Thanks a lot. It pains me to admit this, but Dad wasn't a Michigan fan. Or more accurately, he was NOT a Bo Schembechler fan (and since Bo was Michigan, y'know ...) He liked nothing better than give his son grief every time UM would go to the Rose Bowl and get beat. "Hey, there's this new play in football - it's called the forward pass. When do you think that coach of yours is gonna learn it?" I once heard him refer to Bo's insistence on running on every opportunity as "three yards and a cloud of dumb."
I wanted to fight back, but Bo's Rose Bowl record didn't give me a lot to work with.
My Dad died on this day back in 1989. He'd just turned 60 five days previous, but was under so much medication that he didn't realize it. (Insert "Fuck cancer" here.)
I ask your indulgence with a little rambling on this 35th anniversary:
After Dad retired and left our hometown of Flint, he moved to California: first to the south, and then to Sacramento. He came back once a year or so to visit family (some of them, anyway) and to remind himself why he'd moved. On one visit, he'd gone to visit some of his old shop buddies at AC Spark Plug. He called to tell me that he was going to be at one of his old shop bars afterward, and why didn't I swing by if I had nothing else to do.
So I did, and we sat at on a pair of stools in one of those nameless bars that exist in every industrial city, in a rougher end of Flint that was never going to be on a postcard (if they still made them). A couple of beers sat in front of us, with a couple more on the way, while Dad gave a funny, profound, and profane monologue on anything and everything. I sat and laughed and listened to the man I grew up scared of, because of his volcanic temper and its tendency to erupt from the back of his hand. Those days were long past, as he was happier, healthier, and content.
In the midst of the monologue he suddenly stopped, looked at me and blurted, "Holy shit, I forgot - you're not old enough to be in a bar, are you?"
Now, Dad never missed an opportunity to tease you. It was always meant in fun - never malicious or mean-spirited - but if you made yourself look stupid, he was always ready with the needle. So I relished the chance to slowly reply:
"Dad ... I'm 25."
He paused, and then exploded in one of his big gassy laughs, knowing he'd put his foot in it and was gonna pay for it. The rest of the evening was spent with me making oh-so-helpful suggestions that maybe he should stop drinking before he grew forgetful, and maybe we should find him a nice retirement home while he was in town, and so forth. And every time I'd stick the needle in, he'd make a fake pout and say, "You're not very nice to me." The poor aggrieved victim.
The evening ended, Dad went back to Cali, and life went on - until 35 years ago when it didn't. And it wasn't until a few years ago that I realized something: that was the only time I ever sat in a bar and had a beer with my Dad. Just that one time. It's something I'd give any amount of money to be able to do again.
So guys, If your dad is still with you, take him out for a beer. Or if you're of that age, take your son out for one. It doesn't seem like a big deal until you can't do it anymore.
Instead of laughing, I think little brother deserves what my second-grade teacher did when we'd misbehave. She'd cross her arms, fix us with a withering expression of pure disgust, shake her head and mutter "Mm Mm Mm." As if she couldn't believe that any child could be so stupid, so backward, and so inept.
Woman could say more with three sounds than lawyers could say in a closing argument.
The idea of Ferentz contributing to any team's offense reminds me of a line from Bob Uecker's great Hall of Fame speech. He recounted how his manager in Philadelphia once told him "Grab a bat and stop this rally."
I mean, it's hard to get too upset about this, just like it was hard to get excited when he came back. He couldn't get on the court for the worst UM team in years, except when Dug wasn't eligible to play. Yes, he was a freshman, and hopefully will get better. But with the influx of portal guards, he obviously thinks that his road to more playing time is blocked, and wants to try elsewhere - again.
Agreed, Zach Frazier from WV would be great, either to step in next year for Kevin Zeitler (who's only on a 1-year deal), or for Ragnow if his body just can't take it anymore. But I have doubts that he'll drop all the way to #61
I'd love to see Mikey in a Lions uniform, but I can't see it happening. Having already drafted a CB, and without a 3rd or 4th rounder (which is where many mock drafts had Mikey going), the Lions have bigger needs.
I have hated the Vikings ever since the 70's, when they were constantly beating the Lions behind Fran Tarkenton and Chuck Foreman. So the idea of JJ wearing those stupid purple jerseys makes me ill. Still, it's JJ. So I will hope that he plays well on an otherwise shitty Vikings team, and when his contract is up, he takes a free-agent deal somewhere outside the NFC North.
I realize the likelihood of this outcome is questionable, but it's the best I can do. I hate Minnesota that much. (And don't even get me started on the '87 Twins.)
