ANTHOLOGY: Those Who Stay – The Entire Series

Episode 11

The Game

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1969 – 3:00 PM

On the small television in the Michigan full staff meeting room, Wisconsin head coach, John Cotta, takes a bite of his apple and pushes his hat back on his head in awe.

“Not much you can do about it,” Cotta says, “I was about to go over and see if they had a big ‘S’ on their chest.”

ABC Sports cuts back to their reporter who is standing beside Woody Hayes who can’t hide the horn-rimmed twinkle in his eyes.

“This seems to be how every opposing coach talks about your squad,” the reporter says, “Are you concerned your team will be over-confident going into this Michigan game?”

“I’m not one to hide our light under a half-bushel,” Woody replies, “If you talk your players down they may start to believe you. No, this is the best material we’ve ever had at Ohio State and I expect they will continue to play that way.”

Bo leans forward and flips the TV off.

“Hide our light under a half-bushel,” he says to the empty room. “That’s a new one.”

Gary Moeller pops his head in. “Team’s ready for you.”

“Any word from McLean?”

Every player who played in the game was required to check in with the Lindsay McLean, the head trainer, on Sunday before the team meeting.

“If anyone’s injured they’re not telling him,” Moeller replies.

Bo nods, sips a milkshake. A far cry from after the Michigan State game when the training room was packed with guys saying they were hurt. He leans back in his chair and stares at the now-dark television, jaw set.

They’d gotten back from Iowa City at around 9PM. Bo went home, tucked the boys in bed, had a bowl of Millie’s chili and tried to sleep for a few hours before finally heading back to the office to watch film.

“You know the last time he and I played hand ball, he beat me,” Bo says. “1962, my last year coaching for him. You were a senior?”

“Junior,” Moeller says. Moeller, 27, had played linebacker at Ohio State.

“Sonofabitch called me at 5AM, the Friday before we were set to play UCLA — just like he used to do when I was a graduate assistant. “Schembechler! Meet me at the court in fifteen minutes!” I drag my (expletive) down there and he beat me. Bad. He kicked my butt. We were ranked No. 1.”

“And lost to UCLA,” Moeller says.

“Goddamn right. Lost three games that season. But beat Michigan. 28-0.”

Bo drags on his milkshake, “He knew I was leaving. Hell, I didn’t even know that but I think he knew I was going to take a head job somewhere. And there was no way in hell he was letting me leave without beating me in handball one more time, “

He leans back, a half-grin. “That sonofabitch.”

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1969 – 9:08 AM

“Listen, Marc, it’s Ohio State week, can you just give it a rest?”

Canham sits on the edge of his desk, phone to his ear, Dean Rosenstein on the other end of the line.

“That’s exactly why I can’t give it a rest. The report isn’t great, Don. It’s not horrible but it’s not great. There is a genuine case to be made that the university disband the football program.”

“You’re the only one making that case, Marc – and spending university money to do it. Tell me how that makes any sense.”

“I know this is hard, but this needs to be evaluated fairly and the Ohio State game is a huge part of the evaluation.“

“Ticket sales are through the roof for this game,” Canham says.

“Great, I look forward to seeing it,” Rosenstein says, “I’ll be there on Saturday, sitting with President Fleming and some other Regents. I wish you and the program the best. I still have to do my job.”

“This is not your job.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

He’s gone. Canham slams down the phone, fuming. Things were turning around and he knew it, he could feel it. The record said two losses and the attendance wasn’t great yet but Band Day had been a huge success and the tailgating thing was growing every home game. Beating Ohio State was a longshot, fine — but with Bo’s energy and the talent Bump Elliott had assembled, who the hell knows.

The program needed time, that’s all, Canham knew that. But right now, with Rosenstein breathing down his neck, the only thing he could afford to think about was this Saturday.

“Jan!”

Jan Sterling, his executive assistant, flies in. “Mr. Canham!”

