Still buzzing. Big thanks to Christian and his boys for letting us crash their party. And a big hello to a couple of new traveling buddies (Don and Rob) that hit their stride so quickly it felt like they had been there all year long. I haven’t had much to say this season, probably out of some combination of laziness and writing self-consciousness, but hyperbole aside Saturday November 26 of 2022 will forever have its place on the mantle with Saturday November 22 of 1969 (and 1997),
Columbus is an experience I don’t recommend for most, a city built on fan violence, incest, tooth decay, and the smell of blood and urine. And as someone that felt the brunt of the blowback from Michigan’s unexpected beatdowns of the Buckeyes in the 90’s, I was expecting an ornery bunch when we arrived on Saturday. Instead, they took on the form of a fan that I have only seen at Notre Dame. Cocksure. They looked down their noses at us, as if to say “We are the elite. You are trash. Your lucky victory of last year will remain as meaningless as the one you had under Hoke. Please prepare for this inevitable beat down.” I’ve never seen a group more confident. And they remained that way well into the game. They were, dare I say, happy? No shit talking, no tossing dog feces, no 80-year old grandmother flipping me double birds (all things I have indeed experienced in the past). Even when it hit 24-20, they pointed to all three Michigan TDs coming on “busted coverage”, and remained confident that they controlled the game. But when Michigan rolled a 3rd quarter drive into the 4th, and put up another 7 after a 15-play, 81-yard drive that sucked up 7:51 and made it 31-20, the puckering got serious, and a hush fell over the crowd. I’ve never seen it quiet in there. I’ve seen that fanbase rush the field more than I’ve seen my own, but never ever has it been quiet. Chants of “Go Blue” were audible in The Shoe. And after Donovan Edwards busted his first of two 75+ yard TD runs, those “Go Blue” chants began to echo off of empty seats of fans exciting in disbelief.
It was absolutely glorious.
The concourse rang out in random shouts of “It’s Great To Be A Michigan Wolverine” as we made our way down the 10-story spire of the great cement toilet, but when we hit the street, it was silent. A college house we passed on Neal St. played a slow sad country song. I was not addressed by a single Buckeye. So shocked, the poor bastards couldn’t even muster up a “Fuck You” for posterity. I also remained quiet, out of respect for their dead.
Savor it folks. See you in Indy.
