honor of Michigan’s big day. Upon arrival back in Wolverine Lake I smoked in the garage, took some more orange powder, and set up my laptop in Frank’s office to listen to my Gameday Rawk playlists, some of them preserved from seasons past. My Michigan Football 2016 playlist started with a pretty strong lineup, one that made me ready to go to battle: Highly Suspect - “My Name is Human”; Marilyn Manson - “The Beautiful People”; HIM - “Don’t Fear the Reaper”; Eminem featuring Rihanna - “Love the Way You Lie.” During this jam session I stumbled upon a reference to a speech from Shakespeare’s Henry V; it so moved me that I sent it to select Michigan fans I thought would appreciate it, including my cousin Joe: “But when the blast of war blows in our ears/ Then imitate the action of the tiger:/ Stiffen the sinews, conjure up the blood,/ Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage:/ Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.” 

For a while the rock music kept my anxiety at bay, but as the clock climbed towards 7:30 I felt my nerves jiggling around inside. When Frank and Mariah went out to pick up Ainsley and grab dinner, I used the alone time to paint eye black under my eyes with a Sharpie marker. I hadn’t gone to the eye black since Michigan Basketball’s 2018 run to the national championship game, specifically the Elite 8 game against Florida State; I had watched that one at the Indian River cabin with Mom and Beth for my 30th birthday. The eye black had worked for that one, conjuring magic in the form of Jordan Poole’s buzzer beater that sent us to the Final 4, and I figured maybe it would work again. 

Frank returned with Chinese food. He brought some into the office and set it down on the desk for me, but I barely touched it. I did consume a Xanax and smoked a joint prior to kickoff, though, and that combination got me feeling pretty good, pretty stoked about our chances. 

“What a banger,” I remarked when “Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones started playing as a hype-inducing introduction to the ESPN broadcast. The song starts, of course, with Keith Richards’ famous guitar solo. Eventually, Mick Jagger’s voice follows with the opening line, “Ooh, a storm is threatening.” Upon hearing that opening line my mind harkened back to a quote issued by offensive lineman Trevor Keegan after the Wolverines dominant win over Penn State in Happy Valley. “A storm is coming?” Keegan declared. “Nah. We are the storm.” 

Around this time Mariah and Ainsley went to bed, leaving Frank and I alone in the living room, a night to remember forever in front of us. The Huskies won the coin toss and chose to defer, gifting us the ball to start the game. Washington wore all white uniforms with gold helmets, a purple W on either side of the helmet, while Michigan went with their all-blue uniforms. Semaj Morgan took the opening kickoff to the 16 yard line.

If the Rose Bowl gave us an example of what not to do on an opening drive, then the national championship showed the quintessential Michigan drive executed to perfection. On first and ten from the sixteen, Blake Corum carried for 5 yards. Then JJ McCarthy threw to Cornelius Johnson for a first down. Another handoff to Corum on first down: he ran for 8 yards, losing his helmet in the process, meaning he had to sit out the next play. Kalel Mullings entered the game and promptly made an impact, running for another Michigan first down. “Michigan showing multiple sets,” Chris Fowler, calling the game alongside Kirk Herbstreit, commented. On the next play JJ found Cornelius Johnson again for another first down at midfield. JJ then handed off once again to Mullings, who burst through tackles en route to a 14-yard gain. Washington’s defense finally showed signs of life on the next play, sacking McCarthy in the first setback of the drive. Then, out of nowhere, a strike of lightning. “Edwards has had a rough year,” I explained to Frank moments prior when asked why Mullings was getting carries over Edwards. The ensuing snap saw JJ hand off to Edwards for the first time in the drive. Edwards ran over the left tackle, and, finding no gap there, he broke to the left towards open space, accelerating and dashing forty yards to the left corner of the endzone. “Michigan flexing early,” Chris Fowler exclaimed. I jumped up from my chair, pumping my fist violently. Visions of the 2022 Ohio State game, when breakout runs by Edwards carried the day, flashed in my mind. Michigan led 7-0 in an auspicious start. 

In the Mgoblog preview of the game, Brian Cook postulated that anytime Washington’s high-octane offense settled for a field goal, it constituted a win for Michigan. Wouldn’t you know it, the Huskies opening possession resulted in exactly that, with Michigan’s defense executing the bend but don’t break strategy; Michael Penix Jr. and the UW offense moved the ball 65 yards to set up a first and goal, but Michigan’s defense stiffened there, holding the Huskies to only two yards on the next three plays to force a 4th and goal from the 8. “That’s a dub for the defense,” I told Frank as Washington’s field goal unit trotted out. Grady Gross’ 25-yard kick narrowly snuck inside the right goal post, and it was 7-3. 