“I want a quarter page ad in every paper in Ohio by tomorrow: Free tickets to the game Saturday, limit 10 per person.”

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We need a full house.”

“A full house of Buckeye fans?”

“We’re at 80,000 now – most of those are from Michigan. The only place to get more butts in more seats is south of the Toledo strip.”

“Fine,” Jan sighs, “but at least offer ‘buy one, get one free.’”

“Good idea. Get everyone on it, call every paper we can right now and reserve the space. I’ll write the copy now – you’ll have it in ten minutes.”

“One more question: Do we have the budget for this?”

“Not at all.”

Canham was a riverboat gambler, no doubt about it, and he was doubling down on Bo and the team.

“Let me worry about that when the time comes, “ Canham says.

“Okay,” Jan nods, “We’ll get right on it.”

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1969 – 1:10 PM

Mandich, Curtis, Caldo and Craw walk into Yost, expecting to be the first players there. They’re coming in early to watch film. But when they enter the locker room they nearly run into the backs of Henry Hill, Cecil Pryor, Thom Darden and Barry Pierson, all of whom came to do the same.

But they can only see one thing at the moment: 50-14.

Because it’s everywhere. It’s taped on their lockers, painted on the walls, marked on every single practice jersey. It’s on the floors in front of the toilets, on the mirror and the inside of the shower curtains. They couldn’t be in the locker room with their eyes open and not see 50-14 in at least three places. It was even painted on the wooden sign over the door, right above ‘Those Who Stay Will Be Champions.’

An hour later, Bo stood before the team in their Monday meeting.

“Men: there is not a single person outside of this room that believes we can beat Ohio State. Fifty-to-fourteen. Everyone, including the men in this room, remembers that score. That game last year in Columbus. The old man hung fifty points on this team. Fifty points because he chose to go for two with a minute-and-a-half left in the game when they were up by thirty-four.”

Bo laid it out there. He didn’t need to do anything other than that. These seniors remembered that game like it happened yesterday. The humiliation. Ohio State kicking their (expletive) in the second-half, blowing them off the ball. The long, cold bus ride home with the clanging of that Ohio State victory bell chasing them back to Ann Arbor.

“50-14, men.” Bo scans his team and stops on Mandich who has tears in his eyes. Bo doesn’t need to say another word.

“Let’s get to practice.” The words out of his mouth before the guys leap off their chairs and head for the field.

Generally, Monday was for scouting report and a half-pad practice to go through the basic game plan. Simple, get loose, get a feel for the opponent, no tackling to the ground.

But this team had been preparing for Ohio State for months. They knew Kern. They knew Otis and Tatum and Stillwagon. Back before Spring Ball, Bo had changed Michigan’s defense to look like Ohio State’s just so they could practice against it every day. They had been scouting the Buckeyes since March. Before that. Since 50-14.

So, despite the half-pads there was no half anything that Monday. The guys flew around the cold field like it was already Saturday, smashing into each other, tackling to the ground, the offense hooting and hollering and the defense quietly setting about to destroy. It was absolute bedlam. On a Monday.

Hanlon grabbed Bo. “They’re way too high, Bo. We gotta settle them down before someone gets hurt.”

Bo watched Barry Pierson crash into Billy Taylor. Hanlon had a point. The guys could burn out by Saturday. Or, worse, someone could get hurt. It was risky.

“Bo?” Hanlon pressed.

“Let ‘em go for now,” Bo replied. “We gotta let ‘em go.”

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1969 – 2:15 PM

Bo and the staff dressed for practice in the coaches locker room. Canham had paid for some new chairs, replaced the lightbulb overhead and built some shelves. But the nails in the walls stayed per Bo’s request.

He wanted to hang his hat on the same nail as Fielding H. Yost.

“Seventy-eight percent of the time that Kern gives up the ball it goes to Otis,” Jim Young said as he layered on a sweatshirt. It was twenty-six degrees outside.

“So, we stop Kern and make him go to Otis,” Bo said.

