Dear Jim Harbaugh,
First, thanks for moving on from that whole "I sort of implied I was in your house" thing. I was not, because I require food at a rate you would almost certainly notice if it were stolen from your refrigerator and you were in California at the time and that is far.
Today is my birthday. I am 28 years old.
And I have one simple request.
Please make college football not terrible for me on a personal level.
I am completely serious.
You can be a complete maniac.
Throw a tractor at a wall.
Put a cow through law school.
Go to Cracker Barrel by yourself.
I don't care.
I know you're a weird dude.
I don't want to be friends with you. I don't want to have you at my house to meet my wife, mostly because I think you'd scare her a little with the staring and the fact that we'd get into a 3-hour argument about how effective an offense based purely on pass interference would be (hint: VERY) and I'd throw you out of the house ne'er to darken my door again.
Things would get so awkward for us. So awkward.
I don't even mind if you do things that make no sense within the realm of football, like putting 11 tight ends on the field at once or using two quarterbacks at the same time. No, not the Wildcat. Weirder. Multiple footballs at once. Dueling footballs. Like the Lipizzaner horses, just put a bunch of quarterbacks on top of one another in various formations. Get weird, Jim. Get "Eraserhead" weird.
I got married this year, Jim.
My wife is excellent and amazing, better than football or Thin Mints or that episode of Reading Rainbow where LeVar Burton visits the Starship Enterprise which I can't find online but I promise it's awesome.
I am a reasonable married person, with a job and things to do.
And all I ask is that you make Michigan football something fun.
Do you remember "fun," Jim?
I'm sure you don't, because you're Jim Harbaugh.
But there once was this time when we just beat teams we were supposed to beat, and sometimes teams we weren't supposed to beat, and everyone was happy, except for Purdue.
I liked that time, Jim.
I never thought "this is why whales beach themselves" during that time.
I never wondered "can this kill me, and if so, would I be okay with giving up my life to this whirling horrorshow?"
And that worked for me!
Traditions work for a reason, and a tradition of not being terrible was good for my ability to breathe during football games.
Let's just not be terrible, okay, Jim? Not terrible.
Passable would be good.
I'll even take tolerable.
Good luck tonight, Jim. We worked very hard and yelled at a lot of NFL beat reporters for you, so, uh, please be good at your job.