Wolverine Liberation Army

So. Wow, that looks kind of disturbing, doesn’t it? Well, maybe, but I doubt it.

As many already know, I spent several years as a swimmer for the University of Michigan. We did all of our “dry land” workouts on the mezzanine level at the Natatorium, away from the coaches and (mostly) out of sight from public view. If you arrived late or if you skipped a portion of these workouts, you put yourself at risk of receiving a “dog pile” courtesy of your teammates. I doubt the coaches knew the specifics of any corrective measures taken by the team, but I also doubt they were completely ignorant of the practice. And if anyone started to make a habit out of missing or skipping these workouts, eventually the coaches would hear about it and would eventually do something, like say, publicly shame the swimmer and question their commitment. Dog piles weren’t pleasant, I imagine getting called out by coaches in front of the team isn’t pleasant, and as a freshmen you quickly got the message loud and clear- you show up for these workouts, or you get punished and perhaps get pushed aside.

But, during my years with the Michigan Swimming program, we completely complied with the NCAA practice time guidelines, and I’m sure I signed several documents attesting to that. I maintain that assertion to this day- one may consider those dry land workouts to not actually be, you know, voluntary. I disagree. Those kinds of workouts always were and always will be voluntary, because doing just a little bit more than the other guy- just for a chance to be the best- will always be a choice.

I’ll leave it to Brian at MGo to tear into all the little technical details and factual problems that the Freep article may or may not have. I’ll leave it to Orson at EDSBS to approach this from the cynical “I don’t see the problem here” attitude. And I’ll leave it to at least one person here at the WLA to be officially concerned about all this, even if (probably) there are no NCAA violations. Fine.

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In the quiet moments of his desperation, Barwis felt it grabbing at him. He felt it rising from the depths of the dusty and dark corners of his mind, sirenically and lustily tempting him. Fear. For all the armor of his projection, even Barwis was not immune. In myth and legend, there is a perception that valor exists in a vacuum, that the greatest of men, those self-realized demigods of achievement, are unwitting participants in a world gone soft. Society construes fear as the grandest of weaknesses. Fear breeds self doubt and self doubt breeds failure. This thought sat above Barwis like guillotiner’s blade and he trembled.

Barwis, before this unreasonable juncture of time and place, had felt fear only once. It had been on the night that he had taken his wife on their first date. He remembered parking his Firebird outside her parent’s house and listening to the silence that had been formerly displaced by the grumbling of his two Ram Air 400s. As he walked to the door, he remembered feeling as if he was on the cusp of something wonderful and terrifying, a gentle pause before a monumental leap.

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