“Exactly,” Young replied.

“No one has been up on them, not once all season, let alone early in the ballgame. We get an early lead and make Woody throw it.”

“We can run the football on them,” Hanlon says, “Eat the clock and move the ball.”

“We can run the ball but we are not running it at Tatum – he’s too damn fast,” Bo says.

“That’s good!” Hanlon says. “He rushes up the field – fast! And we run Taylor right underneath him.”

“Goddammit, Jerry, you don’t drive your car into a tornado!”

“They won’t know what to do with it! It’ll slow Tatum down!”

Coach Stobart charges up the stairs.

“Are you with him on running the ball directly at Tatum?” Bo asks Stobart.

“Yes, I am, it’ll work, but – ”

“Oh, horses***! You’re both dumber than a box of rocks!”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a bigger problem right now.”

Five minutes later, Bo, Stobart, Hanlon, Moeller and Young are on the practice field.

Well, what should be the practice field. Right now, it’s piled with a foot of snow and ice.

“Grounds guy swears he put the tarp on last night, ” Stobart says.

Bo’s face is beet red, veins bulging, as he surveys the snowy tundra.

Bo looks at the two maintenance men at the far end, shoveling. Slowly.

“We can watch extra film with the guys until the field’s cleared – get in some solid mental reps,” Jim Young says.

“Bulls***!” Bo shouts as he marches back toward the door to the players’ locker room, “You’re gonna fight in the North Atlantic, you gotta train in the North Atlantic!”

The team is finishing dressing for practice when Bo slams through the doors –

“I need every single freshmen with me – NOW!” He storms back out.

Fifteen minutes later — SCHHHUP! – a shovel crunches through the snow and ice. Bo grunts, strains, lifts the heavy snow-filled shovel and tosses its contents to the side of the field.

Inside the doors to Yost, Mandich, Craw, Curtis, Hill – the rest of the team – crowd the vestibule windows and watch the coaching staff and freshmen clear the field by hand.

Bo shovels like he’s being buried alive. This is Woody, he thinks. Somehow that sonofabitch got someone to take the tarp off the field. And right now, at this very second, Woody and his Buckeye squad were already done with warm-ups and working on beating Michigan. Right now, they were getting better. It was definitely Woody.

Bo stops, sucking wind, chest pounding — the cheeseburgers and stress have taken their toll. He looks to Yost and sees Hill and Mandich watching.

SCHHHUUP! – right back at it – they can’t waste a single second.

Mandich can’t take it. He gets what Bo is doing – trying to save the starters’ energy for practice – but he can’t sit here, in the warmth, doing nothing.

“Alright, listen up!” Mandich yells. “Sophomores! Go get more shovels from maintenance. Everyone else – to the field, use whatever you can to clear it off and let’s get to practice!”

Turns out a hundred and seven guys can clear a football field of snow and ice pretty damn fast.

Thirty minutes later, Don Moorhead is barking out signals, taking the snap from Guy Murdoch and handing off to Billy Taylor who starts to the outside and — WHUP! — his feet slide out from under him and down he goes. At least he held onto the ice cube of a football. So far, Tuesday practice of the biggest week of their season, has been a complete wash.

“Run it again!” Bo yells, “And, for crying out loud, be patient with it Taylor!”

Bo wheels and kicks at the frozen field. He hisses in Coach Stobart’s ear, “We’re gonna make sure this goddamn field is covered tonight.”

Probably not the best time for Hanlon to say it but he does, “They’re too high, Bo, we gotta calm ‘em down.”

“Let ‘em go!!” Bo barks. He whirls back to the huddle, “Run it again!!”

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1969 – 5:15 PM

“Run it again!!” Bo barks through the dark, cold night.

Moorhead drops back and hits Mandich over the middle. Mandich breaks a tackle and sprints into the endzone. Which is 65 yards away. Senior safety, Tom Curtis, Mandich’s roommate, chases him the whole way.

