Hooray, a Theme

Procrastination, defined: I applied to college three days after the deadline, failed to select a major until the third "You have to pick a major now--seriously" letter, and decided against applying for jobs until after I had graduated; about eight months too late.  Perhaps the most important question anyone is ever asked, "What do you want to do with your life?" and I had no idea.  Grad school?  Only because I couldn't find a job description I both liked and was qualified for.  Forget the job itself.

As a 21-year old, I started coaching as an assistant for a group of local 11-year olds.  As is my nature, I had to be pushed and prodded into it; 21-year old Zach would have preferred anything to interacting with kids.  Four years later, and I've made it my career.  And I love it.

So, From The Deuce has a new focus; The Life and Times of a (still) rookie youth coach.  Four years in, and I have a virtually limitless amount of stories.  Enjoy.

Hiatus

As an elementary schooler, I was in love with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  I had all three movies (even the third one where they travel through time), at least 20 action figures, and the video game for Super Nintendo in which pizza boxes served as lives.  You'd think this would have been enough; afterall, despite my affinity for fictional reptiles, I spent a fair amount of time playing outside and interacting with friends.  And the hundreds of dollars my parents gave to Mattel on my behalf was enough, until the toy company came out with the Technodrome, the Shredder's base of operations.  I had to have this 18-inch tall piece of plastic to make my Ninja Turtles battles "realistic." The irony of the previous statement is not lost on me now, but certainly was on my 10-year old self.

After pleading with parents and grandparents alike for months, the Technodrome was mine.  As I unwrapped the plastic, ball-shaped base, I could barely contain my excitement.  The commercials made it look so cool.  And it was.  For a week and a half.  Ten days later, the Technodrome could have been a fork as far as I was concerned. 

I share similar views on the 2010 Michigan football team and, despite my efforts to the contrary, the overarching theme of this blog.  Excitement towards a toy (or football team) is easy until its flaws become obvious.  For the Technodrome, that meant its inability to move or otherwise interact with my toys on its own.  For the football team, that meant stuffed animals and Obi Ezeh. 

So I'm back, equally excited and cautiously optimistic about the 2011 Michigan football team.  All this despite moving Denard Robinson out of the shotgun, suspending our best receiver, and continuing to play a walk-on at the most important position on defense.  Leave me alone.

Maybe I Care Too Much

Michigan 42 Massachusetts 37

The third worst Michigan football game I've ever been to.  It wasn't Appalachian State, but only because we won, and it wasn't 2007 Oregon, because at least the offense looked like it was trying, but in the 100-plus games I've attended as a fan and student, Michigan's five point victory over Massachusetts in "the season to save RichRod" was akin to this. Maybe 1998 Syracuse was worse, but I was 12 and we had just won the National Championship; I was still on cloud nine. 

Prior to the season, I talked myself into the 2010 Michigan defense.  The abysmal 2008 defense was due almost entirely to Scott Schafer, the ill advised defensive coordinator that was the only member of the Michigan coaching staff that wasn't a known commodity.  The blame for 2009's apocalyptic defense lay entirely at the feet of safety Michael Williams, who was so bad he couldn't even crack the two-deep this year.  Sure, Michigan lost Brandon Graham, Donovan Warren, and Stevie Brown (its three best players), but also its worst player, and would be much less likely to give up touchdowns of 60 yards and conversions of 30. 

Michigan held Connecticut to 10 points.  Conveniently forgotten was the fumble inside our five yardline and the nervous waitress impression each of the lightly recruited Connecticut receivers did on the few well-thrown passes from Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights Zach Frazer.  Michigan held Notre Dame to 24, albeit without their only division one caliber passer for an entire half. 

And then, UMass happened.  As Fletcher and I sat in the 83rd row as Obi Ezeh took his 16th poor angle of the day and I bit my tongue to prevent myself from eviscerating him in front of his family friends that miraculously ended up seated behind me, my eight win guarantee prior to the season took a hit Cheech and Chong would be proud of.  Message boards predictably blew up, friends and I discussed whether or not a three win Big Ten season would be enough to earn Rich Rodriguez a fourth year, and I woke up Sunday morning with the same feeling I did after my girlfriend broke up with me. 

But here's the good news: We won.  Sure, eight wins seems a little bit less likely, and the best case scenario fell from 10 wins to nine, but on September 20 the University of Michigan football team sits at 3-0, with victories over two BCS conference schools.  We have the best player in the country touching the ball on every offensive play, and a young defense that, if put in the proper position, will get exponentially better as the season continues. 

