I want to tell you a story about my friend Dan. I’ve known Dan for about sixteen years now, and on many a night, he has been my drinking comrade. Dan is a great guy, no question. He has a Michigan toughness to him, like a Chevy or a Ford. But Dan and I have one major and long-disputed rub: He’s a fair-weather fan.

Dan himself does not dispute this. His favorite football team is the Tennessee Titans, despite the fact that he’s never lived in, nor even visited, Tennessee. Recently he started sporting Georgia apparel, because he’s dating a girl who went to Georgia. Those loyalties, to me, are simply beyond any credibility.

But about six months ago, back at the beginning of the baseball season, back before the olde English “D” became popular among hoodrats nationwide, Dan crossed the line. He crossed the line. We were out drinking, as usual, when I noticed that Dan was wearing a Yankees hat.

Well known is my hatred for the Yankees. But a guy from Flint… wearing a Yankees hat. There’s something vile about the whole scenario. But there it was, sitting on his head. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t just sit there and say nothing. So I objected, in the way good friends do, by calling Dan an asshole and a traitor. Thus was sparked the bitter debate that now rages among the Chicago contingent of Joe’s Friends.

I want to tell you this story not to make fun of Dan — although that’s fine — but because this is an opportunity to explain why my baseball cap is the greatest baseball cap of all time. And in so doing, I hope to illustrate a point about the ultimate of all virtues, loyalty.

I bought my hat in 2000, at the gift shop in Comerica Park. I bought it on April 12, on the occassion of the second game ever played in the gigantic new stadium. (I couldn’t afford a ticket to the park’s dedication game, so I had to settle for Game 2.) My new hat replaced my old one, which in its decade-long duty of faithful service had grown too small for my head. But like the old hat, this one was a keeper: A fitted, relaxed-front, dark blue cotton beauty, with an olde English “D” stitched gracefully onto its face.

In the six years since, my hat has been to about fifty baseball games, but a vast minority of those have been Tigers games. My hat appeared several dozen times at Wrigley Field, where the Tigers weren’t even playing. It has been to Miller Park, Comiskey Park, Fenway Park, Coors Field and Yankee Stadium. Most of the time, the Tigers were a thousand miles away, playing another game. But I wore my hat anyway. My hat has been to countless bars, parties and places; most of the time, I wasn’t even watching baseball.

My hat is faded blue now, and torn, and stained here and there from six years of brutal wear. The stitching on the “D” is starting to come loose a little. Sweat stains mark the corners. But despite its shabby appearance, my hat remains the greatest hat of all time, for one simple reason:

I wore it this morning.

Last night, the Tigers lost the World Series. They fell in four games to the St. Louis Cardinals, who earned their victory and deserve their party. Costly and stupid errors by the Tigers ended a season of unexpected brilliance, and a playoff record of solid dominance. But for the Tigers, a World Series championship in 2006 was not meant to be. A long, hard, beautiful season came to a heartbreaking end last night for the baseball team from Detroit.

So this morning, I did something that Dan would never do: I wore my Tigers hat. In the coming days, it will be rested from the rotation, and replaced by my Lions hat, and later my Pistons hat, and then my Red Wings hat. Next Spring, I will take my Tigers hat — the flagship of my beautiful fleet — and I will dust it off and wear it again. But I will remember, when I do that, the most important fact: I wore it this morning.

I wore my hat through the summer of 2003, when the Tigers lost 119 games and were the worst team in baseball. And I will wear my Lions hat tomorrow, celebrating, defiantly, the worst team in football.

Because this isn’t about the Tigers, or the Lions, or baseball, or football, or even about sports at all. This is about loyalty, the mysterious and disappearing virtue that has become the battlefield for my debate with Dan and the fair-weather fans of his ilk. It’s as simple as this: My Tigers hat is popular in 2006, when I wore it proudly. But it wasn’t popular in 2003, when I wore it proudly anyway.

Am I a sports fan? Yes. But this isn’t about sports. It’s about blind, dumb allegiance to your people, even through the worst of times. Rooting for the Tigers a few years ago was stupid. They were horrible. And rooting for the Lions today is very much the same; it’s just a dumb bet.