The players are unfazed by the freezing temperatures and slippery field. They’re flying around like it’s the first week in August.

“Cheese n’ crackers, Bo, they’re going to have nothing left by Saturday,” Hanlon says.

“Goddammit, Jerry – say that one more time and you’re fired!!”

Hanlon waves his practice schedule in disgust. “Aw, you can’t fire me the Wednesday before this game and you know it!”

“I’ll fire you anytime goddamn time I want!”

“Fine, go ahead, “ Hanlon say, “Just promise me you’ll run the ball right at Tatum and I’ll clean out my locker myself!

“Aw, you sonofabitch with the running it into Tatum – you’re whistlin’ in a graveyard, Hanlon! Run it again!!”

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1969 – 6:30 PM

“One way or another, men, you will remember this day, this football game, for the rest of your lives.”

Thursday’s practice had been more of the same – focused and fast. It had been a miserably cold week but there wasn’t a single grumble from a player, coach, manager or trainer.

And now Bo walked up and down the aisles of the team meeting room. The final address. Bo did this on Thursday night. He knew Saturday was too late. The game was won or lost Monday through Thursday.

“Each and every one of you must beat the man across from you. And, yet, this will not be enough, men. You must also beat the man who plays your position. Every single one of you must outplay your counterpart! Ohio State has the All-American, Rex Kern, at quarterback. Moorhead, are you prepared to play better than Rex Kern this Saturday?”

“Yes, coach!” Moorhead yelled.

“Henry Hill. Ohio State has the All-American Jim Stillwagon at nose tackle – are you prepared to outplay the great Jim Stillwagon?

“Yes, coach!” Henry said.

“Ohio State has the All-American Jim Otis at fullback. Garvie Craw, are you ready to play better than the mighty Jim Otis this Saturday?”

“Yes, coach!”

And on it went. Bo went through each and every player and got the same response each and every time — “Yes, coach!”

“As I told you men at halftime of the Minnesota game, this is your team now. You seniors – this is your team. And the only thing that matters this Saturday is that we play as a team! They can throw out all those great backs and quarterbacks and linebackers – all those All-Americans! And it won’t make a lick ‘a difference if we play as a team. Individuals win games, men, but they do not win championships. A TEAM wins the championship! And after all you’ve been through – after all we’ve put you through – you are a team!”

He stands still, eyes on fire, and points to their game calendar on the wall. Every week now crossed out except Ohio State.

“It comes down to this, men. A cold Saturday in November. An opportunity. An opportunity to do what we set out to do. Every single one of you had the courage and the toughness to stay and be a part of something bigger than yourself. And I promise you, men, you may go on to travel the world and do great things but here is nothing – nothing! – in this world better than that. Nobody’s got it better than us, men, right here, right now – I’ll guarantee you that. ‘Cause we’re Michigan. The team. The team, the team, the team! We’re gonna win the goddamn Big Ten Championship and we’re gonna to do it by beating Ohio State!!”

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1969 – 11:34 PM

Bo leans against the kitchen counter and finishes off a bowl of cold chili.

Ice cream is next, vanilla. He pulls a jar out of the fridge and examines it. A handmade label reads: Millie’s Hot Fudge. He unscrews the lid and scoops it out, covering the ice cream.

“I guess the hot fudge is a winner.” Millie walks in, wrapping her bathrobe around her.

“What are you doing up?” he asks.

“Feeding Shemy.”

Bo gestures to the hot fudge, “You made this?”

“My mom’s recipe.”

“The best hot fudge I’ve ever had,” Bo says.

“I donated 20 jars to Meals on Wheels.”

“Meals on Wheels?”

“They deliver hot meals to senior citizens and people who can’t leave their homes,” Millie replies.

“That’s terrific, “ Bo says. He shovels in another scoop.

“I hate to break it to you but, hot fudge, no matter how good, isn’t going to guarantee a victory.”

Bo nods, tries to smile. He always eats when he’s nervous. They both know that.

