Gutted. But Coping.

During the week prior to Saturday night's match-up I had numerous dreams about The Game. Some foreshadowed blowout losses, while others lent credence to triumphant, dominating wins. Each morning I considered how I'd react to the diverse emotions accompanying each of these outcomes, weighing the frivolity of a match-up between two college football programs. Like many Michigan Men Saturday night, however, I had a hard time convincing myself. In fact, by the end of the night, I sort of felt like I had joined Job in the Land of Uz. Was I being punished?

As I often do after Saturday nights out, let's work our way backwards by leveraging contextual cues from the morning after. First, I wake up wearing my contacts and clothes from the night before. Hmm. My shirt has beer stains all over it. Oh, right, some idiot at the post game bar spilled a TRAY full of beers and shots on me. Wait. Didn't I buy those beers and shots? Ugh. Oh no. How much money did I spend last night? Wallet check: empty. Credit card: found. Whew. But in my front jeans pocket, dangerously far from its safe back-of-wallet resting place. Doh! Why are the bottoms of my pantlegs cold? Oh, they're wet. Wet? That's right, I braved the elements and subjected myself to a 45 minute walk home from the bar. Why did I do that? I must have been annoyed at something. Or someone. The girl. Who I met at the game. Who then proceeded to like me a lot on the dancefloor. But liked her boyfriend more, evidently. Women. Ohh, my sometimes latin office crush. We also had a heart to heart. At 3am. And she went home with that Fonz-like guy. Two missteps with the ladies in one night? Perhaps a new record? Oh. No. And don't forget. We lost. To the worst University ever.

So there you have it. My internal Sunday monologue (which is not typically all that internal, as my friends know all too well). I marched through about half of Sunday feeling pretty shitty about the night. And myself, to be honest. And then I pulled my isht together.

When I took a step back, I had no choice but to acknowledge that Michigan has had an amazing season, which most of you (you know who you are) would have wagered your first-born child against. Losing this game will probably leave a bad taste in my mouth for the next 365 days. It hurts more than any other, but this season's turnaround is unquestionably something to be proud of.

And for me? On Saturday night nearly all of my closest friends in London came out to watch the game. Many proudly sported Michigan t-shirts, some waited over 45 minutes in line just to get into the bar, and all of them yelled, clapped, and hailed as fervently as any alumni I've ever been around. Granted, there were a few missteps along the way ("Hail to the Victorious", and a number of challenges with the unconventional diction of "Leaders and Best" come to mind), but I couldn't have picked a finer group with which to experience the game. To those of you now reading these posts - thank you. And the girl? Well, if nothing else, she's got my business card and at least a handful of comments about getting me a job. She works in Mountain View, California at burgeoning French Internets giant Quaero's main competitor, after all.

It would be too easy (and, well, too Michigan State) to enter into an "I did my part!" diatribe after Saturday night. On Sunday morning it became only marginally less embarrassing to have anything to do with Ohio State. And you know what? It's still great to be a Michigan Wolverine.

Go Blue!