A bird floats down and gently lights on a branch, whistling sweetly to all of his bird friends. Well, actually a frat star across the street decides to blast ear-splitting music while playing terrible drinking games with terrible beer. But still, the air is chilly and crisp, but not uncomfortable. The sun is shining, yet offering only slight warmth. Trees are colored with bursts of red and orange. Classes are briefly suspended; homework is unnecessary. The stress that college so generously offers is missing, even if it is only for today. Yet today offers more than just beautiful brisk weather and an absence of classes. Today offers football. It’s a fall Saturday.
Days like this are the ones I live for. I’ve been trekking to Michigan Stadium with 100,000 of my very best friends (for a day) since I was six years old. And every time I enter that tunnel to see the vastness of that oversized bowl, the magic of football is overwhelming.
This Saturday was no different. Walking into the stadium, I was filled with anticipation and anxiety, ready for football to finally kick off. And the next four hours were hardly disappointing: a whirlwind of emotions culminating in one final triumphant moment. It was everything football is meant to be, and it was an example of why I love the sport.