Contrary to popular belief, I couldn’t care less who won the blasted feetsball game today. I am one o’ them thar folks who lives here on the Planet Ann Arbor but went to school at Moo-U. Actually, in all truth, when I was a kid, I wanted to go to the illustrious blue university here on the Planet Ann Arbor more than anything. But I didn’t get in. Why? Well, all I will say is that it was not because of my grades or my test scores. My SATs are hanging out somewhere in the Landfill Dungeon but I’m not gonna go dredge ’em up right now. Because I don’t care any more. I did not get in because of my own youthful stupidity in not taking advantage of the opportunities and connections that were handed to me on a silver platter. And that story may (or may not) be told someday. My life, my decision. Don’t ask. After a collegiate odyssey that may only be topped by Sarah Palin’s (she played the flute too, hmmmm), I landed at Moo-U. I did okay there. I did okay everywhere. If I got a B in a class, it was because I didn’t care about the class. If I got a C in a class, it was because the teacher was a putz (yes, I do know what that means). I ran into two of those, one sexual predator (yes*) and another total nincompoop who dared to denigrate the yooperland, my homeland, to my face. In retrospect, maybe I shouldda paid more attention to some of the other schools that filled my mailbox with recruitment crap in high school: Harvard, MIT, or maybe that teensy little private liberal arts college that starts with a K. What is it? Kalamazoo College? Yeah. Great place. Sent two kids there.

Enough of that. College is very important but it mostly doesn’t matter where the heck you go or even what your grades were. What matters in life is showing up on time and being productive instead of facebooking or hanging out at the water cooler talking about last night’s Bonanza episode. I have lived here on the Planet Ann Arbor for many years now and I have come to believe that, although the U of M is a wonderful school, it isn’t really any better than any other school. Moo-U, Kalamazoo College, Harvard, whatever. And, although I respect that people are interested in sports that involve large men throwing balls around, I couldn’t care less about the whole thing myself. Well, the one exception is the fall of 1984, when the Dee-troit Tigers won the World Series and I was cooking the baby now known as Elizardbreath. I was hooked that fall. I do not know what got into me. Some people eat pickles. I watched baseball. The Tigers won the series and then my baby was born and I suppose she’s lucky I didn’t try to name her after Alan Trammell or somebody.

So Green won today. Who the heck cares? We walked downtown to meet up with some longtime friends at a family party. As my friend’s email invite phrased it, “my crazy family and some friends’ll be there.” I’m honored to be one of the friends and the party was fun and downtown was crazy with feetsball fans in general (and yes, that was fun!) and then we walked home and feetsball is over for us until tomorrow when the GG is scheduled to attend a Lions game with his identical twin and I dunno who else.

* And there were more of those later on but I became adept at handling those stupid old farts.

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