Ohio State loaded the box two years ago, and Donovan started getting about 80 yards a carry. Penn State loaded the box last year, and we blocked it up.
That's very true. However, I have to point out that none of the players of those remarkable O-lines are on the team anymore. Not saying that these guys are a bunch of slugs by any stretch. Still, expecting them to perform at those Joe Moore-levels may be asking a little too much.
I don’t think most fans realize that a lot of these players don’t grow up with the same emotional ties to the university that many of us have.
Fair point. However, many Michigan athletes didn't grow up with UM ties, yet they became ardent UM supporters during their time here. They may not have been born one, but they became one.
So if Phelia hasn't become one after three years of wearing that uniform, and playing with teammates who are busting their butts in front of the crowds at Crisler, she ain't going to become one. If she doesn't want to be here, then leave.
I'd completely forgotten about it, until I went outside, thought the daylight looked weird, saw neighbors looking up and remembered "Oh, right - the eclipse." A neighbor gave me a pair of glasses, and I saw it at the near totality of 98+ %. The air was definitely cooler. The muted sunlight reminded me of when I shared a bedroom with my brother. When I had to work an early shift, I drape a towel over my bedside lamp so that the glare wouldn't wake him up. The room would have a slightly orange glow.
When I was 22 my Dad was 53, and the idea of spending three hours in the car with him would have bored the hell out of me. But then, neither of us had any idea he'd only be alive for another seven years. So grab those moments whenever you can.
I'll buy this. I don't have anything for or against Purdue (they're not Michigan nor one of Michigan's enemies, so ... meh.) But anything that sticks a finger in the eye of IU basketball fans is OK by me. Hated that program ever since Bobby Knight threw his first chair. So, Boiler Up!
Can't get worked up about Dug leaving. Was he the best player on the team? OK, sure. But since that team lost three times as many games as it won, and lost 17 of 20 conference games, that doesn't mean much. Being the best player on a team this bad, in the words of Charles Emerson Winchester, is like being the best hockey player in Equador.
I learned that last year, and I found it shocking. I never played an instrument so I'm no expert, but since when was a penis required to play a cornet?
I met Kell, Kaline, and Ernie Harwell at a business function when they were working as the Tigers' announcers. I mentioned to Kell some statistical oddity about his 1949 batting title season. He replied in that twang, "You know, somebody told me that a couple years ago, and ah didn't know that all this time!" Like I was doing him the world's biggest favor by telling him, and he appreciated it so much. Harwell was famous for his warm personality (and it was true), but Kell was just the same. A real gentleman.
Whereas Kaline ... well, maybe Al was having a bad day, or he just didn't want to be there. But I remember another ex-Tiger at Fantasy Camp that if you see Al around camp (he was a special assistant to Mike Ilitch), it's better if you leave him alone. Having met him at that function, I had no problem following his advice.
i went to Tigers Fantasy Camp in '04. During the first day meet & greet with the ex-Tigers who were working as camp coaches, several got up to say a few words (often funny, sometimes profane, all entertaining.) When Mickey Lolich stepped up to the lectern, he started with "Please don't ask me any questions about Denny McLain, because I'd like to enjoy my week here." It got a big laugh, but I got a feeling that Mickey wasn't kidding. Another '68 Tiger confirmed it later: Lolich can't stand McLain - and among the Tiger players, he wasn't alone in that opinion.
The same ex-Tiger told me that Denny knew the location of every after-hours club in every American League city. The ex-Tiger confessed that he went with Denny once, and spent the next day short on sleep, hungover, and praying that he wouldn't throw up or get put in the game. Never again, he said.
For years I was one of the many who criticized Brock for not sliding, even though it was normal for him to go in standing up. I always thought that if he'd hit the dirt, his foot would have gotten in clearly. But Brock said years later that if he'd slid, Freehan would have blocked him off the plate. Considering Freehan's size and defensive excellence, Lou had a fair point.
The other thing about the play was that it took a perfect throw by Willie Horton to get him. Often during the season, and certainly during the Series, Horton would be replaced in the later innings for defensive purposes. Horton was not a great defensive player, but at that moment, he was a good as anyone.
Not really uphill. As I recall (and granted, this was in 1988, so the memory is apt to be rusty), the ground does have a slight upward slope when you get across the Emmitsburg Road to the Stone Wall. It's a rise more than anything.
Of course, after a mile of shot and shell and frontal and flanking fire, I'm sure it seemed high enough to those men under Longstreet's command.
