MICHIGAN VS. EVERYBODY: MINNESOTA

 Monday, October 2, 2023

Despite my usual Monday off, the world has me feeling glum today. Feeling homesick, I yearn to be back in Michigan today. Three-day weekends do that to me, sometimes. On the bright side: two people said good morning to me as I left the apartment to walk to Hennepin Tobacco; Al visits this weekend for the Michigan game at Minnesota Saturday night; also, I wrote a page of chapter 19 this morning at Mueller Park, a positive sign for my mental health. To further combat the Monday blues, I walked to Lake of the Isles to read and write; near the pencil sculpture on the northeast side of the lake, a guy played Dylan’s “The Times They are A-Changin” on the guitar. I wondered if it was an omen. It certainly wasn't a bad sign, I figured.

Friday, October 7, 2023

True Autumn arrived today; my iPhone’s weather app read 45 degrees this morning, so I got my North Face fleece out for the first time before driving to work. Ms. Emily and I had a good day at school. Fridays are usually a little more chill than the rest of the week. After school, I went to pick up the party supplies for the weekend.

Al flew in from Grand Rapids this evening. He took an Uber from MSP and arrived at my apartment complex around 8. We hugged it out, then we both snorted a line of cocaine off the glossy black surface of my Bruce Springsteen songbook. After a couple more we walked to Walgreens to pick up some Gatorades and snacks. From there it was only a short walk to Lake of the Isles, a place I wanted Al to see, but when we got there I realized it’s not much to look at in the dark. 

Back at the apartment, we snorted some more lines and set up a bed for Al on the floor using my camping supplies, including my sleeping pad and sleeping bag. I suggested we watch the ESPN documentary Once Upon a Time in Anaheim. It examines the production of The Mighty Ducks, including the creative process of young and then-unknown writer Stephen Brill, and how the films’ success led to the Disney-owned NHL franchise in Anaheim. I found Brill’s writing insight valuable. One fact I learned from the documentary was that Brill named the legendary Gordon Bombay for the two types of gin he drank at the time, Gordon’s and Bombay. 

Next I asked Al if he’d watched Unrivaled yet. “Negative,” he answered. Aghast, I demanded we watch it immediately; it is must-watch material for any Red Wings fan -- for any hockey fan for that matter. Unrivaled: Red Wings vs. Avalanche, a special episode from ESPN’s E:60 series, documented the bloody history of the Red Wings – Avalanche rivalry that dominated the hockey universe in the late nineties and early aughts, focusing on the historic night of March 26, 1997, when Darren McCarty got revenge on Detroit's public enemy numero uno, Claude Lemieux. The night came to be known in Detroit as “Fight Night at the Joe.” The documentary starts with a surprise reunion between Lemieux and McCarty. They call themselves friends now, despite their vitriolic history, and the story is told from both their perspectives. It humanizes Lemieux in the process, and functions as a call for peace, of sorts, a reminder that hockey is only a game, after all. At the same time, it immortalizes that rivalry and that night; Al and I, like anyone who came of age watching those teams in the nineties, recalled it all with nostalgia as one of those truly special seasons in one's life. It was an era we'd been trying to recapture ever since.

Around three a.m., Al started dozing off. I opened the YouTube app via my Roku and put on the 2021 Michigan – Ohio State game, a certified classic. Watching it, I realized I had forgotten how dominant Hassan Haskins was in the game. In a Biakabatuka-like performance, the senior from Eureka, Missouri ran for 169 yards and 5 touchdowns, matching the record for most touchdowns by one player in the history of the rivalry. I professed, after that magical day of snow flurries in Ann Arbor, that Michigan should build a statue for Haskins to commemorate his performance. Another player who had a legendary performance that day was Aidan Hutchinson, a player I felt a personal kinship to as we both attended Dearborn Divine Child High School; the future Detroit Lion recorded three sacks on Buckeye QB C.J. Stroud, wreaking havoc all game and cementing his status as a Michigan legend. I recalled watching that game in Frank’s garage, crying tears of joy as I watched fans storm the field at Michigan Stadium in a moment of monumental catharsis for all of us persecuted Wolverines fans. Of course, this inspired me to watch the 2022 game afterward, the one when J.J. McCarthy delivered his own legendary performance. I fell asleep sometime during that one, probably close to five in the morning.