Michigan’s second drive felt like a hit of ecstasy. For the second time in the game, freshman Semaj Morgan made a bad decision in trying to return a kickoff. He returned it only to the 14-yard line, but it wouldn’t matter. JJ and co. worked quickly, this time. Following a 3-yard carry for Corum on first, McCarthy play faked to Corum on second, dropping back and delivering a perfect throw that hit Roman Wilson in stride for a 37-yard strike that pushed the ball across midfield. McCarthy threw an incompletion next before lightning struck again on 2nd down. Donovan Edwards took the handoff up the middle, and, once again finding no hole, he bounced outside, only this time to the right.  What seemed like a heavenly-lit lane of green grass opened, and Edwards accelerated into it, following it 46-yards to the right corner of the endzone. “And he’s loose again! They’re not gonna catch him!” Fowler called. The Michigan fans in attendance roared like an angry lion. Tingles went down my arms and spine. Loveland, who had set a big block downfield, then pointed to the endzone victoriously, shared the celebration with Edwards in the endzone. “Michigan’s offense is humming early,” Herbstreit surmised. “Edwards a pair of 40-yard touchdowns.” 14-3. 

Michigan’s defense flexed, next, forcing a Washington three and out. On the second down carry, Husky running back Dillon Johnson suffered a big shot, forcing him to the sideline. It looked like he might be done for the game, but he would return – perhaps at less than 100%. On 3rd and 5, in what felt like an important play – “already down 11, the Huskies need to keep this drive alive,” Fowler insisted – Penix completed a screen pass to Jalen McMillan, but Sainristil made a huge tackle in open field, beating McMillan in a wrestling match of wills and bringing him down short of the sticks. “Mikey Sainristil wouldn’t let him go!” Washington sent out the punt team.

“The first two drives couldn’t have gone any better for us,” I beamed. 

“Don’t start Zac,” Frank scolded. 

“Just facts,” I responded. “Sainristil. The heartbeat of this team.”

On Michigan’s next offensive snap, Blake Corum took a handoff from JJ and broke free for a 59-yard run to the Washington 20-yard line. “And now it’s Corum’s turn to break loose! Running down the sideline.” If Edwards’ second touchdown had felt like a hit of ecstasy, Corum’s 50-yard run felt like laughing gas: surely this couldn’t be reality. With that, the first quarter ended. Michigan finished the quarter with 174 yards rushing, pounding the rock a la the 1999 Catholic Central Shamrocks. The offensive line was playing with a collective chip on their shoulders. The tale of the first quarter was Michigan controlling the line of scrimmage, plus Donovan Edwards’ coming-back-out party. 

We can put a nail in the coffin with another touchdown, I pondered as the second quarter started. We didn’t quite get it, settling for a field goal instead. Corum gained three yards on a first down run, and Mullings another three on second, setting up a 3rd and 4 at the Washington 14. McCarthy went to Cornelius Johnson, but Husky corner Jabar Muhammad batted down the ball before it reached Johnson’s hands in a big play for his team. That prompted the first appearance of field goal kicker James Turner, who put it through the uprights to give the Wolverines a 14-point advantage.

Penix made some good throws to start Washington’s next possession, but back-to-back penalties forced a 3rd and 19 that threatened to stall the drive at midfield. Penix completed another ball to Jalen McMillan for 12, and the Huskies went for it on the ensuing 4th 7. In a moment I saw ghosts. Rome Odunze was wide open downfield and Penix launched it to him. No! Alas, what luck: Penix had overthrown him in what felt like a fortuitous and cosmic gift, an omen of divine portent.

Michigan took over on downs at the UW 47 but failed to capitalize on the good field position. In fact, they gained nothing on the drive, promptly going three and out. Two incompletions from McCarthy followed a Corum rush for no gain, giving Tommy Doman his first action of the night. His punt went 53 yards for a touchback.

Kenneth Grant put his stamp on the game next, sacking Penix for a loss of 12 on the ensuing play. “The maize and blue fans just roaring, down in that right endzone,” Fowler observed. Following a second down incompletion that set up 3rd and 22 from their own 8, Penix checked down to Dillon Johnson, who caught the ball and ran 15 yards before being brought down, taking a couple more big shots in the process. Washington had to punt again. 

