“Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so” – John Donne
A good weekend was almost a great weekend.
Almost. But before we get into Sunday’s disappointment, let us delve where
few scribes have dared tread, especially those of us living in Michigan, where
the wails of mourning and lamenting still echo through the hills.
Let us correct the record.
Millions of words and countless hours have been spent praising all things Bo
Schembechler. They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but they also say
the truth shall set us free, or some such nonsense.
Me, I’m disgusted by the revisionist history. The mawkish, fawning tributes
are filled with odes to his greatness as a coach and saintliness as a human
being.
Was Glenn E. “Bo” Schembechler a good coach?
Sure. His record speaks for itself. And I trust the reports he was an
excellent father, husband and grandfather.
But he also was a tyrant, a petty dictator prone to embarrassing sideline
histrionics, a petulant bully given to cheap theatrics.
Just like Woody.
All that Bo was, good and bad, dark and light, was shaped by Ohio State’s
grand old man, for whom Schembechler played at Miami and coached under both as
an assistant with the Redskins and Buckeyes. Let’s praise the man, but let’s be
honest about history.
Bo was Woody’s creation, for better or worse. And Michigan fans tend to
ignore that fact.
Simply put, the University of Michigan’s most revered personage amounts to
being the Buckeyes’ sloppy seconds, a second-tier son of a bitch. He was a
Buckeye that fell from the Hayes coaching tree and rolled north. Or, if you
will, rolled into hell. Without Woody and OSU, there is no Bo, no Ten-Year War.
Ohio State defeating Michigan just a day after Bo dropped dead in a Detroit
television studio heralded the start of a bad weekend for the Maize and Blue
faithful. Many UM fans I know believed Bo’s death would be the missing element
their beloved No. 2 Wolverines would need to overcome the terribly frightening
machine that is Jim Tressel’s No. Buckeyes.
They marched into Columbus with that annoying and misguided Michigan swagger,
confident that Bo’s spirit and their dominating defense could quell the nation’s
best team. But as is typical with all things in this state, they were wrong.
Nearly right, perhaps, but nearly right is the same as “a little bit pregnant.”
You are, or you are not.
And this morning, Michigan is not. Bo’s dead, the Wolverines are left with
the somber realization they are not the best and life goes on.
Lost in the breathless coverage of the latest Game of the Century was the
game that used to matter nearly as much: the Cleveland Browns vs. the Pittsburgh Steelers.
The luster of the game has been dulled, to put it mildly. Cleveland has done
little more than act as a speed bump for the Steelers since 1999, and this year,
Pittsburgh’s fall from grace has relegated them to the inside of the sports
pages. On sportscasts, the commentators didn’t even bother to include this game
among their celebrity picks.
That said, to the faithful, it still means something. In fact, when you’re
struggling to find meaning in an otherwise lost season, it’s everything.
Beating Pittsburgh would have gone a long way toward re-establishing this
wayward franchise adrift in the NFL’s sea lanes. Defeating the Steelers always
lessens the sting of whatever else is happening.
Alas, it was not to be. Perhaps we can take solace in the fact the Browns
made the defending Super Bowl champions work desperately for the win, and that
Cleveland had victory dancing on the end of Braylon Edwards’ fingertips as time
expired, a significant improvement of 2005's disgraceful blowout.
Braylon Edwards’ fingertips. Not the weekend to rely on anyone connected to
the University of Michigan.
Cleveland remains in the AFC North basement. And we don’t want to be that guy
living in the basement, working part-time at Radio Shack, collecting comic books
and wondering what it’s like to kiss a girl. Let’s not be him. Let the Lions and
Cardinals continue to be him.
This week, we remain that guy. Sunday is another chance, maybe another step
toward redemption.
Toward an absolution that’s long in coming.
Amusing note: On Friday, I went to work in downtown Detroit
adorned in Buckeye paraphernalia. A few hours later, I was assigned to write
Bo’s obituary for our magazine’s Web site. I stuck to the facts (including that
Bo’s an Ohio native). Several coworkers are Michigan fans (there are more MSU
Spartan grads up here than Wolverines, which most folks don’t know, because the
Sparties have no reason to cheer). The UM fans were sure Bo croaking was the
edge they needed, and they boasted of his coaching prowess and records, blah,
blah, blah. What shut them up? A simple question: “How many national
championships did Bo win?” None. Woody won three. End of story. And I noted a
famous Woody quote applies perfectly to Bo: “A guy from Ohio can make it in life
if he works hard enough.” Bo did work hard enough, but it wasn’t enough to
overshadow that man who made him.
Former Ohio newspaper editor and reporter Bill Shea has written the Doc
Gonzo column each week for The Orange and Brown Report for six years. He now
writes for a business magazine in Detroit and was recently named vice president
of communications for the Port Huron Pirates of the Continental Indoor Football
League. E-mail him at docgonzo19@aol.com.