It’s 1 AM on Sunday morning now, and finally I am on a couch.

The Revolution, in my own mind, has always been a two tiered movement. There is the obvious connotation – a marked change in on-the-field approach and performance led by a coal miner from the hinterlands.

A more insidious and wide-reaching part of the Revolution is my true passion. I am a Michigan fan. Not a Michigan Man, but a fan. My enjoyment and passion for Michigan football has always been steady, with wins and losses nearly immaterial to me in the long run. I find intrigue in either.

The Revolution was conceived as a way to identify people that watched football in a similar manner. People who can break down into hysterics for one play, but quickly regain a grip on reality and move forward. People who stay to the end of games not out of some notion of loyalty or to prove how hardcore they are, but simply because, well, why would you leave? I don’t walk out of concerts early, I don’t leave movies no matter how terrible, why would I leave a game?

Sitting next to a fan who spends the game second-guessing, making reads for the quarterback, hurling insults, and spewing a constant wave of negativity whenever Michigan is not scoring a touchdown tires me. It saps the enjoyment from the experience.

The Revolution is about liberating yourself from this fandom. Learning to buy into your team and accept their warts, celebrate their success, and follow their story removed from a win-or-nothing attitude that will always, without fail, leave you with at best a fleeting sense of nebulous superiority and more often with a lingering discontentment.

When Nick Sheridan threw an ill-advised interception near the end of the 1^st half, I realized this aspect of the Revolution was already defeated. Indeed, it had been defeated long ago, and the odds of victory on this front were infinitesimal. The man next to me wondered loudly and profanely why “fucking Rodriguez” didn’t just sit on the ball and make it to half time. I instantly knew this man was the fellow who would have crucified Carr for not taking a shot at the end-zone in the same situation.

But it wasn’t just him. All around, people were openly questioning the new offense, lamenting the “shitty” defense, and engaging in various degrees of bitching. Certainly the majority were not as negative as my row-mate, and undoubtedly they had not already tossed in the towel on the Rodriguez era.

It then struck me. In a sea of 108,000, my attitude was tremendously outnumbered. The wisdom of crowds tells me that I am wrong, my innate belief that many people are complete maniacs told me I was an island right being engulfed by a sea of wrong.

Either way, it’s alright. Once you’ve paid your for your ticket, you certainly have the right to make an idiot out of yourself if you want. I don’t understand why you refuse to allow yourself to actually enjoy a game, because I know you people and you’ve never enjoyed a game in your life.

I have thought it was clear for sometime, but apparently I was wrong. If you watch Michigan football for some sort of validation – if you believe that “your” team winning brings you some sort of superiority – if you believe that fans should “demand” excellence from the team they watch – if you are defined as a person by which college team you cheer for – then I cannot say this enough or too sincerely: Get. Fucked. This site is not the place for your views. I simply don’t care anymore.

After months of speculation, truth arrived Saturday. The offense is not yet good. The defense is pretty good. LSU decimated Appalachian St, and Ohio State remains excellent. We are, most likely, in for a long season. Our battle has only just begun.