CFB Crystal Ball: Michigan @ Washington - Week 6
An unholy alliance between two former college coaching adversaries threatens to artificially tilt the National Championship rematch in favor of the Wolverines, but the pair is thwarted by, and then assassinates, 2023 CFB's arch-villain.
This is Part 4 of Robn's CFB Crystal Ball Preview Series, which predicts what will transpire during some of the 2024 season's most compelling matchups. Everything in this prediction will assuredly come true. Just wait. We are really good at this.
Date: October 5, 2024
What We Imagine The Broadcast To Be: 7:30pm ET on ABC
Location: Husky Stadium - Seattle, Washington
Actual Lookahead Line As Of June 1: Michigan -9.5 at FanDuel; Michigan -10.5 at BetOnline; Michigan -8.5 at ESPNBet;
It's an unfairly beautiful early Fall day in Seattle, one of the final ones of the year before the Indian Summer gives way to endless grey, ass-y spittle. Never missing a chance to imply how much luckier than you they are to exist in this Eden, the Sailgaters are chirping. Never mind that this is a rematch of last year's National Championship where the Huskies were pants-ed. The vibe is buoyant.
Some people buy a bigger truck or put others down in order to feel superior. If you're On Montlake, you don't have to do this. Just gesture in your $140 quarter-zip to the blinding blues of the sky and of Lake Washington, the deep natural greens on the ground, the deep purple of everyone's dry-fit wear and, empowered by the warm glow of the knowledge that you can live here because you make $400,000 a year, just kind of lightly sneer as if to say, "your move, lesser person."
This weekend last year was when the Huskies turned a corner. It was a similarly brilliant day that exhibited a brilliant result. Washington took down their favored arch-rival Oregon, setting the Huskies on a path to a 13-0 season and their second CFP appearance.
On this particular morning, though, there is one main difference: There's a man standing atop Husky Stadium's cantilevered roof in khakis, oversized sweater, and protruding navy flat-billed hat. He appears to be doing something with what looks like antennae and a lawn chair. He has six ham-and-cheese sandwiches with the crusts perfectly cut off in a cooler next to him - ready for a full day's work.
Lee Corso was the one who first laid eyes on him. He said on the Gameday broadcast that he feared something was amiss here at Warsh-ington. But Corso's credibility was already on thin ice: he also said that earlier that morning he saw a byplane over Lake Washington taunting locals by flying a banner reading, "Who's Got It Better?"
His fellow hosts just laughed awkwardly through it, and those watching on television chalked it up to the fact that Corso is basically Joe Biden with a strong understanding of the Wing-T formation, and paid it no mind.
Meanwhile, a gum-toting, swashbuckling, perpetual homme du moment in the Northwest, canted 30 degrees at a seeming joint in his upper back that neither exists nor harms his mobility like you would expect it to, is pacing in the Washington locker room.
He reminds his son, a Huskies' coach, that it's his last chance to offer pops a role on the team staff. The gum-toter's son reminds the gum-toter that this is the gum-toter's last chance to successfully board that cruise he and the other kids bought the gum-toter and their mother in order to get the gum-toter out of town.
But the coach's newly retired pops isn't having it, clutching play sheets and randomly clapping and pointing at things. As if in denial of their request, he spits his gum in a sheet detailing the Huskies backup play-calling hand signals, and folds it up in his pocket.
"Dad, what the hell?" the son asks.
"Gahhh... you don't need these. You only use them if the headsets go out, anyway," the older man responds.
See, even though both programs are in a new era – each with new coaches and having lost Top-10-pick quarterbacks, each undergoing massive personnel departures (both teams are among the bottom 3 to bottom 20 teams, nationally, in returning production, depending on whose measure you use), with Washington in a new conference and of the belief that it remains among college football's elite, with Michigan returning to its National Title-level of prominence and actually remaining amongst college football's elite – they're haunted today by familiar ghosts of the past.
One of the only similarities between this game and last year's National Championship is that Michigan's defense gets off to a strong start. A secondary anchored by safeties Rod Moore and Makari Paige, and arguably the best corner in the country, Will Johnson, is stifling anything that QB Will Rogers or RB Jonah Coleman are trying to get going. This effort offsets an unremarkable Michigan offensive performance that's led by a quarterback that most of CFB America still can't name. Michigan leads 13-7 at the end of the first half.
The slogfest forms the EKG rhythm of college football's most unlikely detente, its most unholy alliance between these "ghosts," these two previous foes.
The Commissioner
It all began when Khaki rooftop man received a call from 30-degree gum-toting man earlier in the week.
"Jim? Jim Harbaugh? Hi there, it's Pete Carroll."
"...hmm. I don't know..."
"You don't know if it's me? Or you don't know if you want to talk to me?"
