2B — April 17, 2017
SportsMonday
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

How my dream came true

M

y first walk started on
Sybil around 7 a.m.,
five hours before the

home opener
kicked off
two years
ago. Around
7:40 outside
the stadium,
a fan saw Jon
Jansen across
the street and
yelled, “How
ya doin’,
Johnny?” So
Jansen smiled and answered,
“Can’t wait for kickoff!”

“Me too,” the fan replied. “I

couldn’t wait for kickoff last
Monday.”

I couldn’t wait either. I

couldn’t wait when I was 6 years
old.

If I hadn’t seen anything on

that walk, I might never have
gone for another one. But I saw
everything I ever dreamed of
seeing: the sun creeping over
the scoreboard at Michigan
Stadium, the band warming up
in the dark at Elbel Field, the
Michigan legends walking the
streets.

Players and coaches often

describe moments in sports as
some variation of “the shot you
dream about when you’re playing
in the backyard as a kid.” Well,
this was my dream. On summer
days growing up, I’d research
the upcoming year’s Michigan
football team and project the
season. On walks to school, when
I could see my breath in the
cold air, I’d whisper to myself a
broadcast call of that weekend’s
game. One day a year, the best
day, my dad and I would make
the trek down to Ann Arbor and
spend the afternoon in the Big
House.

But the story starts much

earlier, with some late nights, a
house in Troy and a tired 6-year-
old. When I couldn’t sleep at

night, I’d go downstairs to see my
parents. My dad would tell me
to go back to bed and imagine I
was in the press box covering the
Michigan football team. I’d do
that and go right to sleep.

The last Michigan game I

attended with Dad, we sat near
the 20-yard line on the east side
of the stadium. Before we left, we
gazed across the field at the press
box, counting from the right to
try to figure out where the Daily
writers sat. We dreamed that I’d
one day sit there, too.

When that day came, I started

waking up early every Saturday
to walk around. Sometimes I’d
see a lot of stuff. Sometimes I’d
see old friends, or meet new
people. Sometimes I wouldn’t see
much at all. Sometimes I’d just
feel.

I exposed myself to a fair

amount of ribbing from friends.
Why, they wondered, did I set
my alarm and wake up before
sunrise on a Saturday to go …
walk? Sometimes for as long as
four hours? Nobody understood.
Really, it just felt right. All I’ve
wanted since I was a kid was to
be a part of this.

I’d visit the golf course and

watch kids throw footballs back
and forth. I’d stop and see Tom
grilling hot dogs at the tailgate
at Main and Pauline. I’d say hello
to Ruth and Rhonda, the elevator
operators in Levine Tower, and
wish them a happy game day.

I’d hear the band warming up

at Elbel. I’d soak in the energy
of State Street as kickoff neared
and the tailgaters awakened.
And the best view in town, in my
opinion, is from the bridge on
Stadium Boulevard, overlooking
Ocker Field, the football practice
facility and the rest of Ann Arbor
in the distance.

I’d start walking at dawn and

leave the press box at dusk, eager
not to miss a minute. Each walk
starts and ends at the same spot,

but in between there is only one
rule: You cannot rush. There is no
rushing a dream.

Once, in high school, I went

to see Lloyd Carr speak in my
hometown. I shook his hand
afterward, and he asked if I
was coming to Michigan. So I
told him I wanted to be a sports
writer, and he told me about a
great newspaper they have in
Ann Arbor called The Michigan
Daily. Then he signed a piece
of paper that’s still at home
somewhere: “Jake — See you at
Michigan,” he wrote, and then he
did, when I started working for
the newspaper he once told me
about.

Oh, yeah, I always stop there

on my walk, in the brick building
on Maynard Street with the

stained-glass windows and
wooden doors. When I first came
in during high school, it was love
at first sight if ever there was
such a thing. That day may have
changed my life more than any
other. The next morning, I woke
up at home, went across the hall
and told Mom and Dad, smiling
from ear to ear, “I’m going to be a
Wolverine.”

I first came to production

on the first Thursday night of
freshman year, and it was the
most magical thing I’d ever
seen. I didn’t ever want to leave.
So that became my college
experience — working five nights
a week, from 6 p.m. until “We
made a paper,” sharing a place
with people who loved what
I loved. We watched sports

and played chair monkey and
invented more newsroom games
and made papers. I laughed all
night with Max and Max, sent
our pages in a different language
each night, told Emma what was
new, answered Shoham’s bell
and waited all night with The
Thursday Night Crew. And I
learned this: As it turns out, the
best parts of a dream are the ones
you can’t even dream yet.

One day, of course, it was time

for my last walk. I made it my
best one, circling campus a few
times, watching the team get
off the bus outside the tunnel,
standing on the field until they
kicked me off. I came down from
the press box to watch the players
touch the banner, and again to
watch the band at halftime. I

watched the snow transform the
Big House into a wonderland.

After it was over, the last

stories published, we went down
to the field to enjoy the final
scene. We threw the football
around and made snow angels
and ran out of the tunnel. Then
I stuck around and sat in the
stands of Michigan Stadium, dark
and empty and beautiful.

I cried. I had lived my dream.

It was pitch-black by then, so
after a while I stood up, grabbed
my briefcase and started to walk.