I should wear a Steelers hat, or a Colts hat. Or I could pull a Dan and just pick a team at random, because my Lions suck so badly. But here’s the thing: I wear my Lions hat anyway, not because they’re winners, or because they’re losers, but because they’re my team.

I wore my Tigers hat in 2006, and it was great. Beating the Yankees, winning the American League penant, what a fantastic ride. But that’s not the important thing; what matters far more is that I wore that hat in 2003. And I wore it this morning. That is what matters.

It’s human to love a winner. That’s why Dan owns a Yankees hat. But it’s superhuman to love something so blindly that you’re there even in the cold darkness of failure. If the Tigers lost every game, every year, for a hundred years, I would still wear that damned hat. That’s what the game is about; not just sports, but everything. That’s what it all boils down to. I will be there not just in the sunshine glow of success, but in the thick of night, when all the lights go out and all hope has failed. Blind, dumb loyalty is love of the purest kind.

Which is why Dan and I are still friends. Loyalty is not for sale. It cannot be compromised, not even for a moment. Not even when a fellow Michigander wears a Yankees hat.

Go Tigers. Go Lions. Go Pistons, and Redwings. Go Blue. And know this, all of you: Should you lose every game, should you blow every World Series, should you fail again and again and again, and again, I will still be your fan.

Congratulations, Detroit Tigers of 2006. But more importantly, congratulations, Detroit Tigers of 2003. Well done, both of you.

And now, my haiku to celebrate you:

I love the Tigers,
Because they are so awesome,
And fuck the Yankees.

Lies, All Lies

Aside from the intense awkwardness that comes from hearing too much Vanessa Carlton, I can report that the ten year high school reunion is actually pretty much a blast. The problem, of course, is that one faces the daunting challenge of summing up the last decade in a little 30-second soundbyte that can be retold a hundred times. For most of us, that’s fairly easy, because the truth is that most of us are fairly boring.

Think about it. What have you done for the last decade? Odds are, not much. My actual history for the last ten years can be described, in full detail, using exactly eight words: college, law school, Chicago, beer, Colorado, more beer. But there’s no fun in that. So I decided to play a little game with my fellow alums. Here’s my reported story:

After graduating from high school, I trained as an Olympic bobsledder for the Nepalese bobsled team. Jim ***, also a member of the Class of ‘96, was my teammate. When a military coup d’etat threatened government funding for the program, Jim and I were both out of a job and also trapped high in the Himalayas. With our grizzled sherpa, Ningningitituck, we ascened Mt. Yuyuiammipa and there established the now-thriving metropolis of New Flint. (Go bobcats!) We were ultimately rescued from the mountaintop by Navy SEALs, under the command of Cpl. Todd *** (Class of ‘97), and thus began our 5,000 mile journey back to the states. We founded the Alliance for Peaceful War, a non-profit organization based in Schenectady, New York. When the corporation was overrun by fallout from the Enron scandal, Jim and I decided finally to part ways. Last I heard, he had taken a physical education teaching position at Mt. Holyoke College. Broken and disillusioned with life, I rented a Miata and decided to drive cross country in search of myself. Ningningitituck, our grizzled sherpa, somehow found me in Talahassee; he alone is responsible for saving me from the alcoholic depression that had by then consumed my life. In the blazing hot summer of ‘02, Ningningitituck and I were on a tour of the Budweiser factory in St. Louis when we reunited with another member of the prestigious Class of ‘96, Heidi ***. Equally fraught with disdain for The Establishment, she joined us on our epic journey. We eventually stopped short of the coast, in Baytown, Texas, a suburb of Houston, largely because that’s where the tranny on the Miata blew out. I ended up founding a business that sells retrofitted recreational vehicles with secret stowage compartments for illegal aliens. Heidi and I were wed at The Alamo; Ningningitituck was my best man. We now have five happy and healthy boys: Gary, John, Michael, Bill and Clarence.

Only two people believed my story. One was a fellow alum named Alex, who just nodded and replied, “Wicked.” The other was stoned. It occurs to me now that my error was not in lying about my otherwise sordid real history; it was in fabricating a lie that was simply too long. My advice for those of you considering lying at your high school reunion: Keep it simple. My second advice for those of you attending a high school reunion — whether you plan to lie or not — is equally simple: Bring a flask.