Saturday, October 8, 2023

I got four hours of sleep tops; Al didn’t get much more – the floor of my apartment couldn’t have been too comfortable, but I did warn him about the size of my apartment beforehand, hinting that he might want to reserve a hotel room instead but assuring him he was welcome to stay with me. He and I have certainly spent nights in worse situations. No matter. We had blow for breakfast. Al ordered DoorDash. I ordered a sausage and egg bagel; he got an omelet. We both drank coffee. 

In addition to the marching powder, we started the day lounging, with the TV tuned between FOX's Big Noon Kickoff and ESPN's College Gameday, the latter streamed illegally via YouTube. ESPN's Gameday crew appeared live from Columbus, Ohio, where 10,00 alumni and 90,000 truckers soon filed into the Horseshoe for a showdown with Taulia Tagovailoa and the Maryland Terrapins. I told Al I wanted to bet on the game, as I thought Maryland's high-powered offense would keep the game tight enough to cover the 14-point spread. 

Also at 11, the Red River Rivalry kicked off on ABC. We turned the channel briefly to that. Surprisingly, Oklahoma jumped out to a 7-0 lead over the third-ranked Texas Longhorns. We switched back to root against Ohio State. Maryland led for much of the game, but in the end, Taulia Tagovailoa made too many costly mistakes, including two interceptions and a boneheaded, egregious clock management gaffe to end the first half. First-year starter Riley McCord and the Buckeyes took a 20-17 lead in the fourth quarter before running away with it late. Maryland failed to even cover. Less predictably, on ABC, Oklahoma prevailed late over the Horns. Meanwhile Al and I showered, snorted some final lines, put on our jerseys, and prepared to head out to the Minnesota campus for tailgating. 

Around two we walked up to a liquor store at 27th and Hennepin. Al bought a 12-pack of Coors and a THC seltzer for me. From there we ordered an Uber and waited at a picnic table outside. The Uber drove us over the Mississippi River, up Greek Row, and into campus. "We were already blackout drunk by now," Al and I agreed, scoffing at frat bros still setting up orange mesh fencing on their lawns. Indeed, crowds looked scarce at all but one or two fraternity houses. The Uber driver let us out at a parking lot filled with burgundy and yellow tents, many from which long, wavy flag poles displayed Gopher colors in stripes, block Minnesota M's, even Twins flags. 

Our first destination was a tent tailgate within this parking lot where we met Al's brother, Nick, and his family. Many years ago, Nick bought us booze during our first months in college at Michigan; we used to walk to his house off campus and bring beer back to the dorms in our backpacks. I felt awkward, socially, and drank my THC seltzer in front of a big screen TV while Al tossed the football to his two nephews. Kistler and Joe, two older BOX guys from Nick's era, showed up buzzing from Adderall. When I told them what we had, their eyes lit up. We made a plan to meet up to snort some before the game, though I knew we never would. 

Next, we wandered a couple blocks north to another parking lot, one B-Russ (who had flown in from California for the weekend) called the "Raising Cane's Parking Lot." Following Al's phone, we realized we missed a turn and circled back. We found B-Russ and the old White Street gang – Mark Ausborn, John Gietzen, James Paulson, Big Asian Dave – drinking beers under a Minnesota tent that was attached to a black pickup truck. They huddled around a big screen TV, ostensibly cheering on the Minnesota Twins in their playoff matchup with Houston. Some hugs were exchanged upon our arrival, some double takes. With Justin Verlander on the hill, the Astros had taken an early lead on the Twins. B-Russ was animated, a little tipsy, as to be expected for a dad reconnected with the college crew and on the loose, free from domestic responsibility for a weekend. I knew he and Al were getting drunk when the conversation turned to such college traditions as "playing through," "Bill Nye the Science Guy," and "Poop Wars." "I don't think that game would be considered PC by today's standards," Paulson weighed in. With Al in his element, I felt slightly out of mine. 