Michigan’s ensuing drive saw backup quarterback Alex Orji enter the game for the first time. Following an 8 yard gain by Corum on 1st and 10, Orji came in for the next two plays to run the wildcat offense, keeping the ball himself both times. Orji gained 13 on the first one, crossing midfield in the process, but only 2 on the second. The drive ultimately stalled at the Washington 38 after Corum rushed for no gain and Edwards carried for 6. On 4th and 2 there, Harbaugh took a gamble that backfired. He initially sent Tommy Doman and the punt team out before taking a timeout to reconsider. With 4:46 left until halftime it felt like a critical decision. He sent the offense back out. McCarthy snapped it and fired a bullet to Roman Wilson on a quick out; it bounced off Wilson’s hands and fell to the turf. 

Michigan’s turnover on downs gave Washington an opportunity to get back in the game. No pushover, they took it. Penix completed a number of short throws to get the offense moving, then a pass interference call against Sainristil set the Huskies up with a first and goal from the 8. On 4th and goal from the 3, the Huskies finally found the endzone on a pass from Penix to McMillan with only 42 seconds left in the half. UW got the ball to start the second half, too, giving them a modicum of momentum at the turn. Huskies fans enthusiastically sang along to "Who Let the Dogs Out."

Michigan’s defense wrested momentum back on the first play of the second half when Mason Graham pushed an offensive lineman into Penix, altering his throw. This allowed Will Johnson to secure an interception along the sideline. With a chance to take a two-touchdown lead, Michigan settled for a field goal after two false start penalties stalled their momentum. A 38-yarder from James Turner put Michigan ahead 20-10. 

On their next drive, Washington answered with a field goal of their own, making it 20-13. Gridlock slowed the game significantly after that, with the next six drives all culminating in punts – three for Michigan, three for Washington. What was concerning was that Michigan could no longer muster a rushing attack. Michigan’s inability to score a third touchdown, moreover, allowed Washington to hang around; this was usually a recipe for disaster, and tension remained high. 

Going into the fourth quarter, Michigan still led only 20-13. The margin begged for a hero to emerge. Colston Loveland, the farm boy from Idaho, proved one, making a brilliant catch to spark Michigan’s engine again. In one of the biggest plays of the second half, Loveland extended fully, using all of his 6 '5 frame to reach up and catch a rocket of a throw that was delivered high by McCarthy; after somehow securing the catch, Loveland regained his balance and turned up field, galloping all the way to the Washington 30 for a 41-yard gain. A pass to Roman Wilson gained 12 more, subsequently, setting up a 1st and 10 from the 15. From there, Blake Corum handled it, emerging as another hero when Michigan needed him most. Sherrone Moore called Corum’s number on back-to-back plays: the first went for only 3 yards, but on the second, he bounced off a would-be-tackler and dashed 12 yards to the endzone. Corum’s first touchdown of the night provided some breathing room, momentarily at least; suddenly it was a two-score game with only 7 minutes to go.

The pressure shifted to Penix and the UW offense, who answered quickly. On 2nd and 6, Penix launched a deep ball, finally connecting on one for a 44-yard gain to Rome Odunze. It was a big play for Washington with six minutes on the clock, but they still needed to score a touchdown. Instead, Michigan’s defense tightened, getting a little help from a false start penalty against Washington, forcing a 4th and 13 that Washington had to convert. The game on the line, Michigan’s defensive line pressured Penix, forcing Penix to heave it prematurely; the throw found the chest of Mikey Sainristil, who returned the interception 81 yards as Michigan faithful across the world roared in unison with those at NRG Stadium. 

Two plays later, Corum planted the dagger, scoring from a yard out for his second touchdown of the fourth quarter. What had seemed unfathomable three or four years prior now felt imminent. A plethora of emotions began to set in. 

“I love you all,” Paul texted the BOX House group chat, starting a wave. Emotions high, others followed suit. 

“I love you guys. We fucking did it.” - Al

“I love you fellas. And now it seems that I’m getting my first tattoo.” - B-Russ

“I fucking love you all. Crying tears of joys, fellas.” - me

“I love you all,” from Ross. “This rips.”

“My wife wasn’t too please when I said this was the best day of my life 50x times.” - Jello

“Who’s got it fucking better than us?” Jack Harbaugh declared on national TV. 

