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Sunday, September 11, 2005 Football Saturday Written in a coffeeshop while observing the first Saturday of the Michigan football season. They are walking down the sidewalk, cardboard coffee cups in hand, marching in imitation of the band that trumpeted their victory--but they do not smile, adorned in the maize and blue that mark their allegiance. The win was not clear enough. The sunglass-clad policemen on the corner watch them, them and the line of vans and SUVs and cars punctuated by the occasional station wagon that have rained onto Main Street for hours. It is like the waters of New Orleans, never receding, ever pushing forward with steady nonchalance. And weaving through the sea of vehicular impatience, the students who stayed long enough to metamorphose into townies discuss the ambivalence of another fall in Ann Arbor--a town relaxed for the summer is once again hectic, dotted with clusters of anxious freshmen and their parents, returning upperclassmen who have speckled their front lawns with countless red plastic cups in a Saturday afternoon ritual of beer pong and kegs more religious than the man who meditates on the Diag, hands palm up on his knees even in the frigidity of Michigan winters. Parking is now a precious commodity. ^ Top | 11:50 PM | | | 
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