Nothing But Iron: State of Bliss by Steven R. Lagman, M.D., C.A.S.W. March 5, 2008 (first day of the last several weeks of winter) If I were a Michigan State fan I would hate me and what I stand for. I would demand the letter W be banned if it showed even the slightest inclination toward motion. I would long for the days when Tom Izzo was the hot coach, when State was the hot school, when Breslin Center banners were actually freed from their confining tethers. I would try to recall when Butch was a kind of haircut and Flowers were for bouquets not Neitzels. I would dream of ancient times when Mo splashed big and Bo was just a big fish in someone else’s small pond. I would strain to replay the fading memory of my voice chanting "Thanks for practice!" at the end of a lopsided MSU win in the Kohl Center. If I were a Michigan State fan, I would see red every time I saw red. But I am not a Michigan State fan, so I am happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. Blissful? Maybe a little blissful. Not that my bliss is contingent upon the Badgers beating the Spartans, but it helps. A lot. I don’t know what it is–State’s winning ways, Izzo’s whining ways, that nasty Thanks for Practice game or something less tangible, but it is more fun beating this team than just about any other, even Illinois or Minnesota. Thursday’s was an impressive win that was vintage Wisconsin, except that it was more than just vintage. Shutdown defense was vintage, though holding Neitzel to one basket was mostly ridiculous. A single turnover in a whole game? Beyond vintage. Mild-mannered Greg Stiemsma stepping up and throwing down in the first half? Venti extra vintage with a shot of espresso. The Polar Giraffe hitting four threes, two with fouls neglected by oblivious officials? Not vintage at all. By the way, how does a visiting team prepare for that threat? Hey, not my problem. I take back what I said about Butch not being a finisher, mostly because I was wrong. It wasn’t the three-point shooting streak that jogged my sense of common sense, it was the intensity on his face. He wants to be there at the end. He wants the ball. He is determined to make something happen. I’m good with that. That was last week. Now it is this week and this week shows us how fast things change. Instead of clinging to hopes of a share of the Big 10 title, we find our team a home game away from clinching that share and two games from winning it outright. Outright. Imagine that. I am not saying that Wisconsin will beat Penn State and Northwestern, because it would be really dumb to taunt fate in that way, but I promise the Badgers will not lose this opportunity for lack of preparation or heart. That’s good enough for me, except that you know I am lying because good enough for me now will be the trophy, which I will share if I have to, but don’t really want to. Spoiled as charged. I had started to write that I would concede bragging rights to Purdue. After all, in the event of a tie, Purdue would have legitimate claim to conference supremacy, having beaten the Badgers twice. Purdue could have the top seed at the B10 Tourney. We Badger fans would quietly go about the business of buying our co-champion t-shirts and hats. Then, in the time it took Purdue’s players to finally miss a key shot, basketball’s celestial bodies had realigned so that the imaginary tiebreaker just might not matter. Question of the day: Am I going to the Northwestern game on Saturday? I know I should go there, but a rare spasm of superstition keeps me from considering it. My last trip to that university was in 1995 when the reigning Rose Bowl champion football Badgers played at Dyche Stadium. The underrated Wildcats shredded us like wet toilet paper, which is exactly what I felt like saturated by the steady rain, bladder about to explode because NU had squandered its entire athletic budget on textbooks, leaving only $260 left to rent a couple portable bathrooms to be shared by thousands of desperate fans. Before I consider returning to Evanston, I need to know 1) that the game is definitely being played indoors, 2) that the Welsh-Ryan Arena roof is intact, 3) that there are enough bathrooms to support a capacity crowd and 4) that there is psychiatric help available if I suffer a Dyche Stadium flashback. Brett Favre is quitting football. I am O.K. with that. It was a wonderful career, and I got to watch the whole thing, often in person and mostly in real time. The precious nature of such privilege does not elude me. I would have been glad to see Favre return, but I am happy he can retire. What a miracle that he could get his 200,000-mile Ford body to run like a new Mercedes for most of a whole season. Who knows if he had another one like that in him? It wasn’t a Super Bowl ending, but the timing of his departure gets him out at the top of his game, and I prefer that to seeing him carried off the field on a stretcher. Mere adjectives may be inadequate to summate the career of one of the greatest sports heroes of my lifetime, but I will give you what I got: tough, unshaven, resilient, exciting, excitable, elusive, unpredictable, stubborn, risky, inspiring, youthful, loyal, respected, loved. I end with a chain e-mail quote from Theodor Geisel. I did not forward it to you because you are not on my list of ten friends and because I did not want good luck: "Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened." __________ Nothing But Iron is an amateur sports column. This issue is dedicated to the author’s good friend (if only he would have taken the time to get to know me better) Brett Favre, and to the author’s other good friends, The Ohio State Buckeyes. The author is smiling because it happened. Theodor Geisel is Dr. Suess. Not a moose. Or a wooly goose. Or a striped caboose whose tracks are loose. ©2008 DrTM Enterprises. All rights reserved.