Craig sent a video from the stands of the Michigan section singing “Mr. Brightside,” the de facto anthem. A family member sent a Twitter video of the scene in Ann Arbor, where an impromptu parade had broken out on the street outside of the bars, fans screaming out the lyrics to the same song as it blasted from loudspeakers: “but it’s just the price I pay, destiny is calling me! Open up my eager eyes, cause I’m Mr. Brightside!”

Those in Houston fell off the radar as drunken celebrations spilled out to the bars, namely Little Woodrow’s, according to Craig and Jello. Jello claimed the ladies did body shots off Craig there all night.

Frank went to bed. Not me. Too grand a night to sleep. Too many memories and emotions tied up in it. I received texts and emails from friends I hadn’t seen or talked to in over a decade, including an email from Avak, one of the few friends I retained from the fraternity. “Wherever you are,” he wrote, “I hope you’re enjoying this beautiful night.” That one truly brought a smile to my face. It was important to me to share the night with these college friends, for to me, this national championship was about our lean college years (and thereafter) as much as it was about the year 2023. We had suffered through countless travesties – Appalachian State, in 2008; 3-8 during Rich Rod’s first season, literally the worst season in Michigan Football history (Andy and I saw 7 of those losses in person, having travelled to Penn State, Notre Dame, and Ohio State that year); winless against Ohio State not only during our college tenures, but for another decade afterward, to say nothing of personal heartbreaks along the way – together, paying pretty steep dues, relying heavily on booze to do so, and in the process we had forged a bond that entitled us to bask in any future successes together. I remembered all those nights it never went our way, and I shed a couple tears for them, knowing they had made this natty sweeter. Finally, the journey had come full circle, rendering our college years worthwhile after all these years. 

Tuesday, January 9 – National Champions

I woke around 9:45 a.m. after staying up until 3:30 celebrating, basking in it, and walked out to Frank’s living room. Mariah had gone into the office, dropping Ainsley off at Daycare on the way, so it was pleasantly quiet in the house. Lounging on the couch, watching ESPN’s First Take, Frank boasted, “I’ve already had three screwdrivers.” I opened my phone and scrolled through the BOX House group chat. In it, Ross recounted, “I missed my flight this morning. Probably for the best.” A pause ensued, then he typed another message: “And by missed I mean I made no effort whatsoever to make my flight.” Another smile. 

Uncle Frank stopped by a little later to fix the furnace. Good old Uncle Frank. It was good to see him – I told him I was still on cloud nine from the game. Frank went down for a nap at 11:30, leaving me by myself in the living room. I watched Big Ten Network’s condensed, sixty-minute version of the national championship, which started at 11, then the movie Killer Joe starring Matthew McCoughnehey and one of my favorite actors, Emile Hirsch. Previously Frank had asked me to accompany him to the pharmacy to pick up his adderall, but when 2:00 rolled around he was still asleep, so I decided to head back to Millwood. 

At my parents’ house, the block M flag still waved proudly from the front porch. Inside, Mom had changed the marquee in the kitchen. It now read: “Go Blue – National Champions.” I took my bag upstairs to my childhood bedroom, where 1997 National Champions posters, Brian Griese, Anthony Thomas, and Charles Woodson plaques still adorn the walls. I reflected that I had spent the last 26 years of my life trying to recapture the magic of that year, ‘97. No longer. The 2023 Wolverines had topped it. 

Early December

"Early December saw the first of the great blizzards of that year. The wind howling down out of the Canadian wilds a few hundred miles to the north had screamed over frozen Lake Michigan and hit Hohman, laying on the town great drifts of snow and long, story-high icicles, and sub-zero temperatures where the air cracked and sang. Streetcar wires creaked under caked ice and kids plodded to school through forty-five-mile-an-hour gales, tilting forward like tiny furred radiator ornaments, moving stiffly over the barren, clattering ground. 

Preparing to go to school was about like getting ready for extended Deep-Sea Diving. Longjohns, corduroy knickers, checkered flannel Lumberjack shirt, four sweaters, fleece-lined leatherette sheepskin, helmet, goggles, mittens with leatherette gauntlets and a large red star with an Indian Chief's face in the middle, three pair of sox, high-tops, overshoes, and a sixteen-foot scarf wound spirally from left to right until only the faint glint of two eyes peering out of a mound of moving clothing told you that a kid was in the neighborhood. 

