I'm Huge In Japan...and The Missing Pics

/

​Ya, my mouth writes checks my body can't cash. No pictures went up last weekend, due for the most part to a blinding night of imbibing during an international DJ gig followed by what I've now classified as Bird Flu. Hmmmm...international DJing...Bird Flu...not many can make that combo possible. The long and the short of it is I'm in Japan doing "real job" stuff, which is great if you like salmon on your breakfast buffet, poor air conditioning, and scaring small children and the elderly with your very presence. Either way, my hiatuses between posts have been justified, but I apologize anyway. So, if you don't mind taking a break from ruining some poor girl's life (I'm talking to you Johnny Cleveland), perhaps I can catch everyone up on the goings on of at least one UMTailgater experiencing a true life version of Lost in Translation.

First and foremost, tailgater Lisa celebrated a monumental birthday last month, and friends made the trek from all over the country to eat, drink, celebrate, and most certainly see Lisa cry at the prospects of turning 30. She did not disappoint, though the tears came late in the evening, and we have her brother Meatball to thank for that. Birthday party success depends on having a story to remember come from the event, and I certainly got one. In short, it involves holding back hair, wiping puke off of shoes, and conning a cab driver by assuring him that Lisa's state was just from "being tired." It was a great weekend, and the pictures do not do it justice...but they are available here nonetheless.

On the Japan front, let me sum it up quickly for you. It's hot, it's humid, and it's raining. The latter is not so much a problem as it is a nuisance, but the heat and humidity combined with a governmental regulation on air conditioning makes it feel like a retread of UCLA 2000.

Though thoroughly exhausted when the weekend comes, I did manage to make a trip from my home base of Toyota City (near Nagoya, Japan) to Tokyo. More specifically, I spent a night in Roppongi, a ex-pat's paradise touted as "Las Vegas without the casinos." And it was. I would classify it as more of a clean version of New Orleans, following the pattern of bar, bar, bar, restaurant, strip club...repeat 100 times. At 4am, it looked like a bustling metropolis during rush hour. We made our camp at Gas Panic, and 3 tiered club/bar named after the 1995 terrorist attack that centered at a nearby train station. Yes, I said named after a terrorist attack. Anyway, arriving early and commandeering a table, we met people from all walks of life, and from all over the world. In an odd bit of coincidence, I managed to bump into Air Force cornerback Nate Smith, who immediately became my best friend when he declared his hatred for Ohio State and Notre Dame. He went as far as to say he can't wait to lay a hit on Brady Quinn's successor and the latest QB with Ron Powlus-esque hype, Jimmy Clausen. Nice. We hope to break a couple of his ribs early in the season for you Nate.

Chris Webber Continues to Ruin My Life

/

​In fifth grade, my English teacher held a contest to see who could read the most books in a semester. Proof that you read the book came by way of a book report. Nothing too fancy, just a one or two page summary written on wide ruled loose leaf paper. I won the contest, and to be honest, I have no recollection of the prize, only that it fulfilled a vendetta I had against Jeff Davis. He took second place, and the number of books was astonishing for kids our age. I think I completed 22 to his 20, or somewhere in that vicinity, in under five months. That was me...a regular child prodigy.

How did I make my way through so many books in so little time you might ask? It wasn't easy. Each day during reading hour as Jeff was nose deep in his latest book, I would pretend to read a book while cavorting with fellow students and causing general mischief. Every three days or so, I would flip the book over and summarize the publisher's summary from the back cover and turn it in. Shady? Maybe. Evil genius in the making? Absolutely.

I wouldn't read my first book cover to cover until seven years later. No, not the mindless drivel forced upon me in high school like Lord of the Flies, Fahrenheit 451, or All Quiet On the Western Front. There were Cliff's Notes for all of those.

The book was Fab Five.

And while my disdain for the current, somewhat ambiguous (in many ways) Mitch Album is prominent, back then he was cool. He was hip hop. He HUNG OUT with the FAB FIVE. The Mitch Album that appears on the worst ESPN show ever, The Sports Reporters, and drops a weekly column in the Life section of the Free Press, is not the man who once wrote the greatest single piece of literature of my youth. I don't imagine the Mitch I once knew took time off from spying on pick up games of "Freshman vs. Y'all" to spendTuesday's With Morrie.

Anyway, I was enamored by it. It multiplied my Michigan Fan factor exponentially. The diary-like prose encompassed a period of my life that included saving every newspaper clipping of the historic run of the five freshman, donning my very own black Nike socks under my black high-tops, and shedding my first sports driven tear when my hero called the most famous timeout in sports history. In an era of transition from Bo to Mo on the gridiron, an era that included five consecutive Big Ten football titles, Michigan Football began to make room for Michigan Basketball. This amazing avalanche of basketball prosperity was caused by one man, Chris Webber.