The Vast Anti-Detroit Media Conspiracy

You thought I was done talking about the beating administered to the New York Yankees by a certain baseball team from Detroit. Foolish you. The thrashing delivered upon those pinstripe baboons cannot be adequately described in a single post. Hence, here is now a second posting about the series.

My complaint today doesn’t truthfully lie with the Yankees. Instead, it lies with Sports Illustrated. I finally received my September 25 issue of S.I., which was delivered a mere three weeks late. (Special thanks to the U.S. Postal Service.) On the prestigious cover is a certain Alex Rodriguez, better known as “Choke”. Also on the cover, next to the picture of A-Rod, is this quote from teammate Jason Giambi:

“Alex doesn’t know who he is. We’re going to find out who he is in the next couple of months.”

Yes we will, as it turns out. Inside the magazine, an eight page article reviews the Yankees’ strengths and specifically discusses the need for A-Rod to prove himself in the playoffs. My favorite quote, from Choke himself, is this:

“I can’t help that I’m a bright person… I can’t pretend to play dumb and stupid.”

Actually, he can, as it turns out, although he wasn’t pretending. Batting 1-for-14 in the playoffs, with your career on the line, doesn’t sound like pretending to me. Aside from being a foolish thing to say to a reporter, A-Rod’s quote sums up precisely what most people hate about the Yankees. It’s not that the Tigers are a better team than the Yankees, although that’s true; it’s that the Yankees think they’re a better team than they actually are.

Interestingly, the September 25 issue of SI didn’t contain a single page about the Tigers. Not one. So out of curiosity, I went to buy the post-series issue, thinking for sure that my underdog Tigers would grace the cover. Nope; a mediocre college football game was featured instead. I have cancelled my subscription.

The Vast Anti-Michigan Media Conspiracy

The vast anti-Detroit conspiracy marches on! When those dastardly folks over at Sports Illustrated disappointed me in the most hurtful way, I turned instead to ESPN. But there again, I found a distasteful smattering of untruth.

Apparently, the good folks over at ESPN have ranked Brady Quinn fourth in the race for the Heisman Trophy. Quinn, you will remember, is the quarterback for a certain parochial school in Indiana that borrows its name, however mispronounced, from the famous cathedral in Paris. He’s also the guy who was sacked three times by the University of Michigan, and in that same game threw three interceptions. (He was later sacked four times by Purdue.)

Brady Quinn’s stats are at best mediocre. That’s particularly true when he is compared to Michigan’s quarterback, Chad Henne, who was ranked only seventh in the Heisman poll. Henne’s yards per pass, at over 8, are higher than Quinn’s, and their completion rate is nearly identical, despite Michigan’s butterfingered receivers. They have both thrown about the same number of touchdowns, and they both average roughly the same number of yards per game.

But Henne has been sacked about half as many times, he’s undefeated, and he’s playing quarterback for a team that vastly favors a running game. Brady Quinn, who has the benefit of being a quarterback for a passing team, is neck-and-neck with Henne, who’s the quarterback for a running team. And thanks to Sports Illustrated’s excellent coverage — in the September 25 issue, no less — we know that Henne’s first two games were deliberately non-passing games! (SI’s theory is that Michigan knew it could win the first two games so easily that it intended to surprise Notre Dame by opening up a passing game that had never been seen before.)

Yet, Quinn is ranked higher than Henne by a lot; he received 31 votes, as opposed to Henne’s meager 7. If you can explain that, you are as stupid as the folks at ESPN. The vast anti-Michigan media conspiracy has ruthlessly disparaged Chad Henne. Considering either of these men for the Heisman Trophy is a joke, but ranking Quinn above Henne is beyond that; it’s laughable.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water…

Lastly, I just had to share this story from today’s news. James Bertakis, who is 81 years old, was boating with his grandkids in Florida the other day when a stingray jumped out of the air and stabbed him in the chest.

Several months ago, I wrote about a pirahna found in a river in Illinois, and I had this to say about it:

Scientists have yet to explore my alternative theory, which is that whole schools of human-eating fish — including sharks — are lurking deep in the water and are simply biding their time before the organized attack.