"...Yeah."
"Listen, Jim, I know we've had our differences, but I want to put that behind us. I think we can help each other out."
"Well, what about?"
"Well, Jim, I'm cheesed that I didn't even get a callback for the Huskies' job. I mean, my kid is on staff! And as a consolation, they bring me in for a 'practice visit,' ask me to blow bubbles and blow my whistle. Like a goddamned zoo panda. Anyway, I say we show the Deep Purple a thing or two and help your alma mater win."
"I don't work for them anymore. I'm in the NFL, now."
Carroll was growing tired of the same aloof schtick from Harbaugh that had plagued their relationship for years, so he reminded him that Harbaugh did in fact have time – it was the Chargers' bye week this week. When Harbaugh still demurred, Carroll played the trump card: he knew Harbaugh had recently taken up radio communications as a hobby in his spare time and that, to stave off bye week boredom, he planned to undergo his next Aspergers-y thrill this coming weekend at Husky Stadium. Harbaugh finally came clean.
"Fine. But what's in it for you, Pete? I never trusted you. This has to be about more than avenging the slight of your child's employer."
"Nah! I just wanna razz 'em a bit. Tilt the scales a little bit for Michigan. Show U-Dub that Ole Fightin' Pete's still got it."
"This is about the shoes, isn't it?"
Harbaugh made it known that he was aware of Carroll's private, ugly and very expensive lawsuit with Sketchers Corporation. It wasn't just Washington that Carroll was sour about being turned down by – he claimed Sketchers promised him an endorsement deal, but they reneged on him at the last minute, going with the "more recognizable" Tony Romo and Howie Long instead.
Subsequent court filings from Sketchers' counsel referred to Carroll as "a third-rate pee-paw who was never a fit for our brand." Carroll rebutted by saying "the only thing that didn't fit about Sketchers was the shoes themselves" which he referred to in a press conference as, "the AOL of footwear." Sketchers counter-sued for defamation, and Carroll was getting hammered financially. He needed a check.
With both their mutual destruction and part-time employment with the Wolverines assured, the two embarked on an experiment in cheating the likes of which college football hadn't been seen in almost a season.
After climbing three utility ladders and setting off multiple alarms, Carroll joined Harbaugh atop the roof at the start of the second half. The wind has picked up, and is starting to present an issue.
Harbaugh, attending to the dials, silently offers Carroll a pair of headphones tuned to the UW coaches' radio frequency. Then he speaks into his own headset.
"I got Pete here with me, Sherrone."
The Commissioner
Chris Fowler and Kirk Herbstreit have not ascertained the two men directly above their booth on the roof, but they do notice Michigan coach Sherrone Moore using binoculars on the sideline to glance up in their general direction. Routinely, after successful Michigan defensive plays, he's seen giving a thumbs up to the roof.
The Wolverines seem to know what's coming from the Husky offense before the play even begins. It leads to a defensive touchdown on a forced fumble and punt return for a touchdown, and suddenly Michigan's put this thing in last year's Natty territory, leading 27-6.
Later in the third quarter on a Washington drive, Rogers is in the huddle when suddenly, everything coming from the sideline in his earpiece fizzles out.
The audio has become suspiciously jammed.
Harbaugh had innocently handed Carroll a ham-and-cheese, but upon discovering it had mayonnaise on it, Carroll disgustedly threw it aside. When he did, it knocked the receiver over and bumped a dial that emits more power. Now the UW frequency isn't tapped into – it's overloaded.
"Gad nabbit!" Harbaugh screams.
Sherrone makes the throat-cutting gesture. Get out of there, Jim Harbaugh. The jig is up. Then he looks up to the roof as if to say, "now what?"
"Pete, the hand-signals! Get the hand-signal sheets!! The ones I told you we needed to get in case we had to go Full Stallions."
Carroll pulls the sheets from the UW locker room out of his pocket and hands them over, while Harbaugh gets the equipment set up. The wind is really becoming a problem.
Carroll shouts over the growing gusts. "I told you to never go Full Stallions!"
"Is there gum in all these?! Oh my God I can't even unfold them. How much do you CHEW you sick freak? These are useless!"
UW coach Jedd Fisch immediately senses something's up, so he tries to communicate with Rogers with the backup hand signals. Rogers is clueless, though. He never studied up on today's hand signal sheet before the game. Hell, he hadn't even seen a sheet printed up. The only backup signals he knows are the ones he went over with that guy Remy at the start of the year. Weird dude. Looked like he was made of plastic or something.
Fisch frantically checks under his visor for his hand signal sheet, but instead it's just filled with talking points written in sharpie.
I have no interest in going anywhere.
I want to be part of Arizona for a long time.
I want to see if the Wildcats can get to that College Football Playoff next year.