There was no question of staying home. It never entered anyone's mind. It was a hardier time, and Miss Bodkin was a hardier teacher than the present breed. Cold was something that was accepted, like air, clouds, and parents; a fact of Nature, and as such could not be used in any fraudulent scheme to stay out of school. 

My mother would simply throw her shoulder against the front door, pushing back the advancing drifts and stone ice, the wind raking the living-room rug with angry fury for an instant, and we would be launched, one after the other, my brother and I, like astronauts into unfriendly Arctic space. The door clanged shut behind us and that was it. It was make school or die!"

Jean Shepherd

In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash

Mistletoe

"Run, run! When you die it will be running.
Feet sinking into sand soft-seeming but not soft.

Bare feet sinking run run for your life. 

Looming behind you, to catch you around the ribs with his big-bear hands.

Never any progress. Quicksand. Yet, always running. 

No choice but to run. Run for your life!

Thick-piled carpet, high-heeled shoes sink into it like (quick)sand. 

Nape of your neck bare resting in the shallow groove, a very cold stainless steel utilitarian table. 

Bare skin the hue of snow at dusk, faint-blue-tinted.

Are you aware of the drain beneath the table? - you do not (actually) see the drain. 

Are you aware of the glaring fluorescent tubing overhead? - you do not (actually) see the tubing in the vinyl-tiled drop ceiling.

Dimly aware of the white-coated figure looming over you. Latex gloves gripping the sharp utilitarian instrument.

Dimly aware of arterial-red color -- (berries?) -- above the double doors opening inward where someone has placed, perhaps prankishly, a sprig of mistletoe. 

It's that season -- mere weeks before Christmas.

Somehow, time has accelerated. It is a riddle, how. 

So long you'd taken for granted that time is an infinite supply to be used as you wish, dipped into, measured by the calendar, the clock, and the watch, now you realize time is the river rushing you along heedless of your wishes. 

When you die, such pranks will continue. Such jokes. 

Mistletoe in such a place!

Refrigerated air, sharp odor of disinfectant."

Joyce Carol Oates

Babysitter (2022)

MICHIGAN VS. EVERYBODY: ALABAMA

 ROSE BOWL GAME

PASADENA, CA – January 1, 2024

#1 MICHIGAN v. #4 ALABAMA (COLLEGE FOOTBALL PLAYOFF)

The holiday season, my namesake. A time for singing Christmas songs at school, gluing Christmas tree crafts, reading Mickey’s Christmas Carol, gifts from parents in the form of Starbucks and Target gift cards, plummeting temps and Holiday blend coffee, Home Alone, Christmas Vacation, Elf, travel plans. Last year, to save money, I flew home a couple days after Christmas; my family, ever flexible, accommodated my plans by celebrating Christmas late. This plan allowed me to watch Michigan’s college football playoff matchup, which they played on New Years Eve at the Fiesta Bowl, with my best buddy Al and his fiance Austin at their house in Grand Rapids. Michigan lost that one, of course, to TCU. 

This year, I again planned to fly home after the actual Christmas holiday. Michigan’s date with Bama in the Rose Bowl, a trip to the natty on the line, factored heavily into the question of when to fly back. One option mirrored last year’s travel plans: fly home a couple days after Christmas – say, perhaps December 27 – and stay through New Years Eve. That option presented the opportunity to watch the Rose Bowl in Michigan with friends. On the other hand, I considered waiting a bit longer, flying home a few days after New Years Day. In that scenario, I could watch the Rose Bowl in Minnesota and a potential National Championship in Michigan. A potential loss to Bama, of course, nullified the upside of the second option. As such, option two constituted a gamble, one that prompted deep introspection regarding my own faith or lack thereof. Optimism won out, for once in my life; I booked a flight for January 5, three days prior to the national championship. The past twenty-five years taught me not to take for granted such moments, in fact to cherish them, for they occurred only once or twice in a lifetime, if you were lucky. 

January 1, 2024

Christmas alone drained me. A feeling of homesickness built up in my gut in the days preceding and following Christmas Day, zapping my appetite. My drug intake deprived me of sleep throughout the week, exacerbating my homesickness, anxiety, and general despair. All this resulted in a weekend spent catching up on sleep, half-repenting, not exactly stoking myself up for Michigan’s Rose Bowl Game. A cold gray week fit the mood in the days leading up to New Year’s Eve, with rumblings at work to top it all off; Ms. Emily indicated that she is looking for other jobs, and I think she’s serious about it. Moreover, the kids seem ungrateful lately, more annoying than usual. 