So I'm back on board.  At least until we lose to Indiana. 

Chicago

When I was in high school, an event so insignificant I can’t even remember triggered a rant to my father that went something like this: Ninety percent of people in this world are retarded.  My dad looked at me for a second, took a deep breath, and said, “Never lose faith in the world.”  And that was that. 

For most of the past eight years I’ve lived by that mantra. The KFC Double Down?  It’s not that much worse for you than a regular chicken sandwich.  Enron?  A few bad apples do not a society make. 

However, there have been moments over those years in which I die a little inside.  Sunday afternoon in Chicago was one of them. Not five minutes after exiting the car, I saw them: People “riding” segways, helmets and all.  That wasn’t even the best part; following in their “dust” was a four person tandem bicycle, arranged two by two, ridden at most three miles an hour by, you guessed it, helmeted riders. Listen, I’m all for safety—I wear my seatbelt every time I drive over 10 miles per hour and abide by the five second rule when dropping food on the ground—but helmets on a segway?  If you fall off a segway, who’s top speed might be slower than the average walking speed, you deserve the concussion that comes with the tumble. 

The world is growing softer every day.  People sue for falling down stairs and failing to follow instructions.  People’s entire jobs revolve around making sure idiots can’t mess up to the point of injuring themselves and others.  I say, let them fall.  Maybe then individuals can go back to worrying about actual world issues.

Survival of the fittest.  

Why College Football is Better Than the NFL

About a week ago, a friend and I braved the I-94 traffic, shuttered homes, and homeless in an effort to see Eminem and Jay-Z in concert.  Sometime after the parking attendant promised a $10 fee only to charge $20, but before unnamed female #1 started grinding on us in the presence of her boyfriend, Fletcher and I began a debate that is still ongoing. "Who do you think is better?" 

Watching the NFL opener last night, my buddies Fletcher (of unnamed female #1 fame), Andrew, Josh and I had a similar discussion over which version of America's newest pastime is "better."  Better in the "I'd rather have sex with her than her" kind of way, not in the "cheeseburgers are better than carrots" way.  Which is just another way of saying "both."

Baseball is fun to watch only if you're at the game or have enough time to follow the sport on a daily basis (so everyone under the age of 23).  Hockey playoffs are as intense as sports get, but an 82 game season?  No thank you.  And don't even bring up the NBA.  College basketball is at least watchable (at least until John Calipari manages to recruit LeBron James back to school), but the NBA, with its referees looking at the name on the back of the jersey before deciding to call a foul, could cease to exist and I wouldn't miss it even a little. 

Which leaves the Holy Grail of American sports: football.  The NFL and FBS division of the college variety are akin to my unborn children.  I've always been a college football guy (remember, the Detroit Lions are my NFL team), but with my beloved Michigan Wolverines losing to a 1-AA team and Toledo over the past three seasons, and needing what amounted to a Hail Mary to beat Indiana last year, I began listening to arguments.  "Don't you want to watch the best players?" "Anything can happen on any given Sunday." "Your favorite player can stay with your team for 15 years, not just four."  The New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl, beating my two least favorite players (Brett Favre and Peyton Manning) in the process.  The Lions drafted the best defensive player to enter the league in 20 years.  The Jets were on Hard Knocks. My college football wall was crumbling.

And then September 4th happened.  I have zero expectations for this year's Michigan football team.  A bowl game would be nice.  Winning a Big Ten game would be awesome.  But as I sat in the 83rd row in front of an elderly man doing his very best to stifle "down in front" and watched as Michigan's Denard Robinson played the game--let's all remember that football is a game--the same way a teenager reacts after opening a college acceptance letter, I realized college football wasn't just Michigan for me.  It's the Marshall University offensive line carrying their quarterback.  It's Adam Taliaferro and Brock Mealer.  It's Vince Young, Eric Crouch, and Tommie Frazier.  It's Boise State, Stanford, and even (sigh) Appalachian State. 

The NFL may have more fans (although that may be changing), but nothing beats a Saturday afternoon in Ann Arbor, Austin, or Oxford.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Like most kids growing up, I awoke every year on December 25 before the sun came up, eagerly anticipating the video games and educational toys “Santa” had brought.  Playstations, laptop computers, and the yearly installment of Madden kept me up all those Christmas Eves.  As a 24-year-old Michigan football fan, my Christmas comes every year around the beginning of September.  This year was no different, even following two seasons that will forever be known numerically: 3-9 and 5-7. 

