“All right, welcome back. 2:21 left to play here in Michigan Stadium. Michigan trailing 21-16 and driving, the Wolverines needing a touchdown to go ahead, a field goal won’t do it. Nineteen, even in these uncertain times, still less than twenty-one. Into Irish territory now, with a first down from the Notre Dame forty-two. Denard calling for quiet now as he approaches the line; 115,000-plus in Ann Arbor oblige.”

“It feels like it’s just the two of us in here right now, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does, partner. Denard under center now, Vincent Smith at tailback, dotting the I. Hemingway and Roundtree split out wide, Drew Dileo in the slot to the near side. The give on first down is to Vincent Smith who plunges ahead for six, maybe seven, close to the Notre Dame thirty-five.”

“You see, what we have there, Brad, is just a really nice job up front by Leif Gunderson, the big ‘ole Viking of a right guard for Michigan who defies nature in more ways than one by shucking the D-tackle, Alvin Adams, right out of the artificially-turfed earth to open up a hole as big as one of your nose pores after three bourbons.”

“Guilty as charged, partner. That nose of mine is ruddy and bulbous from a lifetime of drink. Speaking of which, allow me to extend a mellifluous and full-throated welcome to those of you just joining us from every white, middle-income household from East Lansing to West Lafayette. Michigan State has soundly defeated Purdue, and an unspeakable variety of things have been dipped into ranch dressing. Brad Todd and former Michigan great Ryan McGlinchy on the call in case you’re interested. And if you’re not interested, still us on the call.

“If you are just joining us, what we’ve got here is not so much a ‘barn-burner’ as a conflagration threatening to spread to every barn in Washtenaw County. The hipsters in the Kerrytown Co-op are seriously lamenting the loss of everything that might have been reclaimed. Summer weddings being cancelled en masse. Couples rethinking venue strategy on the fly, wondering seriously if non-refundable twine-wrapped mason jars can be repurposed for environs less rustic.”

“Certainly bad news for the DIYers, but Spartan fans may consider bringing their couches over, Brad; let’s save that lighter fluid for when it’s forty-five degrees and sunny in April and cause for barbequing!”

“That’s the right sentiment, Ryan, but those folks are in no condition to drive. Although of course the earliest citation for this modern use of the term ‘barn-burner’ coming from the 1934 reference to a game of bridge in Upstate New York.”

“Schenectady, I believe. Faculty Club at—I want to say—Union College.”

“Right you are again, partner. They don’t call you the best color man in the business for nothing.”

“Not for nothing they don’t.”

“But let’s try getting back to the game, where it should be second—no, wait, somehow third down now. Denard now in the gun, two tight ends, Smith the single set back. The give is again to Smith who dives over the li—correction just a brilliantly executed play-fake from Denard. Denard looking left now and throwing deep down the near sideline for Junior Hemingway who’s left his man in cement off a double move.”

“Oh, Jesus, Brad, this is it—hold me!”

“Hemingway running under a magnificent paraboloid, an oblong dessert of something no longer made of pigskin, acquiescing to the work we require of gravity. ‘Kindly stop calling me Ernest’s hands ready and waiting; he’s spaced out his meals prudently today, leaving plenty of room for dessert and maybe some dancing after the score. The type of pass from Denard a receiver dines out on. And—oh no.”

“What—what is this? Brad, what the fuck is this? Fix it!”

“Take it out and blow on it, McGlinchey! Hurry!”

* * * *

“Welcome to our as yet unsponsored halftime show, I’m Brad Todd, alongside former Michigan great, Ryan McGlinchey. Our previously recorded halftime show brings you into Ryan’s newly re-finished basement in Grosse Pointe Shores. Tonight, a Big Ten treasure hunter’s dream. Let’s travel through time and take a look at Michigan memorabilia, paraphernalia, nostalgia, esoterica, and erotica that Ryan would shit his pants before ever dream about touching if his parents weren’t out to dinner with the Feldmans.”

“It’s not previously recorded yet, Brad…you’re recording it right now.”

“Right, but it will be ‘previously recorded’ when I intro it from the booth, for the viewers, for the halftime show.”

“What booth? What viewers? It’s halftime right now.”

“A conundrum.”

* * * *

Forty-five minutes to kick and neither Ryan nor Brad have done their warm-up vocal exercises. This is their fourth consecutive year in chorus, there not to learn how to sing but to learn how singers prepare to sing. Nor has there been any discussion of whether they’ll be wearing mock turtlenecks under blazers or network-issue polos. Ryan asks his little sister to check the thermostat in the basement real quick while Brad hunkers down in Mr. Greenberg’s study with a mug of tea, reviewing index cards with names, player position, hometown and high school, all while vocalizing “sausage sandwich, sausage sandwich, sausage sandwich” many times over into the mirror, watching the mouth and lips do the work of enunciating.

Ryan Greenberg and Brad Talisman are seniors at Grosse Pointe North High School in Grosse Point Woods, Michigan. They are best friends and die-hard Michigan sports fans. This is November of 2011. Both have been accepted to the University of Michigan next fall. Ryan’s also been accepted to Cornell and his parents wonder if it might be better for him to go there.

The allure of the Ivy League is real, and for a period in early October he started reading a lot about upstate New York. Militating against Cornell is their very, very sad looking football stadium and the reputation of being the easiest Ivy to get into and the hardest to get out of. So, ROI concerns. Ryan’s father is in investments. Plus, Ryan doesn’t consider himself all that smart—sure, a strong SAT, but a very real feeling of outkicking his coverage coming off the high of a great double OT win the night before at Penn State. So, more luck than anything else, although luck in itself can be a skill if cultivated and nurtured properly—see certain ritualistic rites that have empirical, peer-reviewed, verified impact on the outcome of Michigan games. Brad Talisman being otherwise even-keeled but cynical about good-luck rituals less out of pure belief than self-preservation. Because what’s in a name? One answer is a heavy burden.

One ritual, however, is sacrosanct: each Friday night before Michigan home games, the two friends set up whatever video game console is most in-demand for that season and simulate a game between Michigan and whomever Michigan is to play the next day. Neither of them play. P1 is CPU; P2 is also CPU. Ryan and Brad, the announcing duo for Grosse Point North Football and Basketball, call the action into raised fists. They don blue crested blazers; Brad’s has the CBS eye logo on it. They style with Brylcreem, combs in Barbicide for breaks in the action, maybe the joke about depressed barbers drinking the blue liquid and committing barbicide, for after the commercial break. They gesticulate. They pause for station identification. They’ll take a “pause for the cause” so they can “pay some bills” and then read ad-copy that they’ve written out during study hall. This year they’ve started going to parties where people drink and there are girls and in their discomfort they’ve started hanging back from the crowd in kitchens, calling the action. But it’s not like they really expected not to be virgins going into college, anyway. They’ve used stage names for all broadcasts, real and otherwise, since the eighth grade. Since tomorrow is the biggest Michigan football game in their sports history, tonight is the most important call of their lives.