It’s a sensation unlike any other. Primordial in the way it overcomes and envelopes you; individual in its invocation of emotion, yet communal in its context. It’s physical in the way it stirs you, yet mental in the way it makes your mind race through memory and anecdote. It’s not fear, nor excitement; it’s not quite anxiety, nor happiness. It is truly unique. It’s a sort of recognition; a recognition of greatness. The sensation and anticipation that you are about to witness something great in front of your very eyes.

The opening lick of James Hetfield’s guitar. The quiet tapping of Lars Ulrich on the high-hat. Fifty-five thousand people rise to their feet as a steady roar fills the stadium. The rhythm builds as Kirk Hammett’s electric lead comes in.

Exit light; enter night.

And thus it is said, “that I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his suffering.”

And on this day, all shall feel the good grace of the AP and Coaches poll voters, and the blessings of that man whom He hath ordained, Bo Schembechler, and all fans of the holy dominion of the Big Ten shall embrace the resurrection.

For on this day, Michigan Football hath risen again.

For in truth, there was a time in which Buckeye and Wolverine stood at odds, fists clenched in animosity, a bitter hatred between natural enemies. Yet hear me brothers and sisters of the Big Ten! For on this day, I say fight no more! For while your blood-soaked rivalry raged, a new, common enemy, hath stolen your rightful place over college football.