An escape to the porta-potties, where I snorted a couple big bumps off a ten-dollar bill, loosened me up considerably. I started talking to everyone after that. The host of the tailgate couldn't have been kinder. He asked where I worked, and when I told him, he said his daughter attended one of our schools in Nebraska. His spread impressed, too, though we didn't eat much: Raising Cane's chicken (a Minnesota favorite), endless breadsticks, French fries, and an assortment of cookies. B-Russ and Al smoked stogies. I talked to John Gietzen, always my favorite of the White Street gang, who told me he still had Biff, his taxidermized Wolverine; we reminisced about the 2013 Michigan Basketball season, when we had post-grad season tickets with Chris Orr. I also chatted with Big Asian Dave, who recounted his experience as a contestant on Jeopardy! It was good to talk to B-Russ, of course, too. I hadn't seen him in probably a decade. 

As sunset approached temperatures plummeted. The wind made for a nippy feeling in the air, the first true hint of autumn. Al and I regretted not bringing jackets. In the seventh inning, the Twins belted back-to-back home runs to cut the lead to 5-4, prompting a collective roar from every tailgate tent in every surrounding parking lot. It seemed like a jolt of life. I stood in the line for the porta-potties for five minutes, then snorted the last of the cocaine off Al's ten-dollar bill. Now I was in my element, too.

A frantic final half hour leading up to kickoff ensued. Beers had to be finished, pounded. Food had to be boxed up and put away in coolers. Solo cups went in trash bags. The tent had to come down; stogies had to be put out. We walked toward the stadium five minutes before kickoff, Al and B-Russ in front of me so that Al's Obi Ezeh jersey formed the foreground of my view towards the huge gray block M scoreboard on the north side of Huntington Bank Stadium. The trees along the campus streets were still mostly green, with tinges of cornstalk yellow making the edges look frayed. The sky was overcast but powder blue behind the clouds. Straight ahead was the redbrick stadium, and inside the stadium fans appeared in blurred form, from a distance, splotches of burgundy and yellow. The view showed a perfect night for football, a perfect environment. 

Approaching from the endzone entrance outside the video board, we found long lines extending outside the stadium gates. Here some fans pounded mini liquor bottles or last beer cans and tossed them aside in the bushes. The stadium broadcaster's voice echoed out to us, in addition to the final notes of the Star-Spangled Banner. B-Russ checked his phone for any last-minute updates: Michigan won the coin toss and deferred. Sophomore quarterback Athan Kaliakmanis and the Gopher offense took the field. We were still standing in line and listening to the stadium broadcaster when, on the second play from scrimmage, Kaliakmanis dropped back to pass; Will Johnson, perhaps Michigan's best corner since Charles Woodson, picked him off and took it to the house for a pick six. Michigan fans in the lines – us included – jumped up and down in glee. The Wolverines led 7-0 before we ever entered the stadium. 

Shivering in line, we fortunately found the stadium warmer – not only in the interior concourse and toasty restrooms but in the bleachers, too, as the brick exterior of the stadium blocked the wind. Al and I parted with B-Russ and Gietzen, who went to find their own seats. At a concession stand on the upper concourse, Al bought two beers for himself and a coffee for me, then we found our section and made our way up to our seats. Michigan wore its all-white uniforms. Minny wore all burgundy, with chrome gold Ms on their helmets. The field was kelly green, bookended by burgundy endzones with yellow print, the sky periwinkle at dusk. In the seats to our right we found one very inebriated middle-aged Michigan fan, who went on to sleep through the majority of the game to his friends' chagrin. To our left was a family of mixed allegiances, with a Gopher dad, a hot Wolverine mom, and a 10-year-old of ambiguous gender with shoulder-length blonde hair, the offspring wearing a combination of Michigan and Minnesota gear. When Al spilled some beer and started issuing profanities, I worried about the innocence of this 10-year old to my left, but the family appeared seasoned stadium-goers, accustomed to the antics of over-intoxicated fans, steadfastly attuned to the game. 

Despite the early pick-six, Gopher fans appeared rowdy and boisterous – eager to row the boat – and they continued to appear so even after all cause for enthusiasm and optimism ceased to exist. Al and I both commented on this phenomenon, perhaps a variant on the Minnesota-nice stereotype, wherein they maintained a perpetual, at times sarcastic optimism in regard to their Gophers, the Big Ten's lovable losers. They were in year seven of the P.J. Fleck era, still middling at best, twenty-point dogs at home against Michigan. Yet they refused to let it damper their collective mindset. 