That was painful. Ten points up with six minutes to go, and then, gone. For a supposedly good defensive team, Michigan could not get a stop in the 4th quarter.
I saw it with my Dad when I was 27, and I just shook my head when I saw the distance. A mile of open ground, moving straight into the range of every gun on the ridge, numbers depleting every minute, and Lee thought it would actually work? As you said, mind-boggling.
Fredericksburg is the one I've always wanted to see. Burnside's repeated direct assaults up Marye's Heights have been so condemned in books that I want to see it for myself. An attack uphill, on open ground that gave no opportunity for a flanking maneuver, against a two-tiered entrenched defensive position with well-manned rifle pits at the base, and interlocking cannon fire from the summit.
It wasn't that he tried it. It's that he tried it 14 times.
Small world. My greatx3 grandfather was also in the 24th Michigan, Company C. Wounded at the Fredericksburg Crossing during the Battle of Chancellorsville, then wounded a second time in the first day's action at Gettysburg. Limped for the rest of his life.
Recent Comments
I was going to say something similar with a Camp Sanderson reference, but then remembered, "Oh, right ..."
Anyone heard a new name for the Strength & Conditioning program?
A friend asked me once why I didn't gamble. I told him that I've never made so much money that I could afford to play with it.
" ... the penis size of many primates is much smaller compared to the testes."
Maybe they just get nervous. All that competition can result in a lot of pressure.
I probably would have gone with "because we opened up a big can of whoop ass on them at Yorktown," but I have to admire when you went with it.
Thanks a lot. It pains me to admit this, but Dad wasn't a Michigan fan. Or more accurately, he was NOT a Bo Schembechler fan (and since Bo was Michigan, y'know ...) He liked nothing better than give his son grief every time UM would go to the Rose Bowl and get beat. "Hey, there's this new play in football - it's called the forward pass. When do you think that coach of yours is gonna learn it?" I once heard him refer to Bo's insistence on running on every opportunity as "three yards and a cloud of dumb."
I wanted to fight back, but Bo's Rose Bowl record didn't give me a lot to work with.
My Dad died on this day back in 1989. He'd just turned 60 five days previous, but was under so much medication that he didn't realize it. (Insert "Fuck cancer" here.)
I ask your indulgence with a little rambling on this 35th anniversary:
After Dad retired and left our hometown of Flint, he moved to California: first to the south, and then to Sacramento. He came back once a year or so to visit family (some of them, anyway) and to remind himself why he'd moved. On one visit, he'd gone to visit some of his old shop buddies at AC Spark Plug. He called to tell me that he was going to be at one of his old shop bars afterward, and why didn't I swing by if I had nothing else to do.
So I did, and we sat at on a pair of stools in one of those nameless bars that exist in every industrial city, in a rougher end of Flint that was never going to be on a postcard (if they still made them). A couple of beers sat in front of us, with a couple more on the way, while Dad gave a funny, profound, and profane monologue on anything and everything. I sat and laughed and listened to the man I grew up scared of, because of his volcanic temper and its tendency to erupt from the back of his hand. Those days were long past, as he was happier, healthier, and content.
In the midst of the monologue he suddenly stopped, looked at me and blurted, "Holy shit, I forgot - you're not old enough to be in a bar, are you?"
Now, Dad never missed an opportunity to tease you. It was always meant in fun - never malicious or mean-spirited - but if you made yourself look stupid, he was always ready with the needle. So I relished the chance to slowly reply:
"Dad ... I'm 25."
He paused, and then exploded in one of his big gassy laughs, knowing he'd put his foot in it and was gonna pay for it. The rest of the evening was spent with me making oh-so-helpful suggestions that maybe he should stop drinking before he grew forgetful, and maybe we should find him a nice retirement home while he was in town, and so forth. And every time I'd stick the needle in, he'd make a fake pout and say, "You're not very nice to me." The poor aggrieved victim.
The evening ended, Dad went back to Cali, and life went on - until 35 years ago when it didn't. And it wasn't until a few years ago that I realized something: that was the only time I ever sat in a bar and had a beer with my Dad. Just that one time. It's something I'd give any amount of money to be able to do again.
So guys, If your dad is still with you, take him out for a beer. Or if you're of that age, take your son out for one. It doesn't seem like a big deal until you can't do it anymore.
Instead of laughing, I think little brother deserves what my second-grade teacher did when we'd misbehave. She'd cross her arms, fix us with a withering expression of pure disgust, shake her head and mutter "Mm Mm Mm." As if she couldn't believe that any child could be so stupid, so backward, and so inept.
