As part of his ongoing crusade against the intrusion of rock music piped over loudspeakers into the Big House, Brian Cook defends part of the fan experience that makes him a Michigan man:
Michigan has a lot of culture. That, fundamentally, is its main asset. From that culture flows the passion, and from that passion flows the money. Part of that culture is a public address announcer who embodies neutral gravitas. Part of it is the lack of advertising in the stadium. And part of that is the way the game is presented inside the stadium, with no "NoISe!!!" signs or plastic chariots or electromagic Spartys with frickin' eye lasers.
I like it like that. I like my church with incense and deceased Jesus, my Christmas carols by Bing Crosby, and my Michigan Stadium without frickin' eye lasers.
Now, I’m not going to lie to you; that sounds a little on the dull side to me, in addition to making me fear for the security of my stranglehold on the unofficial office of Crotchety Old Man of the College Football Blogosphere. (Also, without getting overly bogged down in denominational differences, I find "deceased Jesus" a little creepy and quite incompatible with the whole point of Easter, which is why I prefer crosses to crucifixes.)
However, I don’t feel the need to be distracted from football when I’m at a football game, either, so I respect the depth and sincerity of Brian’s devotion to the sacred traditions of his alma mater. I’ve been known to lighten up a little every now and again---hey, even Bing Crosby sang Christmas carols with David Bowie!---but I get Brian’s point and give him credit for taking such a principled stand.
However, in defense of his position, Brian goes a tad too far in making this declaration:
I have been to places, yes I have. And I can tell you that everywhere I go the blaring of extremely bad music at extreme levels of volume does nothing to pump up the crowd.
Blaring bad music at high volume does nothing to pump up the crowd? Heck, we should have given Soulja Boy an honorary varsity letter for that season. . . .