"Damnit," Fisch sighs to himself, realizing he's holding his crib sheet visor from last off-season's interviews, not his hand-signal visor. He's left with no choice.
"Remy!" Fisch shouts.
It turns out the reports of a mere arm's length rapport between Fisch and Connor Stalions last season were not exaggerated, but in fact diminished.
One does not disappear from the college football landscape in scandal, get facial reconstructive surgery, shut down their middling vacuum cleaner repair business, change their name from Connor to Remy, and brave the technocrats of the Pacific Northwest, all to outrun a simple rapport. One does this instead out of a deep bond for another (Fisch) whom he follows blindly into war, and with whom he shares a mutual love of deception that would make the Trojans blush.
The Commissioner
A daisy chain of surveillance ensues. Remy, neé Stalions, is watching Sherrone who is watching Harbaugh and Carroll who are watching Fisch who is hand-signaling a decoy play for Rogers to run that Michigan is "in" on. Then, Remy secretly audibles his own play to Rogers, throwing off the Wolverines and subverting the actual Washington offensive coordinator, Carroll's son.
Remy, who no one knows to look for, is switching out to elaborate run sets based on his disguises. Visor, no shades. Shades only. Fake goatee and whistle. Whistle-hat. So on and so forth.
And suddenly, the Huskies are driving. Coleman, who also followed Fisch to Washington just like Remy did, marches the team downfield against drop coverage that's anticipating vertical throws, and finds the end zone on a simple counter play that goes 22 yards to end the third quarter. It's 27-13. Sherrone is shouting, "Jim! Come in Jim," with increasing frustration, but the line is still jammed.
The Huskies get the ball back again and this time Remy is cooking, vibing off of whatever Fisch is drawing up and signaling the opposite. Everyone's getting involved. Backup rushers Cam Davis and Sam Adams are gashing the d-line. Wideout Denzel Boston is getting space in out-routes. Bunch formations and triple-tight end sets are showing Michigan looks it hasn't seen since the Schembechler era. The Dawg Pack is electrified.
Soon, it's 27-20, Michigan, with 4 minutes left in the game.
The stadium is so loud that Michigan QB Alex Orji can't hear the calls coming in to his headset, which is working. The entire Wolverines team is rattled. A three-and-out gets Washington the ball back with just under 2 minutes to play.
Meanwhile, it is threatening to be a tempest up on the roof.
"This isn't right. They're not coming from Fisch anymore. They're getting the plays called in from somewhere else," Harbaugh shouts.
"We gotta get down from here!" Carroll yells. "Jim, this was a mistake!"
"Not yet! Don't abandon ship!"
"You turned me against my family!! I can't do this."
"Huh?! You came to me! You needed the money! This is why no one trusts you, Pete, this, right here!"
"Jim, look!"
Carroll is pointing down at Fisch. He's repeatedly mouthing "I love you," to Remy on the sideline.
"Who is that? Who is he talking to?"
Harbaugh grabs the binoculars. He spots Remy, who has just removed his glasses, goatee and visor. No amount of surgery can conceal this man's identity from Harbaugh, who knows his eyes, and the way they dart and slither in the direction of intrigue, the way that they probe for vulnerabilities like a cat burglar looking for anything that isn't tied down.
"THAT RAT!" Harbaugh screams.
And at that moment, the Gods themselves have had enough. The largest gust of the day lifts Harbaugh's vertical antennae, like an anorexic Christmas tree, straight up and over the edge of the cantilevered roof.
The fans see the sparks first, then the entire contraption flying through the air like Falcon Heavy.
No one on the Washington sideline sees it, though. It takes the paper airplane route downward, swirling in gyres of seafoam air. Remy and Fisch are in their most lustful sync yet, making unsettlingly deep eye contact with each other, propelling the offense down field one more time, hand-signaling opposite plays in tandem like the chorus in Grease.
Until the razor tip of antennae, now traveling parallel to the ground at a blinding speed, missiles straight at Remy and lances him through the chest.
"Connorr!!!! Noooo!!!" Fisch cries.
It's a clean blow, in one end and out the other. When authorities finally un-skewered him they were able to make out a curious insignia on the spine of the antennae reading, "Harbaugh Communications Corp."
A 90-minute delay renders a restart of the game almost moot. The players are lifeless. No one can identify the slain assistant in Washington's media guide. Confusion, panic and sadness reign.
Michigan bests the Huskies again for the second time in 9 months, but not without fatal consequences.
- Final Score: Michigan 27, Washington 20
- Fisch suspended the remainder of the season for harboring a known fugitive of NCAA justice
- Harbaugh cleared of murder charges, but fined by the FCC
- Carroll family physically forces Pete on a cruise, devises payment plan for his settlement costs