Woman could say more with three sounds than lawyers could say in a closing argument.
The idea of Ferentz contributing to any team's offense reminds me of a line from Bob Uecker's great Hall of Fame speech. He recounted how his manager in Philadelphia once told him "Grab a bat and stop this rally."
No doubt. They spaz out when they can't get that pointed straw into their Juice Box.
I have the same reaction as last time: OK.
I mean, it's hard to get too upset about this, just like it was hard to get excited when he came back. He couldn't get on the court for the worst UM team in years, except when Dug wasn't eligible to play. Yes, he was a freshman, and hopefully will get better. But with the influx of portal guards, he obviously thinks that his road to more playing time is blocked, and wants to try elsewhere - again.
So - again - good luck to you.
Especially when he was having a pina colada at Trader Vic's.
Now that's a good way to start the week!
Welcome, Vlad.
But using that rationale, we can't count Ladarius Henderson because he played the majority of his games at Arizona State.
I count the guys who wanted to be here and finished their careers in maize and blue.
Congratulations, coach. Here's hoping the new job and your health are both great.
Lookin' good, Mr. Kot-tear!
Agreed, Zach Frazier from WV would be great, either to step in next year for Kevin Zeitler (who's only on a 1-year deal), or for Ragnow if his body just can't take it anymore. But I have doubts that he'll drop all the way to #61
I'd love to see Mikey in a Lions uniform, but I can't see it happening. Having already drafted a CB, and without a 3rd or 4th rounder (which is where many mock drafts had Mikey going), the Lions have bigger needs.
If you were on your death bed saying goodbye to your family and I came in and cut it short by 30 seconds, how would that make you feel?
I'm guessing he'd feel bad - but not for very long.
I have hated the Vikings ever since the 70's, when they were constantly beating the Lions behind Fran Tarkenton and Chuck Foreman. So the idea of JJ wearing those stupid purple jerseys makes me ill. Still, it's JJ. So I will hope that he plays well on an otherwise shitty Vikings team, and when his contract is up, he takes a free-agent deal somewhere outside the NFC North.
I realize the likelihood of this outcome is questionable, but it's the best I can do. I hate Minnesota that much. (And don't even get me started on the '87 Twins.)
The only way their passing game could be worse is if they threw it backwards.
Ohio State loaded the box two years ago, and Donovan started getting about 80 yards a carry. Penn State loaded the box last year, and we blocked it up.
That's very true. However, I have to point out that none of the players of those remarkable O-lines are on the team anymore. Not saying that these guys are a bunch of slugs by any stretch. Still, expecting them to perform at those Joe Moore-levels may be asking a little too much.
It keeps you busy, but it gets you nowhere.
Sounds like every girl I dated in high school. Alas indeed.
I'm waiting for the one entitled "Cheap, Two-bit Opinions." Then I'm all over it.
Ashamed to say this took me a minute.
Econ 101: What's a good price for crayons?
Math 101: Counting all 64 crayons in the big box (AP class)
Colonial History 101: Give me liberty or give me crayons!
I've watched the original, and it really isn't.
But sir, I've heard from other sources that he's projected to go to Michigan State.
Shut up, Wesley!
And trying to hide them by wearing gloves in July will prompt strange looks from others.
Trust me on this.
I don’t think most fans realize that a lot of these players don’t grow up with the same emotional ties to the university that many of us have.
Fair point. However, many Michigan athletes didn't grow up with UM ties, yet they became ardent UM supporters during their time here. They may not have been born one, but they became one.
So if Phelia hasn't become one after three years of wearing that uniform, and playing with teammates who are busting their butts in front of the crowds at Crisler, she ain't going to become one. If she doesn't want to be here, then leave.
I'd completely forgotten about it, until I went outside, thought the daylight looked weird, saw neighbors looking up and remembered "Oh, right - the eclipse." A neighbor gave me a pair of glasses, and I saw it at the near totality of 98+ %. The air was definitely cooler. The muted sunlight reminded me of when I shared a bedroom with my brother. When I had to work an early shift, I drape a towel over my bedside lamp so that the glare wouldn't wake him up. The room would have a slightly orange glow.
Funny, the things you remember.
When I was 22 my Dad was 53, and the idea of spending three hours in the car with him would have bored the hell out of me. But then, neither of us had any idea he'd only be alive for another seven years. So grab those moments whenever you can.
This would be nice.