You laughed. You scorned me. But who’s laughing now? Certainly not Mr. Bertakis, who didn’t heed the Joetown warning. (He’s going to recover, by the way, but this is a lesson to you kids: Don’t forget the body armor when you’re fishing.) The attack has begun. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I sat at a bar in Flint, Michigan Saturday afternoon, catching up with old friends, and saw the impossible: A perfect Saturday afternoon, a double header of epic domination.

Money Can’t Buy Me Runs

They called it the best lineup in the history of baseball. The 2006 New York Yankees were beyond compare, a team so filled with all-stars that it cost a record-breaking $200 million just to get them on the field. George Steinbrenner approached baseball the same way New Yorkers approach everything: He tried to buy it.

The Yankees have spent more than a billion dollars in player salaries in the last six years. The three highest paid players in the game are all Yankees. The highest paid manager in the game is Joe Torre, manager for guess who? The Yankees. Alex Rodriguez gave the Yankees some trouble in 2004. So they bought him, setting a record in the process; at $26 million, he is the highest-paid baseball player in history. Johnny Damon gave the Yanks some trouble in 2005. So they bought him. Like a greedy, spoiled teenager with Daddy’s credit card, the Yankees tried to buy their way to success.

The Yankees assembled the most expensive, most aggressive team in the history of the sport. But then they did something stupid: They played the Tigers.

Detroit is no stranger to baseball glory. But it’s been a while. Nineteen years, in fact, since the Tigers won a playoff series. Twenty-three since they won the whole shebang. And just three years, ago, with 119 losses, the Tigers were in danger of becoming one of the worst teams in the history of the sport. The 2006 Tigers were a classic band of misfits. When the Tigers hired pitcher Kenny Rogers, 41 years old, Yankees fans laughed about whether Comerica Park was moonlighting as a retirement home. When they hired manager Jim Leyland, who’s 61, who’s had only one winning season since 1993, Yankees fans laughed about how low the Tigers had sunk. Or perhaps Yankees fans didn’t even notice. Perhaps they didn’t care.

But they care now, they notice now. And they aren’t laughing. Neither are the Tigers, who dominated the Yankees in a spectacular three-game streak that sent the powerful New York juggernaut packing its bags. The Tigers were heavily favored to lose; ESPN predicted a Yankees sweep. If anything, the experts said, the Tigers might take one game. Maybe.

But the experts, like the Yankees, were made to look foolish at the hands of Rogers, Bonderman and Verlander. While the Tigers pitchers shut down the Yankees lineup, the Tigers batmen took advantage of every little crevice of an opportunity to score. This was a team from Detroit, that played in the classic style of all great teams from Detroit: Not flashy or showy, but simply great ball. They were scrappy, and intelligent, and they simply played the game they wanted to play. Everyone helped out, everyone played as a team. That is the recipe for a Detroit victory, in any sport, and like the Pistons and Red Wings before them, the Tigers have once again shown that the expensive all-stars are ruthlessly vulnerable to a scrappy band of misfits who can play as one.

In the end, it wasn’t even close. The Tigers outscored the Yankees 14-3 in the last two games, one of which — a 6-0 shelacking in Game 3 at the hands of Rogers — was simply inspirational. Bonderman had a no-hitter going into the sixth inning of Game 4, when the Tigers had mounted a 7-0 lead, before the Yanks even managed to score a run.

The Yanks were supposed to have the most dangerous lineup in baseball, and the Tigers were supposed to have a misfit pitching staff that had run out of its early-season spunk. But in the end, those misfits held the dangerous Yanks to 19 consecutive scoreless innings. A-Rod in particular was a spectacular failure; he has redefined the word “choke”, batting 1 for 14 in the series with an error.

It comes down to this: The Tigers pitching staff costs less than $13 million, in total. That’s the cost for all of them. But Randy Johnson, Mike Mussina and Mariano Rivera make more than that each. That’s the bottom line. Spend all the money you want, Yankees, but know this: There is no amount in the world that will buy you a win over my orange and blue band of misfits. It’s not that they’re better; it’s that they’re a team, and you’re not.

