Confession time.
I did something early on Saturday that I rarely do, and I’m not proud. I must confess my Crimes to the Revolution: I texted several Sparty fans with less than encouraging words in defeat.
It was a cheap revenge for Appalachian State. A projection of my own inner Michigan Man angst and superiority complex onto people in a time of great sadness. It was, in all honesty, a cheap shot.
Because I was obviously the most important concern of the Fates that day, it was almost guaranteed that Tate Forcier and Michigan would not pull this comeback off. The timing was too perfect. By fore-saking the ideals of fandom we hold dear here, I had brought upon the defeat of the Revolution.
Forever in my own mind there would be the guilt that I’d ruined the man we’d all fought so hard for. I would have to commit football suicide, leave behind Michigan, and cast my lot as bitter, unbiased observer. Six figure paychecks from ESPN to rail on the darling of the week and generate “debate” while flinging feces balls called opinions at the camera would console me, but Michigan would be dead to me. After months of preaching, I’d broken my own laws. I’d gone to battle for Rich Rod and the Revolution, and turned my back when I had the chance to prove my loyalty. Unacceptable.
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