Perhaps by distraction I hoped to protect myself from crushed hope. When I woke up this morning, the first day of the new year, I didn’t even have a way to watch the Rose Bowl Game. This dreadful realization occurred to me yesterday. ESPN was not broadcasting the playoff games via ESPN+ – only on ESPN itself, which I don’t have. Kara, on her way home from Texas, where she spent the holidays, suggested I try a free trial of Sling TV. I signed up for a $15/first month plan, figuring I’d spend that much if I went to a Buffalo Wild Wings or some other bar to watch it. As a bonus, the subscription allowed me to watch the ReliaQuest Bowl featuring LSU and Wisconsin, which proved a fine tune-up for the playoff games later in the day. In one of the better bowl games of the season, LSU, playing sans Heisman Trophy winner Jaden Daniels, prevailed 35-31.

Knowing I wouldn’t eat later, I ordered Applebee's via Door Dash about an hour prior to kickoff. James, my dasher, noted my Michigan sweatshirt and my ‘Michigan vs. Everybody’ knit hat and said good luck. He predicted, very specifically, that the Alabama quarterback would throw two interceptions. I sat down and ate my boneless wings, but they did not calm my nerves. In fact, I was a jittery wreck leading up to the game.

In a shot that went viral, post-game, a sky camera panned over the Rose Bowl, looking down upon that storied single bowl stadium nestled at the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains, where the endzones bookending the grass field boasted of two of college football’s most storied programs, one painted crimson with white lettering and the other navy blue with yellow lettering. Alabama and Michigan. The two winningest programs in college football history. 

The way we started certainly didn’t help my anxiety. On the first offensive snap of the game, JJ McCarthy dropped back and threw what appeared to be an interception along the sideline. It felt surreal, like a nightmare you’d had before. Fortunately, the defender had stepped out of bounds before making the leaping grab in-bounds, rendering it an incomplete pass upon video review. We felt grateful to punt, after that near-fiasco.

Michigan’s defense looked fierce, on the other hand. Michigan had been outmatched by Alabama teams previously, most notably in 2012, but the opening drive demonstrated that was not the case anymore. On the contrary, Michigan’s defensive line dominated the line of scrimmage on Bama’s opening possession. On first and 10, Braiden McGregor finally broke free for an overdue sack, bringing down Milroe for a loss of 13 yards. Then, following an 11-yard reception on 2nd and long, Josiah Stewart broke into the backfield and recorded his own sack, this one for a loss of 11-yards, effectively forcing a three-and-out.

Any positive momentum generated by McGregor and Stewart’s sacks, however, evaporated on the ensuing punt, which saw recently inserted freshman Semaj Morgan muff the punt badly. Alabama recovered. This set the Crimson Tide offense up with excellent field position – a first and 10 from the Michigan 44. They took advantage with a quick score, one that saw running back Jase McLellan run 34 yards for a touchdown. Bama went ahead seven-zip after a disastrous start for Michigan.

At that moment, I flashed back to one of my worst ever nights: September 1, 2012, a night that saw Alabama pummel Michigan in Dallas, Texas in the midst of one of my alcoholic benders, one so bad it resulted in my first serious attempt to stop drinking. Alabama led 31-0 in that one before halftime, demonstrating the talent gap and the cultural gap that existed between the two programs then. I blacked it all out.

Remember, though: the 2023 Michigan Football team was not like those that had come before it. They’d proven as much against Penn State and Ohio State. McCarthy and company reminded me of this fact on their next drive, which saw them respond like a true heavyweight fighter. JJ handed off to Corum on the first two plays of the drive, allowing Corum to settle the game down. He ran for 6 yards on 1st and 10, then broke loose for 21 on 2nd down, pushing the ball across midfield and into Bama territory. Then McCarthy got involved, completing his first pass of the game to Colston Loveland for 2 yards and scrambling for 7 on 3rd and 8. Sherrone Moore called for another Corum touch on the ensuing 4th and 1. The gamble paid off; Blake ran for 4 yards, setting up a 1st and 10 from the 34. McCarthy then completed a 19-yard pass to Kalel Mullings before connecting with Corum for an 8-yard touchdown pass – a rarity, this represented Corum’s first reception touchdown of the season – to cap the drive. James Turner added the extra point to tie it at 7. What a counterpunch.