The past two seasons have been the worst since 1960.  This is a fact. Forget me, my parents were still in grade school the last time Michigan suffered through back to back losing seasons.  To illustrate, I wrote this last November:

I really hate to be the "delusional Michigan fan" here, but fuck it...

I'm sick of watching Rich Rodriguez panic any time we start losing. "I know our running game has been shredding Illinois all game, but we're losing by one and only have 25 minutes left to score, let's pass with our true freshman who is unable to make it to the second step of his progression before pulling the ball down and running around in circles."

I'm sick of him only hiring his friends. Tell me how we have a linebacker who's in his third year as a starter and still can't drop into a zone properly, and still doesn't understand that as the middle linebacker, your job is to make tackles, not take on blockers. At least Chris Graham (my all-time least favorite Michigan player, who coincidentally is working as a bouncer for the old Touchdown's) would get to the ball-carrier before missing the tackle. Ezeh just stands stationary and either gets completely blocked out of the play or starts moving a full second after the ball is snapped and comes out of his daze just in time to watch the RB run past him for 50 yards on a 2nd and 20.

I'm sick of people unwilling to lay any of the blame for our porous defense on him because he's "just an offensive guy." He's the head fucking coach, it's his job to oversee the whole team. It's not good enough to give Rodriguez a pass for our CBs lining up 15 yards off the line of scrimmage (almost singlehandedly losing the Michigan State game for us) and kill Greg Robinson. You're the head motherfucking coach. You have eyes. Do something.

I'm sick of him playing "effort" guys over guys with talent, and of him overreacting to a single busted play to the tune of playing Jordan Kovacs as our deep safety. We moved Brandon Smith to LB because he couldn't run, and you're telling me that Kovacs can? Get the fuck out of here. Just because they're not your guys, doesn't mean they can't play.

I don't necessarily think Greg Robinson should be fired, but I'd love for someone (Rodriguez) to tell him to do things differently. Our guys have certain (fixed, it seems) skill sets. Jordan Kovacs is a smart player who knows where he should be but can't ever get there. Obi Ezeh cannot make decisions, can't drop into a zone deeper than three yards and can't make one on one tackles. Mike Williams is unable to walk and think at the same time.

So why is Kovacs the deep safety, and why do we put Obi on a RB one on one or ask him to drop 15 yards into a zone? With the exception of Brandon Graham (who is great), Donovan Warren (who's been just okay), and maybe Stevie Brown, our players are terrible. But recognize that, and do something different. Play press coverage and blitz all day. Play a freshman who will make a debilitating mistake due to inexperience, not because he's functionally retarded like Mike Williams.

My main issue is this: On what planet will the defense be better next year? We lose Graham and Brown for sure, Warren perhaps, and return the proverbial pu pu platter. We have the 17th rated recruiting class filled with offensive players and rush linebackers and have missed on every MLB prospect out there. We have no safeties coming in to replace the worst position group since I've been alive. Obi Ezeh and Jonas Mouton, the worst combination of LBs since Bump Elliot, are shoo-ins to start, and if not them a 210 pound walkon who wore #10 in a game this year. Can the offense put up 40 points per game with a QB who thinks he's playing rugby?

It took us eight years to lose 13 Big Ten games (the amount Rodriguez has lost in two). At what point is enough enough? Especially when he continues to mess up clock management, play calling, and the development of half of the fucking team?

Fuck. If we were able to get Jim Harbaugh or Les Miles in here next year, fuck it, I'm in. Restore order.

On September 4, 2010, I walked into Michigan’s newly renovated stadium, complimentary water bottle in hand, with 3-9 and 5-7 behind me, ready to watch Michigan. 

Let’s fucking go.  

Introductions

The Deuce? That means Ann Arbor, and for the past 24 years I've loved its restaurants (Prickly Pear), football Saturdays, and weeknights at the pool.   With the exception of two (largely forced) years of exile, every part of my “growing up” has occurred within its limits. Eventually, we’ll get there. But first…

I need a job.  A full two months ago I finished my second degree from the University of Michigan, and thus far my attempts to procure employment somewhere other than the place my Dad runs have proven fruitless.   From here on out, this blog will serve as a daily peek into the life of a recent college graduate looking for his first big boy job.  Wish me luck.