Cause for optimism among the home crowd did not cease to exist all at once but rather slowly, as was the case for most of Michigan's 2023 opponents per its boa-constrictor modus operandi. In fact, Minnesota managed some nice drives early, mostly running the ball with success, and despite Kaliakmanis gifting Will Johnson a touchdown, they only trailed 10-3 at the end of the first quarter. 

Michigan got its first offensive score at the ten-minute mark of the second quarter. Blake Corum had busted loose for a 40-yard run earlier in the drive. Then Donovan Edwards carried the ball five yards to the 1-yard line. From there, Blake the Great smashed it home, giving Michigan a fourteen-point advantage. After the defense forced a three and out, JJ got going on the next offensive possession, connecting with Cornelius Johnson for a 49-yard strike before scrambling for a five- yard touchdown on the very next play. James Turner’s extra point made it 24-3. That would have been the halftime score if not for Minnesota’s play of the game, which came on the next series. Minnesota picked up two fourth down conversions on the drive and moved the ball into Michigan territory as time ticked away in the first half. Then, on 2nd and 10 from the Michigan 35, with only thirteen seconds left in the half, Kaliakmanis dropped back and delivered a beautiful spiral on a fade route to wide receiver Daniel Jackson in the endzone. In stride, Jackson hauled it in for the Gophers touchdown. Huntington Bank Stadium erupted. Finally, they had something real to cheer about. They still trailed by 14 at half. 

Gopher fans wished us good luck on the concourse and in the bathrooms during halftime. “These fans are friendlier than any I’ve encountered before,” Al and I agreed. 

Tightening its grip, the Michigan boa constrictor sucked the life from the Gophers in the second half. McCarthy commenced the scoring midway through the third quarter when he scrambled seven yards for his second rushing touchdown of the night. Capping a 9-play, 78-yard drive – a drive that included completions of 17 and 34 yards, respectively, to Roman Wilson – this one put us ahead 31-10. JJ wasn’t done yet. On the next possession he threw a 24-yard touchdown pass to Colston Loveland. Trailing 38-10, at that point, Athan Kaliakmanis subsequently threw his second interception. It was another costly one: Keon Sabb took it 28 yards to the house for Michigan’s second pick-six of the night. Cue the Minnesota student exodus; the Gophers trailed 45-10. 

Half the stadium had emptied by the time Al and I decided to head out in the fourth. Only three or four minutes of actual game clock remained. It was chilly. If we thought we were getting a head start on traffic, we had another thing coming. Traffic was completely stalled in Minneapolis. An Uber picked us up about a half mile from the stadium, but we waited upwards of 20 minutes in the backseat just to merge onto the highway. The music our driver played caused a double take. “Is this a real song?” we wondered. “Is he singing ‘fuck you back to sleep girl?!’ The song sounded catchy, actually, in a punch-drunk way, but then we googled the lyrics and realized Chris Brown authored the song.

“Aren’t we responsible, now,” Al mused when we finally returned to my apartment, “saving some blow for the nightcap.” He snorted a slug of a line from my Bruce Springsteen book and divvied one out for me with a plastic card. “The cocaine did hit the spot,” I agreed. We ordered wings and turned on the late-night game from the West coast, USC versus Arizona. Stunningly, Arizona bottle-rocketed to a 17-0 lead, but Caleb Williams and the Trojan offense answered with two touchdowns of their own. Al called Austin to see how her birthday celebration went. He put her on speaker phone. “Happy birthday Austin!” I bellowed. She sounded very intoxicated. 

Al took a gummy in hopes it would put him to sleep. I stayed up and finished the powder. When I woke up Sunday afternoon, Al was still laying on the floor, watching NFL coverage at a low volume. He went to visit his brother and nephew before his flight left Sunday night. Grateful for my Monday off, I savored Sunday Night Football, which pitted NFC contenders Dallas and San Francisco against one another.

R.I.P. Obi Ezeh (1988-2024)