It takes many people to make

a dream come true, and if you’re

reading this, you’re one of them.

Lourim thanks you for everything. He

can be reached at jlourim@umich.

edu and on Twitter @jakelourim.

Beginnings and endings

I

went through some old
emails today. Found one I
sent in June 2013.

I introduced myself and

said I was interested in joining
the sports
section
of The
Michigan
Daily. It
would be a
great way
to combine
my loves
for sports
and writing,
I wrote,
“while also
enhancing my on campus
[sic] experience.” I must have
thought that was a killer line
back then.

The truth was, the Daily’s

New Student Edition had just
arrived at my house, and I had
been thumbing through the
pages in my porch. I had seen
all the places the Daily had
sent writers — all the things
they had seen — and couldn’t
believe it. Someone from the
Daily was really there when
Trey Burke made ‘The Shot?’ It
sounded like the coolest job in
the world.

I fired off a shoddy email

with a couple of typos and
figured I would see what came
of it. I’m sure many others did
the same.

The first response came

from Zach, who was polite
enough not to mention my
typos. He told me there was no
interview process to join. If I
wanted to write, I could write.

Greg responded a few days

later. He told me I’d need
to submit a hair sample, my
social security number and my
facebook profile info. If he’s
reading this, I bet he’s still
laughing at that joke.

Anyway, he told me what the

process would be and that he’d
love to show me around during
orientation. I told him I’d be
sure to stop by as soon as I got
to campus. And then I didn’t.

It’s not that it took me

terribly long to join — I think
I still made it in by the end of
September — but, looking back,
I can’t believe I waited that
long.

I clearly wanted to be part

of the sports staff, but, for
whatever reason, I didn’t
actually nudge myself through
the door.

Having since had access to

that same sports editor email
account, I know how many
people send the same kind of
email before their freshmen
years. I know how many never
show up. I don’t fault them for
it.

I only feel bad that they

don’t even know what they’re
missing.

***

Sometime early this

semester, John said something
that caught me off guard. I
don’t remember where it came
from, I just remember the
unexpected weight of it: “All
beginnings are hard.”

I’m sure there was a relevant

reason for him saying that
particular sentence at that
particular moment, but I
wasn’t paying very close
attention. Instead, I was
thinking about all my botched
beginnings.

I remember my first State

News practice, when I hurled
some irrelevant dig at Jake
and he responded with the
verbal embodiment of a second
chance: “What did you say?”

He’s now one of my best

friends in the world.

I remember my first date

with Allison, the panic attack,
and the certainty that there
wouldn’t be a second.

I wrote parts of this column

on the way home from visiting
her in Cleveland, two years later.

I remember my first ever

sportswriting internship, where
I knocked a plate out of Roy
Williams’ hand, botched a bunch
of names and got my stories torn

to pieces by a grizzled editor.
(There’s no present comparison
here. I just sucked.)

In that moment in John’s

classroom, I just sort of
nodded back at him, searching
my mind for an exception
to his rule but finding only
confirmation.

Those emails with Greg and

Zach never came to mind, but,
looking at them today, they too
were part of a rocky beginning.
So was the fact that it took me
months to follow up on them.

But what Greg and Zach

never mentioned in their
emails was how the Daily
would change my life — how

Max, Alexa, Alejandro and I
would chase Jim Harbaugh’s
car from a private hangar to
the Detroit Metro Airport;
how my roommate and I would
tape every article we wrote
our freshman year to our dorm
wall; how I would stay up all
night waiting for the paper to
be delivered one night; how,
before I knew it, all of this
would be over.

***

I put off writing this as long

as I could because I couldn’t
convince myself to start. The
beginning of this column
would be, quite literally, the
beginning of the end.

Nothing seemed like the

right topic. No one idea seemed
worthy of being the last thing
I said in a newspaper that has
meant the world to me.

Somehow, I got it in my head

that I should look for that email
I sent four years ago. It was a
good reminder that the end of
my Daily career doesn’t need to
be magnificent and special; the
beginning wasn’t, either.

What really mattered was

in the middle: broomball;
El Azteco; chair monkey;
medieval baseball; Thursday
nights; free press food; those
12 Big Ten cities; those nights
in Chicago; all of the people
who were there for all of it.

Right now, I’m watching

Kevin give edits to a kid who
is writing his first story. I have
no idea whether he will ever
come back — whether this is
his last story, too, or whether
it’s only the beginning. I don’t
know whether he’s going to
experience all these feelings
and places and people who
make this place so special.

But he walked in the door,

and he started. Sometimes,
that’s the hardest part.

Bultman will be pretty bored

starting now. He wants to

thank you for reading all these

years, and you can email him

at bultmanm@umich.edu or

tweet at him @m_bultman.

SPORTSMONDAY COLUMN

COURTESY OF JAKE LOURIM

Former Managing Sports Editor Jake Lourim has always been fascinated with the Michigan football team, and the Daily fulfilled his dream of covering the team.

JAKE
LOURIM

SPORTSMONDAY COLUMN

MAX
BULTMAN

COURTESY OF MAX BULTMAN

Former Managing Sports Editor Max Bultman began his career at The Michigan Daily with an email in June 2013, and since then, it has become a lot more.