I'll buy this. I don't have anything for or against Purdue (they're not Michigan nor one of Michigan's enemies, so ... meh.) But anything that sticks a finger in the eye of IU basketball fans is OK by me. Hated that program ever since Bobby Knight threw his first chair. So, Boiler Up!
I'm still waiting for the MGoBlog lucky astrology mood watch I was supposed to get when I broke 25,000 points.
It's probably in the same place as my Hogwarts letter.
Can't get worked up about Dug leaving. Was he the best player on the team? OK, sure. But since that team lost three times as many games as it won, and lost 17 of 20 conference games, that doesn't mean much. Being the best player on a team this bad, in the words of Charles Emerson Winchester, is like being the best hockey player in Equador.
Exactly. Coming from Yale, you'd think he'd be a lock.
I'll show myself out ...
I learned that last year, and I found it shocking. I never played an instrument so I'm no expert, but since when was a penis required to play a cornet?
The possibility exists that you are factually correct.
Agree on Penix's ball placement. That interception to Sainristil hit Mikey right in the zero.
I met Kell, Kaline, and Ernie Harwell at a business function when they were working as the Tigers' announcers. I mentioned to Kell some statistical oddity about his 1949 batting title season. He replied in that twang, "You know, somebody told me that a couple years ago, and ah didn't know that all this time!" Like I was doing him the world's biggest favor by telling him, and he appreciated it so much. Harwell was famous for his warm personality (and it was true), but Kell was just the same. A real gentleman.
Whereas Kaline ... well, maybe Al was having a bad day, or he just didn't want to be there. But I remember another ex-Tiger at Fantasy Camp that if you see Al around camp (he was a special assistant to Mike Ilitch), it's better if you leave him alone. Having met him at that function, I had no problem following his advice.
True. He also got 13 runs of support (12 by the third inning) which made the job a lot easier.
You never saw my Dad. He had so many dark strings going from one side of his head to the other that it looked like latitude lines on a globe.
i went to Tigers Fantasy Camp in '04. During the first day meet & greet with the ex-Tigers who were working as camp coaches, several got up to say a few words (often funny, sometimes profane, all entertaining.) When Mickey Lolich stepped up to the lectern, he started with "Please don't ask me any questions about Denny McLain, because I'd like to enjoy my week here." It got a big laugh, but I got a feeling that Mickey wasn't kidding. Another '68 Tiger confirmed it later: Lolich can't stand McLain - and among the Tiger players, he wasn't alone in that opinion.
The same ex-Tiger told me that Denny knew the location of every after-hours club in every American League city. The ex-Tiger confessed that he went with Denny once, and spent the next day short on sleep, hungover, and praying that he wouldn't throw up or get put in the game. Never again, he said.
For years I was one of the many who criticized Brock for not sliding, even though it was normal for him to go in standing up. I always thought that if he'd hit the dirt, his foot would have gotten in clearly. But Brock said years later that if he'd slid, Freehan would have blocked him off the plate. Considering Freehan's size and defensive excellence, Lou had a fair point.
The other thing about the play was that it took a perfect throw by Willie Horton to get him. Often during the season, and certainly during the Series, Horton would be replaced in the later innings for defensive purposes. Horton was not a great defensive player, but at that moment, he was a good as anyone.
He's a manky Scots git.
Not really uphill. As I recall (and granted, this was in 1988, so the memory is apt to be rusty), the ground does have a slight upward slope when you get across the Emmitsburg Road to the Stone Wall. It's a rise more than anything.
Of course, after a mile of shot and shell and frontal and flanking fire, I'm sure it seemed high enough to those men under Longstreet's command.
That was painful. Ten points up with six minutes to go, and then, gone. For a supposedly good defensive team, Michigan could not get a stop in the 4th quarter.
I saw it with my Dad when I was 27, and I just shook my head when I saw the distance. A mile of open ground, moving straight into the range of every gun on the ridge, numbers depleting every minute, and Lee thought it would actually work? As you said, mind-boggling.
Fredericksburg is the one I've always wanted to see. Burnside's repeated direct assaults up Marye's Heights have been so condemned in books that I want to see it for myself. An attack uphill, on open ground that gave no opportunity for a flanking maneuver, against a two-tiered entrenched defensive position with well-manned rifle pits at the base, and interlocking cannon fire from the summit.
It wasn't that he tried it. It's that he tried it 14 times.
Small world. My greatx3 grandfather was also in the 24th Michigan, Company C. Wounded at the Fredericksburg Crossing during the Battle of Chancellorsville, then wounded a second time in the first day's action at Gettysburg. Limped for the rest of his life.
He's why I have this username.