“What are you going to say to Woody?” Millie asks.

“Whaddya mean?” Bo says.

“You always talk to the opposing head coach on the field during pre-game. I’m guessing it mostly small talk but this is Woody. What are you going to say?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Baloney. You’ve been thinking about it since the moment Canham hired you.”

She’s right. He’s come to know that, most of the time, she’s right.

“I’ll ask him how Anne is doing,” he says. “Congratulate him on a helluva season. Then tell him we’re going to kick his (expletive).”

“You will not, “ Millie smiles.

“Yes, I will. Ask him about Anne.”

Millie smiles. He’s still got his sense of humor. That’s good.

“Promise me you’ll get at least five hours of sleep tonight,” she says.

“I make no promises I can’t keep,” he says.

She pecks him on the cheek and heads back to bed.

Bo looks out the kitchen window. A silver moon hangs low in the sky, the craggy arms of the trees reaching upward. Thirty-six hours to kick-off.

Ohio State has the four-time National Championship winning head coach in the great Wayne Woodrow Hayes. In 1968, Woody had won every major Coach of the Year award including The Sporting News, the Walter Camp and the Eddie Robinson.

“Bo Schembechler! Are you prepared to out-coach the great and mighty Woody Hayes?”

In thirty-six hours, he’d find out if he had.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1969 – 12:15 PM

“Hello everybody! Yessir, it’s finally here – Meeechigan vs. Ohio State in football!”

Bob Ufer, the legendary, longtime announcer for Michigan Football on WPAG radio, leaned forward in his seat, and looked out over the rapidly filling Michigan Stadium.

The atmosphere absolutely electric.

“Twenty minutes until blast off as two of the oldest rivals in the Big Ten  square off in what promises to be the game of the day, the game of the year, the game of the century!

“Call it what you will, it promises to two-and-a-half hours of some of the most exciting football ever in the 104 years of man’s inhumanity to man! All the blue chips are right out there on Canham’s carpet, right now! It’s all here in the hole that Yost dug and it’s building to a dramatic climax. This is what intercollegiate football is all about! All morning long the caravans of cars filled with Buckeye fans have been pouring across the border from down south and echoing from each one of those cars is the old familiar chant, ‘We don’t give a damn for the whole state of Michigan,’ while all of us up here in the water wonderland never forget that Ohio is a four-letter word!

“And here they are – the parade of All-Americans – Kern, Otis, Stillwagon, Tatum – the list goes on as the Ohio State Buckeyes take the field for pre-game on this beautiful Saturday in November!!”

In the middle of the press box, Canham sets a hot cup of coffee down in front of Dean Rosenstein. President Robben Fleming sits next to him.

“Fresh pot, Marc.”

“Thank you,” Rosenstein says.

“My pleasure,” Canham replies.

“Quite a crowd today,” President Fleming says casually.

“I’d say so. Over 103,000.”

“This tailgating really seems to be catching on.”

“I’d say so. It’s possible we’ll have the largest crowd in the history of collegiate football today.”

Fleming nods, looks to Rosenstein and very calmly says, “Look at this, Marc. Look at the energy, the community, the excitement. What can possibly be wrong about this?”

For once, Rosenstein has nothing to say. He knows Fleming is right.

***

Down in the Michigan locker room, it’s quiet. The crowd noise and Dr. Revelli’s marching band are muted. Mandich tapes his fingers, Curtis adjusts his helmet, Dierdorf tightens his cleats. Business-like. 50-14.

Student manager Red, motions to Coach Hanlon that Ohio State is on the field for final warm-ups. Michigan’s turn to head out now.

Bo strides to the middle of the room. The players strap on their helmets in anticipation.

“Men…it’s time.”

The team explodes, leaping to their feet and charge after their captain, Mad Dog Mandich who, his eye-black already streaked with tears, has literally knocked the door off its hinges.

In the tunnel, cleats clacking on the cement mixes with the trumpets and drums as that small square of light at the bottom — the entrance to the field — grows bigger and bigger.

Finally, Mandich, leading the way, gets to the field and the crowd ROARS!

It’s a madhouse. Michigan Stadium may very well lift off the ground.

And then Mandich sees it…

“Bo!” he yells over the noise, “Hey, Bo!!”

Bo pushes his way to the front and sees what Mandich is yelling about: Woody has Ohio State on Michigan’s side of the field.

“You sonofabitch,” Bo says to himself.

Mandich and Henry Hill and Tom Curtis and Caldarazzo are all up front now, looking at him, waiting for him to do something. So is the entire stadium.

Bo swallows hard and jogs straight to Woody. What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Hey, Woody.” Bo says.

Woody, ever the gamesman, coolly keeps his eyes on his team.

“Hi, Bo.”

“You’re on our side of the field.”

“What’s that?” Woody says, holding a hand to his ear, still not looking at Bo.

“You’re on our side of the field. You need to move.”

Woody finally looks at Bo, a gleam of competition in his eyes.

Bo holds his stare. There are no congratulations or asking about wives or wishing each other ‘good luck.’ This is not the handball court. It’s just two men, who have tremendous respect for each other and live to compete, staring at each other, wondering who will blink first.

A long few seconds…and finally —

“Let’s go, men!” Woody takes off across the fifty-yard line to the visitor’s side of the field.

“WOOO HOOOOO!” Mandich lets out a warrior cry as he and the others gallop onto the field.

The game hasn’t even started and Bo had passed his first test with flying colors.

Up in the press box, the ABC broadcasters, Bill Flemming and Lee Grosscup, are sent out to millions of televisions across the country.

“Well, Ohio State has won the toss,” Flemming says, “and we’ll see right away if this Michigan defense can stop the Buckeyes.”

Grosscup says what everyone at home is thinking, “The last time Ohio State lost a football game was October the 28th, 1967. Most believe Michigan will be their 23rd consecutive victim which would set an all-time record.”

“Dana Coin will kickoff, “ Flemming says, “Tom Campana and Larry Zelinas are deep to receive for Ohio State.”

And, on the field, for Bo and his coaches and the players, the crowd, the band, the TV cameras, the last eleven months – it all fades away. Their entire focus narrows to the only thing that matters: the hundred yards of turf between the white lines. Sixty minutes.

POP!

Dana Coin’s foot meets the ball — The Game is on.

The first drive of the game, Ohio State drives the length of the field but Michigan’s defense holds on 4th down and 1 when Henry Hill stuffs All-American fullback, Jim Otis, inches short of the first down.

After a Michigan punt, Ohio State All-American fullback, Jim Otis, does score first. They miss the extra point. 6-0, Ohio State.

Michigan comes right back and Garvie Craw – Otis’ counterpart – plunges in from the 3-yard line. PAT is good. 7-6, Michigan.

OSU’s All-American QB, Rex Kern, throws 22 yards to WR White for a touchdown. They miss another PAT. 12-7, Ohio State.

Michigan comes back – largely on a 28-yard run by Billy Taylor, a draw play directly past a weak side fire by OSU All-American Jack Tatum. A few plays later, Craw scores again. 14-12, Michigan.

After a 60-yard punt return by senior safety Barry Pierson, Michigan scores again when Don Moorhead, The Warbler, runs it in from the 4-yard line. 21-12, Michigan.

After OSU misses a field goal, Michigan’s counterpart kicker, Tim Killian, makes one. 24-12, Michigan.

The next two Ohio State drives are ended by senior safety Tom Curtis’ interceptions, including one in the end zone.

Halftime. Michigan leads 24-12.

***

In the locker room, the normally reserved and quiet defensive coordinator, Jim Young, pounds on the blackboard, over and over. “They will not score again!!”

He was right.