Go Bluegers

While the Yankees were meekly shuffling off the field Saturday, and the Tigers were popping champagne, the Wolverines of Michigan were putting the finishing touches on a second dominating victory of the day: A 31-13 rout over the Michigan State Spartans.

Michigan won its fifth consecutive game over the Spartans, and extended the series to a dominating 66-28 lead. Chad Henne was 11 for 17 with 140 yards and three touchdowns. Two of those were to Mario Manningham, who has now cemented his place as the team’s premiere receiver. The hero of the day, once again, was Mike Hart, whose 122 yards (on only 22 carries) marks the fourth game this season he has passed the century mark. Why he’s not talked about for the Heisman Trophy remains a mystery to me.

The Michigan defense continued its blistering streak of dominance, and is now the top-ranked rushing defense in all of college football. The defensive line held the Spartans, the Big Ten leaders in rushing, to only 60 yards on the ground.

The buzz of an undefeated season hangs in the air, but weaknesses abound. The most pressing concern is Michigan’s secondary, which remains almost nonexistent. When teams take to the air, Michigan constantly gives up yardage. With the always dangerous Penn State and Iowa remaining before the inevitable championship clash with the Buckeyes, the Wolverines must improve their secondary if they expect to continue their winning streak.

The second major weakness is, of course, Steve Breaston, who continues to drop passes that should be caught. His 34 yards receiving on Saturday technically led the team at four catches, but the senior can and should do better. In general, the Wolverines are exceptionally well-balanced, with multiple receivers scoring touchdowns and a consistent pair of backs in Hart and Kevin Grady who can grind out yardage and clock time. But until the Wolverines learn how to stop a passing game, the team remains very susceptible to an upset.

For now, however, the domination continues. Those pesky Aggies from the Michigan Agricultural College — as it once was and still should be known — have dropped five straight to their superior neighbor to the south. And for yet another year, I wonder why the Spartans even bothered to take the field. This is Michigan, after all, and though they might not win the national championship every year, or even the conference, I will always know this: Michigan State sucks.

Lest you think I have not written on this website for two weeks because I am lazy, let me assure you of two things. First, I am indeed lazy. But second, my excellent excuse for tardiness is that I have moved to Colorado. More on that later. In the meantime, I will share with you some random thoughts that have occurred to me over the last two weeks.

It’s Getting Hot In Here…

My deep thanks go out to all those Republicans who, for the last several decades, have been telling us that global warming is a myth. I’m talking about you, Tom Delay, and you too, Bill Frist. Thanks, fellas, for ignoring the vast majority of the scientific community for all these years.

My initial reaction to Republican denials of global warming was that maybe these guys are just stupid. Or perhaps, I thought, they are skeptical in a healthy way. Like the folks who denied that cigarettes cause cancer, or the folks who supported using Agent Orange, maybe the Republicans were just uninformed. But then it finally dawned on me: They just like it hot. They know that global warming is happening, but they deny it because they secretly want the planet to become a scalding desert.

But why would anyone want that? Well, I finally figured it out. I read this report recently that found a negative correlation between Republicans and sex. Essentially, ABC News did a little study a few years ago, and found that Republicans are basically closeted on sexual issues. They are far less adventurous, sexually speaking, than their Democratic counterparts. In almost every major category, Democrats have “been there, done that” and Republicans have not. In layman’s terms, it’s like this: A Democrat is going to get absolutely smashed in a game of “I Never”, and a Republican is going to stay dead sober. The most telling statistic is this: Republicans think about sex 10% more often than Democrats.

Eureka!, I thought to myself. Who would want the planet to be a scalding hot desert? A person who doesn’t see much action in the bedroom! (I’ll go ahead and draw the connection for slow people: When it’s hot outside, women wear less clothing, which is ideal for a typical Republican, who needs that kind of stimulation.)

Then today, the Chicago Tribune reported in this article that the Earth’s temperature is at an all-time 12,000 year high. Looks like the Republicans’ plan is working. Thanks again, fellas.

