Nothing But Iron: Hoosier Headache
by Steven R. Lagman, M.D., C.A.S.W.
October 1, 2006
I would be lying if I said I really thought the Badgers would beat Michigan. As you saw, they did not beat Michigan. What surprised me, however, was how long it took before I could tell which was the better team. It wasn’t until late in the third quarter that the obvious actually became obvious. Applause to Wisconsin for making the Wolfs earn the win.
Different story a week later, where it took just minutes to see UW’s impending dominance over the hopeless Hoosiers, who left the game with just a single positive–the perspective that losing a football game, even at home, even by 36, but really 52 points, even while playing their hearts out for head coach Terry Hoeppner, who was coaching his first game since brain surgery, is not the worst thing that could happen. That same perspective would have told them that even an inspired home victory over the Badgers would have paled in comparison to the news that Hoeppner’s suspected tumor recurrence was merely scar tissue.
The game was so lopsided, it is hard to know what it means until other teams come into Memorial Stadium and win by 52 or win by a lesser margin. It is a good bet that few teams will lose there. In fact the only losers associated with Indiana football besides the Hoosiers themselves are Northwestern and Penn State, who don’t get to play them. O.K., that was not very nice. I take it back. I’m not deleting it, but I do take it back.
It is plausible that the Hoosiers are not that bad and the Badgers are developing that intangible trait we call chemistry–a nebulous mix of physical ability, comprehension and confidence that makes the ball go in the right direction. It is premature to proclaim that the sky’s the limit, but I can now at least imagine the Badgers standing atop of some pretty big hills.
It looks like we won’t have to wait for the DNA analysis to say with certainty that Brett Bielema is not a Barry Alvarez clone. Hayden Tree babble acknowledged, Bielema has his own ideas about how to win football games. I can’t say enough good things about Alvarez and what he has done for the program. I even admit that Alvarez’s conservative approach paid off many–maybe most–of the times when I disagreed with his decisions. Still I can’t help wonder what else might have been achieved with a seize-the-moment mentality. Alvarez might remind us that there was much to lose as well. It is an argument that cannot be won or lost.
Now we get to see the other side, the Bielema side: Win the game, even at a risk of losing it. Squander nothing. Take no timeouts into the locker room. Two minutes left? There’s a drill for that. Forty-five seconds to half? Make ‘em punt one more time. Up 35? No lead is a sure thing, but for sure 42 is closer. Up 42? Good chance to work those young receivers. Take a knee? Maybe in church.
Call me greedy, but I like the Bielema way. You can copy and paste that in a prominent place. If it backfires, feel free to remind me. I give you my reply in advance: I still like it. I predict that there won’t be a long period of time where people draw comparison’s between the Bielema way and that of his predecessor. Soon the Bielema way will be understood simply as the Wisconsin way.
In the ancient times of college football, before the breakthrough discovery of overtime, in the days when Nebraska meant something, Coach Tom Osborne ordered his team to go for two in the last seconds of a critical season finale. A single extra point would have assured his No. 1-ranked Huskers enough votes to secure a real trophy and a mythical national title. The problem with a single extra point was that the game would have ended in a tie. Osborne and his team had not come to the Orange Bowl to tie. They would win, or lose trying. The two-point conversion failed, Miami won, and the Hurricanes were elected national champion. That day I wrote Osborne a letter telling him how much I respected his decision. He surprised me by writing back. He thanked me for my kind words, and said he wished the team could have done better. He did not second-guess his decision to try to win the game. Bielema was 12 years old when that game was played. Do you suppose he remembers?
On to the random portion of the issue.
Just when it seemed that the Badgers had finally run out of running backs–in fact my exact words were "no discernable backfield" (NBI August 22)–PJ Hill struts onto the scene. Good news for those of us who like to cheer. Hill is a tough runner, the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to meet head-on unless you were surrounded by an SUV, and even then the collision would probably favor Hill. Moreover, the kid can catch. That was a trait that made Brian Calhoun a legitimate pro prospect, but unlike Calhoun, who was more illusive that punishing, Hill can deliver blows that will make linebackers and d-backs think twice about bothering him again. So I take it back; PJ is discernable, and I apologize for not having discerned him sooner.
John Stocco didn’t have much pressure, and his receivers didn’t have much coverage, but I still have to give him credit for delivering the ball accurately. It was a good day for a quarterback to bond with his receivers.
It became apparent in the fourth quarter, when Bielema emptied his bench, that the Badgers have the depth of a small plastic wading pool. Or maybe not. I kinda lost my focus at 52-0, so for all I know it could have been the managers and trumpet players who gave up those 17 points. In any case, I raise a toast to your health, Badgers.
Speaking of shallow, can we please please please stop talking about Terrell Owens? Did he attempt suicide or not? It’s not my business. I don’t want it to be my business. The more we talk about it the more likely another idiot like Kim Etheredge, will expose us to ridiculous phrases like, "Terrell has 25 million reasons to be alive." I think someone should educate Etheredge on reasons why people commit suicide. To borrow a phrase from professional athletes, It’s not about the money. If it was a suicide attempt, Owens needs help. I hope he gets it, but I don’t need to know about it. And for the record, I did not just talk about Terrell Owens, I talked about how people keep talking about Terrell Owens. That’s different.
So it’s Michigan and Ohio State. I hate clichés. It’s a little early to call it a two-horse race, but that could be a big game in Columbus on November 18. I hope the game itself lives up to the imminent hype.
I had intended to write an entire sixteen-page column on our trip to the U.S. Open over an extended Labor Day weekend, but unless I can get my hands on that remote control from the movie Click, it will not happen soon. If I did have an enchanted remote, I would hit the Pause button, so I could stop football season and my day job long enough to write the article. In the meantime I have only this to offer: Please hold for the next available tennis article. Your readership is important to me.
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Nothing But Iron is an amateur sports column dedicated to the ever-futile quest for adequacy in sports literature. ©2006. All rights reserved.
