R.I.P. A lot of Things

As we speak, this blog is dying like so many other things around campus: this house, my time left here, The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk's liver, RichRod's room to breathe, Bill Martin's tenure, that high school JV Defense that goes out every Saturday pretending to be Michigan's defense -- so take this for what its worth.

When I was a pre-drunk growing up, I envisioned my time at U of M full of memorable last-second catches, rose bowl victories, and Ohio State victory celebrations on campus. In fact, the only reason I worked at all in high school, was so that I could watch players like Brian Griese, David Terrell, and Chris Perry run through that tunnel and touch the M Go Blue flag. However, I've learned a valuable lesson that I probably should have known all along: Don't ever get your hopes up too high, because nothing is ever as good as it seems. Not in football or in life. Eventually, it all goes to shit. For reasons that I have determined to be the effect of me being a brutal killer or something else terrible in a past life, the football gods decided that I, along with my fellow senior classmates, were the perfect candidates to get the ultimate shit dumped on us: Being a student/ season ticket holder during the worst 3 years in Michigan football's deep-rooted history. The worst 3 years. I don't need to tell you the teams we lost to, our record, or the about the media blitzkrieg against us. Unless you are like me, and Michigan football is the most important thing in your life, (besides maybe family and close friends) you will never understand the pain, embarassment, and anger that accompanied these three years.

If you haven't noticed yet, I am deeply bitter about how my college career has played out, particularly in terms of athletics. I lived my childhood, adolescence, and teenage years for the sole purpose of what I thought was the only thing I ever wanted in life, the pinnacle of my life -- to go to U of M so I could watch my Wolverines every weekend. I cared nothing for a degree, nothing for an education; all I wanted to do was have a designated spot in the student section at the greatest stadium in the world. Call it unrealistic, call it naive, call it childish, I don't care. Michigan football was and is my life.

That is a brief history of what has become the most depressing thing in my life, but I stray from my main point of this post.

What I didn't realize as a kid was that Ann Arbor's tailgate scene was a world in and of itself, honestly better than any heaven I could imagine. One hundred thousand people sharing a love of my one true love, tradition unlike any other school in the nation, and of course, an endless supply of booze as you hopped from frat to frat down State Street. As a freshman, I immediately fell in love with everything about gameday, but most notably the tradition of getting plastered prior to the game. That first year, I joined the Greek system, and never would have imagined I would end up at BOX. When Al invited me to my first BOX tailgate, I arrived already in a stupor; the next thing I remember is coming-to post blackout during halftime at the stadium and realizing I was covered in ketchup and mustard. Of course I yelled belligerently at the poor students sitting behind me, only to be informed by them that I had in fact been covered in condiments since the moment I walked in the stadium. A Box condiment assault it was.

That was my first BOX tailgate. This Saturday will not only be my, but BOX's, last tailgate... ever. Wedged in between those two dates are days I will never forget and also never remember for the rest of my life. But Saturday, November 21st marks the end of an era. As is true with all good things, it must come to an end at some time or another.

What I urge of you is simple. Don't take this tailgate for granted. If you are a senior, I don't doubt you will savor it for all it is. If you are a junior or younger, remember that you're celebrating the end of an era not just for yourself, but for all those BOX members that have come before you. I've already prepared myself for the absolute wreck I'm going to be in the stadium following what is an almost certain loss; I simply don't know how I'll ever be able to bring myself to leave that stadium for the last time in maybe forever. But the football team's countless problems are not mine. What I can control is how I pursue the final BOX tailgate, my final tailgate at Michigan. I literally plan to begin drinking at 9 or 10 p.m that Friday, continuing through the night until the noon kickoff. Blacking out is irrelevant, especially since its probably preferable to watching the dumpster babies that play defense for us.

You have the rest of your life to be old, wake up at 10 a.m. for a noon game, take you liver medicine, feed your 3 cats, and go do errands for your bitch wife before watching Michigan football kickoff - which you're not drinking for by the way. This is your last chance to drink freely and openly with your closest friends, black out, cuss out a seven year old, dump a vodka drink on an old man, cuss out a seventy year old lady, dump a vodka drink on yourself, and get away with it all.

Go Blue. Do it hard Saturday.