The First Question

First of all, David is right, I should have switched over at 2:50 to the "Day of the Doctor" and it would have been a much better decision.

Fundamentally, the question of this season is not about disappointment, or frustration, or youth.  The first question of this season is more fundamental than this season, it's the core of all consumed culture: "For whom does this thing exist?"

When an author writes a book, for whom are they writing it?  Are they writing it for themselves? For the potential audience? For the money? For the fame?

When a television show is created, for whom is it created? For the network? For the audience? For the advertisers?

When a team plays a sport, for whom are they playing? For themselves? For the fans? For the ownership? For the paycheck?

That we have never fully answered these questions speak to the fact that there are no right answers, there are no good answers.  This is what leads to our frustration.

Disappointment can only come with expectations.  If you expect nothing, you have a much more difficult time being disappointed.  If you expect something, anything that fails to reach that expectation inevitably becomes a disappointment.  But this leads to an even greater paradox, as it is virtually impossible to live your life in such a way to expect nothing, because as things happen, human nature is to ask for more, to want more, to expect more.

Think about it.  After Notre Dame, in spite of the 0-yard pick six, the trajectory was upwards, the hopes were seemingly limitless.  And then Akron happened, and as we sat in disbelief, we talked ourselves into the hiccup.  But then Connecticut happened and hey, we're not that good, maybe, but we're 4-0 and there's a bye coming up, we'll get it fixed.  And we did, hey, the Jug is saved.

Then Penn State, which was its own nightmare, we suck, wait, we're coming back, wait, we got this, wait, what the hell is this drive, wait we got this, wait Gibbons no, wait, we got this, wait Gibbons no again, wait, we lost it.  But hey, four overtimes, could happen to anyone.  Then Indiana and the record setting offense, and we'll get it sorted out by the time we head to East Lansing.

Then November came, and it mostly comes up blank in my mind.  Part of it simply is that I have been moving, and weekends have been committed to unpacking, slipping the games in when I can. But even then, you just knew, it wasn't going to work, it wasn't going to be right.  Somewhere, Michigan forgot how to play offense, and the madness has set in.

So now we're looking at The Game, and well, five years ago, I spoke of that season as a scar, well-won, but the years since have left us with more scars, achieved in uglier fashion, to the point where as much as you want to ignore the scars, it takes tremendous effort to do so.  We're spoiled, and yes, we should know it, and yes, we do, but when you long for something that may be long gone, that will likely never come back, and even if it does, it will certainly not be the same, it makes the absence so much harder.

But again, it's back to the fundamental question: What if this isn't for us?  What if we really, in the end, don't matter in the equation?  What if we tell ourselves a collective lie because we want to believe that we matter, when the reality is we don't? If we don't, it makes all of the shaming, the ranting, the fan credentials presentations, well, that doesn't matter either, does it?  We're just revenue streams to be tapped, background ambiance to be thrown into a game telecast.  We don't have an impact, and yet, it is possible that these things can mean more to some of us than they do to the players because they're part of the thread that connects our days.

So where does this leave us?  What is the answer?  Well, there isn't one, except to say that we're all going to choose our own paths to the answer, and hopefully we shouldn't judge too harshly the paths chosen by others.

The best we can hope for right now is something of a football miracle, but they've happened before.  It is perhaps a bridge too far to ask for a miracle, but it is certainly not beneath any of us to hope for one.  Because as always, hope dies last.

"Yet we were wrong, terribly wrong."

Yeah, so about that trial balloon. Consider that the optimist in me, and a naive one at best.

So, where does that leave us?

Brian has the roundup of everything you need to get caught up to speed on this matter (the Bucknuts piece is very much worth the read), but as I read, my mind wandered and I was struck by this (slightly modified) notion:

"We of the [Big Ten] administration who participated in the decisions on [divisional alignment] acted according to what we thought were the principles and traditions of this [conference]. We made our decisions in light of those values. Yet we were wrong, terribly wrong. We owe it to future generations to explain why."

That is a modified version of the opening of former Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara's 1995 book In Retrospect where he examined the decision making that went on during the Vietnam War in the highest levels of the Kennedy and Johnson administrations. What has always struck me about this (and McNamara's later comments in The Fog of War) is that rarely do people who are making decisions think "I am making a terrible decision, but I am going to continue to do so, because I love making terrible decisions." There are reasons, and people believe they are good reasons, and it is sometimes only when it is too late to see the folly.

I guess what makes me sad is that there's no good way to do this, when you think about it:

1). Michigan and Ohio State in the same division

Pro: They would still play at the end of the season. In 9 of the last 13 seasons, it is likely that the outcome of the Game would have decided the division winner.

Con: They would not still play for the right to go to the Rose Bowl/BCS/What have you.

2). Michigan and Ohio State in different divisions, play the last game of the regular season.

Pro: They would still play at the end of the season.

Con: The game might have little to no impact on who plays in the Championship game, and if it does, it sets up a potential rematch the next week, which diminishes the value of the product.

3). Michigan and Ohio State in different divisions, play at some other point in the season.

Pro: Makes a potential Big Ten championship game between Michigan and Ohio State more appealing to television. Con: Ends 75 years of tradition. Diminishes the meaning of "The Game".

So, they'll, of course, do #3, because they'll see the revenue projections and they'll say "We'd be stupid NOT to do this. Look at the money." Meanwhile, a little part of the soul of every Big Ten fan dies. They try to make it better by introducing new rivalries, or convincing you that it's better this way, but you're not stupid, you know better. You know that playing Michigan State on Thanksgiving weekend is not only wrong, but that it actually benefits Michigan State because they actually get their Michigan obsessed existence justified. Ohio State, meanwhile, is playing Penn State or Nebraska in the final game of the season, and it's a good game, and people are interested, but it's not the same. It's like Coca-Cola Classic. Because you no longer have the real thing, you now have to accept the imitation that's close to the original, but just doesn't taste the same.

In other places, there are people who don't get it, who don't understand why this matters, and why we're making such a big deal about it. The rest of college football has changed, the Big Ten should be no different. But please be understanding if some of us feel like something that matters to us is dying. And life will go on, and we'll get through, but we will miss it, and we will be sad when we look back on what once was and what went away because of decision makers who thought they were doing what was in the best interest of the conference. And perhaps down the line some say, Jim Delany, or someone of his ilk, will come back and say "We were wrong, terribly wrong" or something similar, and it won't make us feel better, because it won't bring back what we have lost.

There's still time, there's still a chance, there's still ways to make your voice heard. I encourage you to do what you need to do to make yourself feel like you have made a difference. Even if it doesn't end up making a difference in the end. You'll be like General Winfield Scott Hancock in Gods and Generals, reviewing General Burnside's plan for the assault on Mayre's Heights behind Fredricksburg in 1862 via pontoon boat.

"No, general, we'll meet them head on. And it will be a bloody mess. We'll march up to that hill there, and we'll eat their artillery fire all the way across this field. And when it's over, we'll be able to look at ourselves and say: "We're good soldiers. We did what we were told." If we're not successful, we can say it was a good plan, but there were contingencies. You can go back to your hometown and tell the families of your men they died doing their duty."