Big Blue boo-hoo

In what can only be described as an afternoon consumed by the merciless act of the god of the pigskin, I watched as a man’s life was slowly sucked from his body, chewed up and spit onto a sign proclaiming “The greatest upset in college football history.”

I only recently jumped onto the Michigan Wolverines bandwagon, but the boyfriend has been a fan from the time he first heard their fight song from inside the womb — just a little fetus dreaming about football.

It has been said that when the boyfriend was born, the oceans turned Michigan blue and the sun burned Michigan maize. His hair was parted into the stripes that decorate Michigan football helmets, and, somewhere, an Ohio State fan dropped dead from choking on his buckeye necklace.

Whether any of that is true or not, the boyfriend bleeds for the Big House, and he relies on Michigan to bring home the glory, as his other choice teams (all things Cleveland and the Chicago Cubs) usually produce seasons that invite laughter and inappropriate jokes. I know this, because I myself am the one laughing and pointing as the Cleveland Browns plummet further into the depths of AFC rankings.

But Saturday afternoon, there was no laughter. There were no jokes. Saturday afternoon, we watched Appalachian State University storm the Big House, take Michigan’s 2007 season in their Mountaineer hands, shred it and sprinkle the remains all over the Big 10.

Not to say the matchup was a fledgling organization vs. powerhouse situation, but watching the teams’ captains line up for the coin toss did have a certain David vs. Goliath feel to it.

And Goliath fell like the fatso piece of crap he looked like.

After the loss, Michigan rooters did not root. Victory dances could not be danced. And the Bo Schembechler bobble head I bought for the boyfriend no longer bobbled.

It sounds poetic, but it wasn’t pretty. The Michigan alumni bar in Charlotte may have been silenced, but you could hear their hearts breaking.

And the boyfriend’s broke the loudest.

Here’s when you know a man is truly giving up on the team he loves:

• He brings the Bo bobble head to the bar to watch the game and turns the figurine away from the TVs so he doesn’t have to witness the massacre (Note: the late, great Bo was arguably the greatest Michigan head coach ever) ;
• He says he’s giving away half his wardrobe (seriously, half his wardrobe is Michigan stuff);
• He’s spent night and day building a video dynasty with Michigan in some college football video game only to delete all his progress to start over with Oklahoma State — yes, Oklahoma State;
• He has forsaken our plans to travel “to that school up north” for a game in October;
• It’s been four days and he still can’t watch SportsCenter without getting a little misty-eyed;
• He stops answering his phone because all of our butthead Ohio State friends incessantly call/text message to remind him that Michigan’s season is as good as over; and
• He comes right out and says, “I’m giving up.”

The wound is fresh — no, it’s not fresh, it’s festering.

Most girlfriends would probably be happy their counterparts are teetering on the edge of free Saturday afternoons and normal belt buckles (Like I said, it’s like Michigan marked its territory on all his clothes — including accessories).

But the boyfriend without Michigan is like Bubba without Gump; the beach without beer; and grilled cheese without ketchup (try it — it will change your life); when the two are together, everything just seems right.
Luckily, every morning, there is a slight buzz in my ear telling me there is hope.

Actually, it’s a loud, annoying roar that wakes me up at 4:15 a.m. four days a week (the boyfriend and I cohabitate, or, as we in the professional grammar bizz like to call it, “shackin’ up”).
Every morning in order to wake up for work, the boyfriend sets the alarm on his cell phone.

And the drum-pounding, horns-blaring tune that rouses me from my slumber?

The Michigan fight song.

Go blue.

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