Michigan got the next score, too, but not until late in the half. Five punts – three by Bama, two by Michigan – followed Corum’s tying score, settling the game down into a sort of groove. The fifth of those punts pinned Michigan at their own 17. Corum ran three straight times before McCarthy started showing off his throwing arm. He found Loveland for a gain of 11, then Wilson for 20, and finally Tyler Morris for a 38-yard touchdown. His first receiving touchdown of the season, Morris showed off his speed in reaching the end zone, giving Michigan their first lead of the game. I pumped my first, my first outward display of emotion all day. A missed extra point tempered my rekindled enthusiasm, but not by much. Michigan led 13-7.

In the final two minutes of the first half, Bama marched right downfield in an attempt to double-dip, as they got the ball to start the second half. They’d moved as far as the Michigan 25-yard line when Derrick Moore sacked Milroe for a loss of seven on 3rd and 3. Michigan’s third sack of the half-forced Alabama to attempt a field goal, which the ever-reliable Will Reichard nailed from 50 yards. That made it 13-10 at halftime.

The halftime special: I walked around the block in my Uptown neighborhood, smoking a bowl, first, then a cigarette. With a little bit of snow on the ground, I wore my Bean Boots. It was cold, mid-twenties, and the sky was ashen and gray. The bowl rendered me numb for the beginning of the third quarter – perhaps even most of it. 

Two bad snaps dogged Milroe and Alabama in the third quarter; it was an issue that had plagued the Tide earlier in the season and would factor into the end of the game. On their third possession of the half, though, a bad punt set them up with good field position and Milroe made some big plays. He ran it four times for 37 yards and threw once for 9, practically willing the Tide into scoring position. The drive culminated in a 3-yard touchdown scamper by running back Jase McClellan, his second of the game. That put the Crimson Tide back ahead 17-13 with the fourth quarter just underway. 

Sundown over the San Gabriel Mountains, rendering the sky purple and pink. A quick three and out for Michigan gave Bama the ball back and made things feel dire. I paced throughout, picking at my fingernails. Then Jalen Milroe fumbled the ball at midfield and. Josh Wallace recovered for the Wolverines. You could hear the momentum changing in Chris Fowler’s voice. But Michigan failed to capitalize. In what felt like his first missed field goal of the season, James Turner hooked a 49-yard attempt left. Jesus, when’s the last time we missed a field goal, I wondered. “We’re going to lose,” I texted Kara. 

Then Michigan got another sack from Braiden McGregor, his second of the game and the team’s first of the second half. It came at a critical juncture, as it forced the Tide to settle for a field goal try. Will Reichard nailed it, giving Forrest Gump’s alma mater a 7-point lead with just under five minutes left in the game. 

On the ensuing kickoff, the sky in Pasadena looked periwinkle, mauve, and creamsicle sherbet. “With 4:44 left,” Fowler declared, his tone somber, “Michigan can’t be sure they’ll see the football again.” Sudden death. The season in the balance. Are we going to lose to Bama like always? Or is this the team to rewrite history, to finally top ‘97?

4th and 2 on our own 33. “Harbaugh pushes all the chips into the middle of the table.” The eternally-money McCarthy found an open Corum for a big gain. The season, the dream remains alive for the moment. Corum crosses mid-field, but a block in the back penalty brings it back to the 50. On the next play, JJ scampers 14 yards for another first time. We’re moving, but the clock is down to 2:20, now. JJ takes the snap and throws high to Roman Wilson. Too high, but Roman Wilson leaps to make a sensational catch, then turns and runs with it inside the 10-yard line. Wasting no time, the team hurries to line up. JJ takes another snap and finds Wilson again. Wilson skips into the endzone and does a childlike jump in celebration – TIE GAME!

Arguably as good as Woodson’s 1997 unit, the defense held, but a muffed punt – yes, another – nearly gift-wrapped the game for Nick Saban. Fortunately, forward progress negated a safety; we got the ball at our own 1-yard line with 44 ticks of the clock left. Just get us to overtime, boys. A Blake Corum burst gave us breathing room, then JJ kneeled twice to run out the clock. We were damn lucky to escape to overtime. Then again, luck often favors championship teams. 