Poster-izing team after team, he was the face. The young, cocky, smiling face of the greatest recruiting class ever assembled. And as I read Fab Five, I realized that a time I thought I knew everything about had such a deeper story. A dejected Chris Webber struggled to gather together pizza money as the University machine profited by pumping out #4 jerseys at $80 a pop. Those bastards! How could they do that to Chris? This system sucks. We should be paying these guys. Somebody get Macey a goddamn pizza.

Then Ed Martin appeared, and a scandal reared its ugly head.

Chris took money, upwards of $200,000, as part of a money laundering operation designed to hide a massive gambling conspiracy at a local auto plant. Then he lied about it to a grand jury...and to the NCAA...and to Mitch...and indirectly to me. We all know how the story goes from there: sanctions, lost scholarships, an embarrassing NCAA tournament drought, and a Crisler Arena that on the inside looks like Cassie might have not only built it, but is the only one on staff maintaining it.

As for the pizza? Not only could he afford it, but he had enough cash to order it from Pizza House...though not every day.

The banners came down, banners built and raised on my hopes and dreams, folded and put away like the many newspapers that once hung on my walls in college. And while the corruption didn't end with Chris, it certainly seemed to begin with him.

Chris Webber was dead to me. Erased from the record books and disavowed from the Wolverines. The timely (for Chris) death of Ed Martin forced prosecutors to drop all the perjury charges, and Webber emerged completely unscathed. The only victim in this entire process was Michigan Basketball. Worse yet, Chris never even apologized, not a single peep. Anything would have worked for me, even a pile of Giambi-like doublespeak would have sufficed. But there was nothing.

After being let go from Sacramento,Webber's NBA career looked like it was taking a turn towards the journeyman level. Imagine my dismay when after a short stint playing second fiddle to AI, Joe Dumars acquired him to play for Detroit. Sold to the public as a homecoming, few even mentioned what was to me the proverbial giant elephant in the room. But everyone looked the other way as Chris became a productive albeit inconsistent member of the Pistons.

The season came to a close in Cleveland (that's in Ohio by the way) Saturday night, and I can't help but think that maybe it wasn't LeBron James that sent the Cavs to their first finals ever. Instead I submit that perhaps the game gods just don't want Macey to get a ring: college, NBA, or otherwise. And perhaps he doesn't want it either, sleepwalking through the second round and crapping the bed with 2 points and 1 assist in Game 4 of the conference finals, he continues to solidify his legacy as a choke artist under pressure, and in the end he's just a guy that called a timeout that wasn't there with a championship on the line.

And that still doesn't make up for what he's done.

Game Times Set For Homecoming & Winnie Game

/

​Get your calendars out kids.

Sometimes I think Bubba sits in front of MGoBlue.com hitting refresh all day. And if he does, that makes him a lot cooler than all of you. I received a voicemail just yesterday from him, a voicemail that really does indicate the start of the "thinking about football season." It was simple, straight to the point, and had the same level of excitement you may hear from someone coming from a root canal.

The Illinois game is at night.

Aside from marking the first known time on the 2007 schedule, it makes for great news for the dueling Winnie crews, who will get full use of their rentals...and no doubt fill their waste tanks over the course of the long day (Get them rubber gloves on Baby Gorilla). Bad news for the "in-and-out" twins, who will no doubt be on that midnight train to Naperville.

Upon checking the official site of all good Michigan News, I found that not only was the Indiana game finalized, but the good folks at Schembechler Hall decided to give us the time for the October 13th match-up against Purdue as well. A noon start for Homecoming, which will also be (if you allow me to mark out to myself for a moment) my 100th straight Michigan game.

Makes me want to put up the schedule, themes, and the countdown timer...but it's time for bed.

Not So Super, Mario...and Friends

/

​Must give credit where credit is due, as Johnny Cleveland broke this story from the open vault that is Downriver back on Wednesday, just hours after the bust occurred in Monroe County. I had neither the balls nor the inclination to take down my current favorite Wolverine player right here on UMTailgate.com without first hand info, so I did what any self respecting fake journalist would do...passed it on to a higher power that I knew would act responsibly. Now the story has hit the mainstream media moguls at The Monroe News, who doesn't name names, but does give us some hope.

Long story short:

Four dudes in a car, two are football players, two civilians, and they are on their way to Ohio. Why they were travelling to that God forsaken state we'll probably never know. They get pulled over, the two civilians have weed on them. In the car, they find a bit of weed and some Vicodin. The two players? Mario Manningham is one, and the other is not yet confirmed but is rumored on the forums to be a quarterback. Are Mario and Chad hanging out? Probably not. Not sure who owned the car, though I'm fairly certain it did not belong to Ed Martin...because Chris Webber killed him. And the hope? MGoBlog says it best (as it usually does):

This is probably a pot bust and a first offense. He could even be the legal Vicodin guy -- he did have some surgery in the offseason. There's no way he gets in serious trouble for this if he's even in trouble. Maybe a slap on the wrist against Appalachian State, but nothing big. (Please?)

Ya, I was kinda hoping we'd never hear about it, ya know, Ohio State/Florida State/Miami style. Oh well.

Massive Roundup

/

​What you (and I) might of missed while staring at that community chest card: