(Photo of Big Brother taking on Aunt Nittany taken Sept. 22, 2007, by yours truly.)
So Michigan State football coach Mike Dantonio takes issue with Wolverine tailback Mike Hart's reference to the Spartans as Michigan’s “little brother”. Guess what, coach? It’s the truth. Deal with it. If any school in the conference deserves the title of little sib, it's the one with the inexplicable green-and-white chip on its shoulder. Hands down.
Now before I’m attacked by a group of online Spartans and burned in virtual effigy at cedarvillageapartments.com, I ask for some perspective. We’re talking about a conference with 11 members called the Big 10. Let's not kid ourselves, this is one big dysfunctional family. So if you look at it in the proper context, a younger sib reference is almost flattering. Kind of like being Marilyn Munster.
Here's my question. Why stop with just one school? These Royal Tanenbaums of the NCAA all wade in the same gene pool, right? Each one should get a part in the play.
For example, if Sparty is indeed little bro, that would make Michigan the big brother— perhaps even the first born. Which would explain this constant need to roll out every single accomplishment, including some that stretch the truth the way Coach Weis stretches sans-a-belt slacks. Who else could spin a newspaper’s post-Rose Bowl opinion poll into the 1947 national championship? First-borns also have this habit of… um, let’s just say they don’t lose very well. Usually end up blaming the rules and insisting that changes be made (see Big 10 No-Repeat Rule, 1975). And when there’s no blown call or key injury to use as an excuse, an explanation will ultimately arise to justify their lack of success. From the crown of the field being too heavily pitched, to a few that could even be considered petty. Those Wolverines do make very strong leaders, though. Just don’t be the one to tell them otherwise!
Ohio State? They're the crazy cock-eyed uncle who lives in the attic. Every holiday he belly-crawls under the dinner table in combat fatigues, screaming at people to “get away from the windows!” A healthy mix of bipolar disorder and hypochondria propels him through each autumn football weekend, where a single defeat can send him death-spiraling into the abyss. A decade or so ago my brother-in-law's father, a die-hard Buck nut, refused to speak to anyone after his team lost to the hated Wolverines. The fact that he had climbed to the top of a telephone pole in his long johns and was too drunk to reason his way down only emphasized his dispair.
Penn State is our loyal great-aunt, Nittany. Faithfully married to her high school sweetheart for 56 years... yet, as his dimentia worsens, she wrestles with her ambivalence. There’s so much out there in the world, so many new experiences, but she just can’t let go of her schmoopie after all those glorious years together. 1986, 1994, the ‘60s. Maybe it’s the very thought of trying something new that frightens her into staying with ol’ what’s-his-name. After all, they have so many wonderful memories. How could she say goodbye?
The Iowa Hawkeyes are the freeloading second cousin (picture Randy Quaid from National Lampoon’s Vacation). The guy that stops into town and says he just needs a room for a week or so, then somehow ends up staying through Christmas. He accidentally invented some sort of cattle feeding system and every now and then, he gets this huge check in the mail. But it’s gone before the next payday, either at the corner saloon or one of them fancy clothing stores— or hopelessly lost in the occasional “can’t miss” investment scheme an unemployed friend shares with him. His moments of true achievement are few and far between; for the most part, he never amounts to nothing.
Northwestern? We all know him. Northwestern was the under-developed sibling with an undisclosed airborne allergy who wore black socks in gym. One year his standardized test scores fell into the “gifted” category, so mom and dad enrolled him at a private school. He has since graduated with honors and now owns a sprawling split-level colonial in some gated suburban community where the security guards scowl at you each time you visit. He never had many friends, but he still has the complete, barely-used set of original G.I. Joes from his childhood, each figurine's box carefully broken down and folded for safe-keeping. Naturally, the set just appraised for upwards of $40,000.
Illinois is that older brother who never seems to study— he plays ball, hangs out and just has a good time— and does just fine nonetheless. Even when there are consequences, like the occasional probation years, they never seem to get him down. He somehow finds a way to be successful, even when the situation appears bleak. His basketball team may be down 15 in the final minutes of a regional final. But no worries, it’s nothing a few treys can’t fix. His football team might suffer four straight losing seasons. Then poof! With a little focus, he ends up winning ten games. Or beating the #1 team in the nation. And all the while, he’s as cool as the bottom of the bedsheets.
Then there's the funky big sis, Indiana. Who can forget our mysterious little Hoosier. Nobody’s ever really sure what she’s up to, never sure if she’s in her room or out of town for the weekend. She’s hip and pretty yet somewhat distant, a good student to be sure but one with a burning desire to realize her true potential. Things are so much better for her now that she dumped that angry boyfriend of hers. How anyone could hang out with that chair-throwing maniac as long as she did is beyond me. Anyway, she’s quirky, she’s got a lot of hot friends, and no one has a better music collection.
Purdue is the rustic uncle from Dad’s side of the family. Grew up in the woods without running water. Built his family’s log cabin on a Thursday (he had plans that weekend). And once took his football team all the way to California. Real purdy place too. Didn’t matter if they won, cause as he likes to say, “they wouldn’t have you there if you weren’t a winner already.” Among his prized possessions are a skunk-skin hat and a pipe hewn from the antlers of a twelve-point buck.
There’s our big-boned brother, Bucky Wisconsin. The self-proclaimed "human garbage disposal." Who eats off another person’s plate at their own wedding reception? Who does this? Bucky has read of pride before, but he can’t cite the reference. He starts tailgating before dawn and doesn’t know when to leave, often staying long after the game’s over just to sing drinking songs. No seat seems to be comfortable or wide enough for Bucky. But no one is more faithful, and no one will gladly give you the shirt off his back like this big lug of a Badger. By the way, that shirt can be converted into a six-person tent if necessary.
That leaves Minny. The unusually efficient aunt with no kids, who never married, and who insists on finding a home in the least hospitable environment imaginable. She’s an eccentric little gopher, but you love her anyway. Sheer fascination alone draws you in. Besides, you’ve never seen anyone use 98% of a mackerel before. How do you look away? Minny's living quarters are modest, and she's quite content playing her team's games in someone else’s arena. So every other week it's off to the Metrodome. That’s where she's had her mail delivered for decades, so she's used to the drive.
See, Sparties? The little brother thing isn’t really an insult at all. it just means you’re a relatively normal part of one big, fat family. A family in dire need of therapy, sure, but a family nonetheless. So do as your folks said. Support each other in the outside world, because when one of you succeeds, it makes the whole family stronger. And remember, always stay away from loners like that Notre Dame kid. They’re nothing but trouble.
