So there I was, sitting at my bar with my buddy Dave — who’s been a Michigan fan since he was five and still wears his U-M hoodie from the 1980s (it smells like mothballs and regret) — watching this ridiculous parade of Wolverines rolling back into Ann Arbor as national champions. I mean, *national champions*. The phrase just feels wrong coming out of my mouth. Like, “Hey Dave, check out these guys on TV, they’re the best in college basketball.” No, no, no. That’s not how it works. It should be like, “Dave, look at this — they won a championship! *A champion ship*!” You know what I mean? It’s like when you finally get that promotion you’ve been waiting for your whole life and then realize the office is still a soul-sucking meat grinder.
The game was Monday night. The parade was Tuesday. And let me tell you, there’s something so *wrong* about this timing. Like, why do we have to wait 24 hours before celebrating? Is that some kind of NCAA tradition? “Oh no, you can’t just go out and party on the day you win a title. You have to suffer for one more day!” I get it — they wanted to make sure the trophy was still warm or something. But come on, it’s not like the Wolverines are going to melt in the sun. Dave kept saying, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to Michigan basketball.” And I just looked at him and said, “Yeah, but what if they lose next year? What if this was a fluke?”
Because that’s the thing — when you win a championship, people start expecting more. They start *demanding* more. Like, how can they not be better than everyone else forever? It’s like winning the lottery and then acting like the odds aren’t stacked against you in every other aspect of life. But I digress.
Let me start from the beginning. Michigan basketball — the team that had to go through hell just to get here. Remember when they were 2-10 in November? I swear, Dave and I spent three weeks debating whether this was a rebuilding season or if we’d finally found our new coach, Dusty May, and he was going to be the savior of Michigan basketball. And then… boom. They started winning.
I mean, it’s not like they just randomly started winning. It felt like they had *deserved* it. Like, finally, after years of mediocrity, someone figured out how to actually coach a team that was supposed to be good. And don’t get me started on the transfers. I know people hate transfers, but in this case? They worked. Every single one of them — Cadeau, Johnson, Lendeborg, Karaban (wait, no, he’s from UConn now). Oh man, I can’t believe they let him go.
Wait, hold on. That was the UConn game on Monday night. The final showdown between Michigan and UConn, which had to be the most anticlimactic championship game in recent memory. Not because it wasn’t close — hell, Michigan held them to 31% shooting from the field and 27% beyond the arc. But I mean, *UConn*? They were the No. 2 seed for crying out loud. And they lost to a team that was 2-10 in November? That’s like me beating my neighbor at chess because he forgot to bring his queen.
But here’s what I’m really thinking about — the players. Elliot Cadeau, who had that final game of the season where he looked like he had been playing with a stick for the last three years and suddenly got handed a basketball. And then he just *dominated*. 19 points, 5 assists. The Final Four’s most outstanding player? That’s not even possible. He didn’t look like a guy who was on this team in March; he looked like a guy who had been preparing for this moment his whole life.
And Morez Johnson Jr., the big man with the heart of a lion, dropping 12 and 10. I mean, that’s not even close to his numbers in the regular season — but it was enough. And Yaxel Lendeborg, who had been the team’s leading scorer all year long, coming through for 13 points and two rebounds. But man, he didn’t look like he was holding back at all.
And then there was Alex Karaban, the UConn forward who played every single minute of that game — 40 minutes! — and still managed to get 17 points and 11 rebounds. That’s not even human. I mean, if you play 40 minutes in a championship game, that’s like running a marathon on the moon while your legs are made of Jell-O.
But the real story here is the fans. Dave and I were watching this parade on TV, and I just kept looking at my phone to see how many people showed up. Because let me tell you — when Michigan wins something important, it’s not just about the players or the coaches; it’s about the fans. The people who’ve been there through every loss, every bad season, every time they thought this was going to be the year that everything changed and then it didn’t.
And Dusty May? Man, I don’t even know what to say about him. He’s the kind of coach who comes in and says, “We’re not doing this for you — we’re doing this for us,” but then he turns around and gives a speech where he tells the fans that *they* brought it all year long. That’s not just nice — that’s borderline poetic. It’s like when you finally get your dream job and instead of taking credit, you give everyone else a standing ovation.
And then there was Lendeborg’s speech. “You made this season very, very special for me,” he said. And I’m sitting here with Dave, both of us thinking the exact same thing: *Oh man, I wish we could take him out for dinner and just talk about what it’s like to be a professional athlete.* Because you know what? That kid probably hasn’t had one real meal since November.
But anyway — back to the parade. They’re standing at that Junge Family Champions center, which is this weird multipurpose events space between Michigan Stadium and Crisler Center. I mean, why does it have to be between those two places? It’s like putting a McDonald’s in between a library and a strip club. But whatever. The point is, they’re up there with the trophy and looking out at all these fans — and it’s not just any fans. It’s *the* fans. The ones who showed up to every home game even when the team was 2-10.
And I think that’s what really gets me. Because you know what? In college basketball, fans are everything. You have to show up in person for the games, and if you don’t, people make fun of you on social media. Like, “Oh man, did you miss the game last night because you were too busy doing something else?” And then you just sit there with your face red like a tomato.
But these fans — they showed up every week, even when it was raining and the team was losing badly. They didn’t care if the scoreboards said “Wolverines 62, Michigan State 78” or whatever. They were there for the experience, for the atmosphere, for the *fight*. And now? Now they get to say they were part of something special.
And you know what? I think that’s what makes this moment so real. It’s not just about winning a championship — it’s about the journey. The fans who stuck with them through every loss, every bad season, and then finally got to see their team rise to the top. That’s not just sports — that’s life.
And yet… I can’t help but wonder if this is going to be the end of something. Because when you win a championship in college basketball, people start to expect more. They want to know if it was a fluke or if this team is actually good. And then there’s always the fear — what if they lose next year? What if this was just one game?
Because that’s how it works. You can’t have a dynasty in college basketball unless you keep winning, and I don’t think anyone at Michigan has ever done that. But now? Now they have a national championship trophy. And they’re telling people that *this trophy is yours* — like they’re giving the fans credit for making this possible.
And I get it. Because that’s what makes college sports special. It’s not just about the players or the coaches — it’s about the fans, the community, the journey. But still… I can’t help but feel like there’s a weight on these guys now. Like, they can’t just walk away from this and expect to be able to coast next season.
But maybe that’s what makes it so beautiful. Because when you win a championship, you don’t get to rest on your laurels — you have to go out and prove that it wasn’t a fluke. That you’re actually the best team in college basketball, not just one good game.
And if that’s the case? Then I think Michigan has a shot at doing something really special next year. Because they’ve got all these transfers who are still young — Cadeau, Johnson, Lendeborg, and whoever else is coming back. And if they can keep winning like this… well, maybe we won’t have to wait another 30 years for the Wolverines to be relevant again.
But until then? I think Dave and I are just going to sit here with our beers and watch the parade on TV, knowing that something *special* happened. That a team that was supposed to be rebuilding turned into national champions in one season — and the fans got to be part of it.
Because that’s what makes college basketball so magical. It’s not about money or fame — it’s about the journey, the community, the people who showed up even when things weren’t looking good. And I think that’s why this moment will stick with me for a long time.
Yeah. That sounds right.