Flashback to the 2000 Orange Bowl, watching with my dad on the plaid couches in our living room in Millwood – Tom Brady’s best game in a Michigan uniform. It ended in overtime when Alabama’s placekicker shanked an extra point attempt that would have sent the game to double overtime. Dad and I jumped up and down in celebration. I was 12. Now that the Rose Bowl was headed to overtime, I wondered if it too would become one of those magical memories. 

Somehow, the trauma of the late-Carr/Rich Rod/Hoke/early-Harbaugh eras rendered me hopeless going into OT, though. Always expecting the worst and prepared to suffer it. I mean, Michigan more or less validated such notions on multiple occasions during the game: first on JJ’s overturned interception, first play of the game, then on both fumbled punts, the second of which delivered a near-fatal blow to my general welfare. Brian Cook of Mgoblog wrote aptly of this phenomenon. He called it a healing process. Only beating Bama in the Rose Bowl could heal the wounds of TCU and Georgia from the previous two years, the wounds of the 2007 Rose Bowl, when USC dominated us 32-18 my freshman year, the wounds of the 2005 Rose Bowl loss to Vince Young’s Texas Longhorns. 

Two fitting captains, symbols of the team, even, Sainristil and Corum walk out to midfield to attend the coin toss. Bama wins it; Michigan goes on offense first. I assumed the fetal position, terrified, then paced. JJ handed the ball to Corum. On first, Corum took it for 8 yards. Then on 2nd and 2 from the 17, he breaks free for a beautiful dash to the corner of the endzone. Improbably, this very touchdown made him Michigan’s all-time leader in touchdowns scored, truly a legend. A run a lot like the touchdown run immediately after the Zak Zinter injury against Ohio State – a legacy run. Turner banged through the extra point, putting Michigan ahead 27-20. That put the onus on Bama to match or die. 

The Tide looked sharp to start their possession. On 2nd and 10 Milroe made a great run that looked like it might go for six, but Rod Moore brought him down at the 8. First and goal for Alabama. The defense battened down the hatches. “Nothing there,” Fowler said of first down. Then on 2nd, Mason Graham, the California kid, broke through the line and brought McClellan down for a loss of six yards. “Two plays to get 14 yards,” Fowler noted. On 3rd down, Milroe connected with Jermaine Burton, who caught the ball around the 3-yard line. Rod Moore and Josh Wallace made sure Burton didn’t get any farther. 

Two godforsaken timeouts ensued – time enough for a heart attack. What crossed my mind during this ungodly purgatory was what Rod Moore said about his game-ending interception of Kyle McCord: “someone’s gotta call game. I called game.” A flicker of confidence in my soul, perhaps? Finally, the snap. Another low one. Milroe rushes forward over the left guard and left tackle. He’s stuffed!

Michigan players rush the field. The maize and blue confetti flew. Bring out the freshly cut roses. I texted multiple parties, “I’m coming home for the natty!” Jubilation within my studio apartment. The MVP award went to JJ McCarthy, who held a rose between his teeth. One more to go, baby. 

Kara came over for a bit after the game as we hadn’t seen each other in over a week. “I’ve never seen you this happy,” she commented. Big smiles, indeed. “The best part,” I told her, “is we get to watch the Rose Bowl highlights during halftime of the Sugar Bowl.” And the announcers would mention it throughout, of course. We weren’t exactly paying close attention to the Sugar Bowl, but Penix and his corp of NFL-caliber receivers looked sharp, as efficient as any college offense I’d watched this season. In fact, I was in the camp that thought Penix deserved the Heisman. 

UW got 3 passing touchdowns in the first half alone. Each one gave them a lead but Quinn Ewers and Texas answered each time. At halftime the score was 21 all. Then UW dominated the third quarter; the Huskies took a 31-21 lead into the fourth. The Longhorns had their chances and they were able to move the ball – even a couple shots at the endzone in the final thirty seconds – but in the end they fell short. I fell asleep as it was ending – I had to work at eight in the morning.

In the morning, headlines on my phone confirmed: Michigan versus Washington for the National Championship. 

A Free Ticket to Hell

 

"The county jail had to be one of the oldest buildings in Utah County. By July, it was hot enough inside to offer a free ticket to hell. With its windows open, you had to breathe the exhausts of the freeway. The prison sat on the edge of the desert in a flat field of cinders midway between the ramp that came off the freeway and the one that went up to it. The sound of traffic was loud, therefore. Since a spur of a railroad track also went by, boxcars rumbled through the interview."

Norman Mailer

The Executioners Song