OK, boys and girls, gather around. I’m going to tell you a story.
Once upon a time, in the middle of a big, big, big, big cornfield called northwest Ohio, there was a college called Bowling Green. The college had a football team, but it didn’t do very well. It had gone a long time without a winning season, and the townspeople were starting to not pay attention. The town’s basketball team had a coach named Sir Dakich who, as legend goes, held the key to a land known as Nit and had vanquished many foes to get there. The men of the hardwood were hailed as heroes. The men of the gridiron went largely unnoticed.
Meanwhile, to the north, a sinister force was building strength. The team from the Large Cavernous Abyss From Which No Man Returns (nicknamed “Toledo”) had a great running back, a stallion who carried his team to win after win: Heisman Candidate. He apparently had another name, Chester-something, but nobody in Toledo ever seemed to call him by it.
Toledo ran over opponents like a steamroller welded to a dragster. The people of Bowling Green though them more ferocious than 1,000 tractor pulls put together. Last year, Toledo crushed Bowling Green in the Glass Bowl Made Out Of Concrete, and that was the last straw. The townspeople craved winning football. They no more wanted to feel the sting of losing to a team that lies about what its stadium is made out of. They wanted change. They wanted results. They wanted the man called Urban.
The college elders ventured to the Land of the Golden Dome, where football is king, and appealed to Urban to come east with them, to turn their football team back into red-blooded warriors. Urban spoke to The Man, his former boss who now resides in South Carolina, and he said it was good. With The Man’s blessing, Urban did venture east, he did come to Bowing Green, and he did provoke change.
Like a shot of pure caffeine, the team responded. Intensity increased, work ethics were revitalized, and the team was ready to hit some people.
They quickly made their own legend. They ventured to the land of Missouri, and slayed their Tigers. They snacked on Bulls, Bobcats and Golden Flashes.
They blinded Owls and, in the land of Akron, narrowly escaped the lair of the giant kangaroo known as Zippy.
Oh, that first season of Urban had its pitfalls, too. Marshall’s Herd trampled them. They went to the land of Kalamazoo, and left with Bronco-hoof marks on their rear ends. Miami’s Quarterback of Many Letters came to Bowling Green and shot the lights out with his rifle arm.
But those last two weeks. Those were worth the entire season by themselves.
The first week, they appeared destined for certain doom at Northwestern, down by 14 points in the fourth quarter. They rallied and won in the final three minutes, and Bowling Green rejoiced.
The next week, Toledo came to town, looking for a bowl appetizer. Was it curtains for Urban’s men? Did Bowling Green fall victim to the scourge of Toledo yet again? Nah.
Bowing Green stood tall and fearless, and did all the eating, running Heisman Candidate and his minions out of town, 56-21. There was pandemonium afterward. The frenzied denizens of the town tore town the goal posts and celebrated long into the night. Urban was pleased.
“You guys have probably heard me saying to every student group I spoke to, and I hope these goal posts go down Main Street, because that is where they belong,” he said.
Now is about the time I’d normally fly into that happily ever after shpeel, but I won’t because this story is only beginning. Next chapter: The quest for a
bowl game.