The Earth Is Flat…

I know we’re all supposed to believe that whole Copernican idea that the Earth is actually a sphere that orbits around the sun, yada yada. I bought that theory too, hook line and sinker. But then, I drove through Nebraska.

My heartfelt sympathy goes out to all y’all Nebraskans. As I drove through your great state, I couldn’t help but wonder: What in the name of all that is holy are you doing there? I admit an occassional obsession with the notion of a barn dance, and I like country music and corn chowder as much as the next guy. But I have to ask: Are you aware that there are places that are not flat?

In related news, I sometimes watch the Discovery Channel, and I saw recently a show about Antarctica, where the temperatures sometimes reach 140 degrees below zero. The narrator was raving on and on about some beetles, which are able to survive in the cold. How amazing, said the narrator, that life can adapt to even the harshest of environments. But the narrator did not answer the question that immediately popped into my head: Would the beetles still live in Antarctica if they knew there were other places to go?

On Michigan Football…

I resolve to never again move in the fall, because I have now missed three consecutive weeks of college football. I did listen to the Michigan vs. Notre Dame game on the radio while driving through Nebraska (see above), and I listened for three hours on my cell phone to play-by-play commentary of the Michigan vs. Wisconsin game from my friend Jim. (Thanks Jim.) Since I did not actually see either game, the Joetown analysis is once again lacking. My apologies. Nonetheless, I have three things to say.

First, to Notre Dame: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Ha. I hate you.

Second, although I did not get to watch the games, I did play them on my XBox. Michigan crushed Notre Dame 108-0, and then demolished Wisconsin 122-0. Once again, in case I wasn’t clear: Ha.

Third, and this is important: Predicting a several week inability to post things on Joetown, I arranged with my buddy Todd to post updates on my website concerning Michigan football. Like me, Todd claims to be a rabid Wolverine fan. He assured me that he would keep up with things; I even gave him a password so that he could write what I imagined to be creative little missives about how brutally thrashed the Irish were last weekend. I was sure that Todd would fulfill this task because he did, after all, graduate from Harvard University, and no one from Harvard University ever drops the ball, ever.

But like Brady Quinn, Todd fumbled his prestigious task. Yes, I’m angry about that. But on the other hand, I now have the opportunity to analogize Todd to Brady Quinn, and that’s kind of exciting.

Despite the first ever weather delay (lightning!) at Michigan Stadium, the Wolverines defeated the vastly inferior Chippewas of Central Michigan University. I don’t mean to knock on CMU, but being one of the few people who have actually been to Mt. Pleasant, Michigan, I can confirm that yesterday’s 41-17 victory for Michigan is best described as “expected”.

However, the game wasn’t televised in Chicago. Who’s ever heard of such a thing? There I was, in my pajamas on a Saturday morning, excited to see my Wolverines beat up on Central. Instead, I had to watch Rutgers. Rutgers. (As a side note, here’s a question: should Illinois continue to have a football program, or should it just give up?) So, I have nothing to say about today’s Michigan game, because thanks to the local television executives, I didn’t get to see it.

Instead, I bring you highlights from the far-more-consequential game between Michigan and Central Michigan played this weekend on my XBox.

Not surprisingly, the Wolverines won. Owing largely to brilliant play calling by, well… me, the ultimate score was Michigan 116, Central Michigan 7. The Michigan offense netted 738 yards of total offense on only four minutes of posession, a new NCAA record. Lamar Woodley had seven sacks and thirty two tackles for loss. He is now fourth in the race for the Heisman. Chad Henne threw three perfect touchdown strikes (including a 61-yard missile) to Steve Breaston, who is now second in the Heisman race. (Breaston also returned three punts for touchdowns, a new NCAA record.) But the heroic effort on the day was Mike Hart, whose 594 yards of rushing, and 10 touchdowns, shattered all previous records. After only two games this season, Hart already has 1,700 yards rushing and is at the top of the Heisman poll. (I should also note that if Michigan wins the national championship on my XBox this year, it will be the fourth consecutive year they have done so.)

The actual game in Ann Arbor on Saturday remains a mystery to the trillions of loyal Michigan fans in Chicago who were disappointed and ruthlessly disparaged by the evil empire of cable television. This furthers my long-standing theory that network TV execs are tampering with the feed for sports games, and that, in fact, the Detroit Tigers have never lost a game. Ever.