Barry Pierson has three interceptions in the second-half. Woody benches All-American QB, Rex Kern, but his backup is intercepted as well, by Michigan LB Thom Darden with 1:34 left in the game.

Don Moorhead QB sneaks it to the ground and it’s over.

Final score: 24-12. Michigan.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1969 – 3:18 PM

via Bentley Historical Library

“Hail! to the Victors Valiant,
Hail! to the conqu’ring heroes,
Hail! Hail! To Michigan
The Leaders and Best!

“Hail! to the Victors Valiant,
Hail! to the conqu’ring heroes,
Hail! Hail! To Michigan
The Champions of the West!”

It had taken the team nearly twenty minutes to get off the field. Mandich, triumphant tears in his eyes, a rose in his hand, was carried into the tunnel by fans. Caldarazzo and others had gotten an ecstatic Bo up on their shoulders and done the same for him.

But now here they were, together, in their locker room, singing The Victors.

The mighty Buckeyes had fallen in what papers all over the country would call ‘The Upset of The Century.’

Michigan had shocked everyone but themselves.

Bo, hat long gone, hair askew, steps to the center, a game ball in his hands, his eyes full. The room gets quiet as he studies his team.

“Congratulations, men. You stayed — and you’re champions.”

The room explodes! Bo looks to Hanlon, who’s grinning back at him. Guess they weren’t too high.

Bo holds the game ball high and they quiet down again.

“In fifteen years of coaching, I have never been prouder of a group of players – of a team – than I am at this moment. There is not much more to say right now…you all know how I feel about each and every one of you. But there is only one game ball. And today, this ball goes to a man who has as much to do with this victory as anyone in this room. A true Michigan Man…Bump Elliott.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in that locker room as a gracious Bump accepted the game ball from Bo. Many would say it was the classiest gesture they’d ever see in the world of sports.

***

There was a party at the Schembechler house that night. Millie had tons of chili and homemade hot fudge. The Schembechler and Pilcher boys replayed the game highlights in the backyard.

Bo and the staff and Don Canham tried to watch the game film in the basement but kept getting interrupted by well-wishers stopping by the house. Finally, they gave up.

Bo and Canham found themselves on the front porch around midnight, the party still going strong inside.

Canham sips his Manhattan. “Well…not bad for a bunch of high school coaches from Ohio.”

“Not bad at all,” Bo says. “I appreciate the opportunity, Don. I see you got that stadium full.”

“You held up your end of the bargain. Let’s keep it going, shall we?”

“Sounds fine by me,” Bo says as they shake hands. “I’ll just need the players’ locker room re-done and raises for all my assistants.”

Canham nods and smiles. He expected nothing less.

EPILOGUE

Fritz Crisler, the legendary Michigan coach and athletic director, didn’t make it to Michigan Stadium for the game that day in November 1969. He had fallen ill. But he watched the game from his hospital bed and wrote the following letter to Bo sometime that evening:

My Dear Bo,

I have had a lot of football thrills in my lifetime, but the masterpiece you and the Michigan team turned in this afternoon will stand prominently in the list. In game preparation against seemingly overwhelming odds, I have never seen a team better conditioned, technically, physically and mentally, to reach such a high inspirational peak, as you and your staff had those kids this afternoon. It was the greatest upset I have ever witnessed. The achievement will have a long life in the contribution to the richness of Michigan’s enviable football history and tradition.

Even callous me shed a few uncontrolled tears from sheer pride and joy as the game ended. My very best to you and the team, always…always.

Fondly,

Fritz Crisler

Bo framed the letter and hung it on the wall by his film screen in his basement so he could see it all the time. That 1969 season and win over Ohio State would set the stage for the next 40 years of Michigan Football. Bo kept his promise for the next 20: every single player that played for him won a championship. Many also went on to become doctors, lawyers and heads of corporations. And all of them would look back on that season, and that game, as one of the greatest achievements of their lives.

Hail. Hail…
The Team, The Team, The Team…
Those Who Stay Will Be Champions.

***