There was a 10-hour drive ahead of us, so as Mark Moundros broke the plane, we were up and on our way to the concourse. We're Michigan fans. A win is something we can always take for granted. Beat the crowd, beat the traffic...it's been a long day, a long weekend in an alcohol induced haze. We had reached the outer concourse near the 50-yard line as time expired. The muffled roar of the spattering of Michigan fans echoed in a mostly empty Metrodome. And I froze. I turned and went back in, stood and watched as the team retrieved the Little Brown Jug from it's oversized case and took their jubilation to the corner where the Maize and Blue faithful got the only thing that can begin the healing process...victory. It seems that recently only disbelief and despair has kept me watching after the game clock has read zero. The last time there was something positive to savor was September 27th. Hope for the season was still alive then. Now, we are looking for hope for the future in general.
It's hard to say how much this means. Only the next two weekends can give us true perspective. Trying to decide if we ran into the perfect scenario of overconfident Gophers, or if we made some of the strides that we have been seemingly waiting all season to see is a question that needs deep analysis and time to answer. Quite frankly, right now, I couldn't care less. What Sheridan's performance does in the Threet-Sheridan debate is probably important...but again, I don't care. Why the defensive backfield seemed to be within a step of the ball on every play when they haven't been within 5-yards all season...again important. Again, don't care.
All that matters is that finally, with seemingly nothing to play for except an old water bottle, things came together. They won in a way that they had yet to accomplish in the RichRod era...dominance from start to finish. And winning, now more than ever, feels good.