There’s something magical about the first weekend of Big Ten football. Maybe it’s the long-awaited triumphant return of our heroes to the gridiron. More likely, it’s knowing that the games are so stacked, you’re extremely unlikely to lose.

So it was with the Vanderbilt Commodores against the Michigan Wolverines on Saturday, in front of 109,000 screaming fans at the Big House (is it just me, or do those freshmen look like they’re about 12 years old?). And like any Michigan season opener on any given year, we now know two things: First, Michigan won. Second, the team looks shaky.

First, the good news. Michigan’s defense was unstoppable. Six sacks, eleven tackles for loss, and two forced fumbles. Even Michigan’s perennially-weak secondary was in full force on Saturday. Rondell Biggs and Lamar Woodley alone combined for four of the sacks. These guys are just evil. They dismantled Vandy’s offensive line, twice forcing the Commodores into their own endzone. On only one play did Vandy actually outrun Michigan’s defense. It was late in the first half, on a trick lateral pass that resulted in the only Commodore touchdown of the game. The pass coverage was completely blown by free safety Brandent Englemon, who simply didn’t realize that the first pass of the play was a lateral. (Englemon redeemed himself in the second half with a forced fumble and then a recovery.) On a whole, however, Michigan’s defense was ridiculously good. This is probably attributable to brand new defensive coordinator Ron English, who was previously named D-man for the Chicago Bears. While I’m personally disappointed to see Jim Hermann out of the picture, English has clearly brought the thunder.

One is reminded of the 1997 season, in which Michigan’s best-in-the-country defensive line so thoroughly dismantled its opponents that not once in that season did any team reach Michigan territory in the second half of any game. (The only exception was the Rose Bowl, which Michigan won anyway, and walked off with the national championship.)

Which brings me to the bad news. Like in the 1997 season, Michigan’s offense on Saturday is best described as “good enough”. Chad Henne showed some improvement in the pocket, and wasn’t as slow or stupid as his freshman debut of last year. But there are two problems here. First, he still doesn’t see the blitz; twice, he was annihilated by Vandy defensive ends who seemed to be running straight toward him in some kind of Henne blind spot. That’s like not seeing a freight train even though you’re standing on the train tracks. Second, he completed only 10 for 22 passes, which is pathetic against a team like Vanderbilt.

I’m not a Henne sympathizer; in fact, I despise the fact that Michigan has essentially lost its once legendary quarterback program and has now fielded two consecutive mediocrities in the QB position. But we must acknowledge that Henne’s weaknesses on Saturday were largely not his fault. The first problem was Michigan’s young offensive line, which seemed incapable of handling an aggressive blitz. If the Wolverines can’t stop Vanderbilt from blitzing, I shudder to think of the carnage that will result from a Big Ten-worthy bruiser defense like the one down in that stinkhole in Columbus.

The second problem — and the biggest worry for the season following Saturday’s game — is the dozens of dropped passes. I’m not talking about freshmen, either. Steve Breaston is a fifth-year senior, who should know enough by now to hold on to the ball when a picture-perfect pass ends up in his hands. Did he coat his gloves in Vaseline or something before the game? Mario Manningham and even tight end Tyler Ecker fared no better. These guys just can’t keep the ball. Four times, I watched Henne walk off the field shaking his head at these buffoons. You have to sympathize; at least three Michigan possessions would have resulted in touchdowns but for the butterfingers receivers out there. I know the field was wet on Saturday, but come on.

Even the running game, once the core of Wolverine football, was simply lackluster. Mike Hart had 146 yards on 30 carries. That’s ok. But if you’re in the primary RB slot for the Wolverines, numbers like that bring a resounding “eh” from those of us old enough to know that if you can’t run in the Big Ten, you may as well not play.

And so it was “good enough”. Solid defense, decent quarterback, weak offense. Sound familiar? It should; it’s the recipe for a typical ulcer-inducing season of Michigan football. At half time, a reporter asked Lloyd Carr what he would talk about with his team in the locker room. In typical Lloyd fashion, he said, “hold on to the ball”. No kidding.