Nancy Eubanks’s job isn’t
one that lends itself to social
distancing. She’s the catering
director
for
Zingerman’s
Delicatessen, a job that like so
many in Ann Arbor, is made
possible by large groups of
people. Especially every other
Saturday in the fall.
Eubanks
has
a
routine
on
those
Saturdays.
She
wakes up to the sound of the
400-member marching band
practicing at Elbel Field, a few
blocks away from her house.
She traverses her way through
throngs of tailgaters to the
deli, where dozens of workers
prepare upwards of 2,000
sandwiches, just for catering.
Then she goes out to deliver
those sandwiches to tailgates,
some of them with hundreds
of fans, all preparing to watch
a football game with 110,000
more.
It’s a routine that makes the
deli $250,000 in an average
season. It’s also a coronavirus
nightmare, which is why it
won’t be happening this fall.
That’s a decision Eubanks
understands. She wants Ann
Arbor to stay safe and knows
that desire is incompatible
with football.
But for Zingerman’s, and
countless
other
businesses
in the region, the financial
impact
is
catastrophic.
According to a 2015 economic
impact
report
performed
by the Anderson Economic
Group, the average Michigan
football season brings roughly
$82 million into the Ann Arbor
economy.
And while that’s only 0.16
percent of the Ann Arbor
GDP,
according
to
Stefan
Szymanski, a professor of
economics at the University,
it’s concentrated in a handful
of
industries.
The
overall
economy,
Szymanski
says,
is propped up by big money
makers,
like
University
tuition, the medical center
and major technological and
manufacturing
companies.
Those revenue streams won’t
be affected much, if at all, by a
lack of football season.
For others, though — think
hotels, restaurants and apparel
shops — it’s an unmitigated
disaster.
“A lot of these businesses are
facing absolutely catastrophic
financial
situations
and
many of these businesses are
likely to go bust,” Szymanski
said. “In the long term, these
businesses or other businesses
will return to these locations
once the crisis is over. So we’ll
come out of this one day. But
that’s not much consolation if
your life savings are tied up in
a business that’s going down
the tubes now.”
And that’s where the real
problem lies for Ann Arbor.
The pandemic, now in its sixth
month, has already brought
a “pain point” Diane Keller
has not seen in her 18 years
as the president of the Ann
Arbor/Ypsilanti Chamber of
Commerce. Now, for many
local businesses — and their
workers — the loss of football
serves as a calamitous cherry
on top.
“It’s going to be devastating,”
Keller said, letting out a deep
sigh. “And the thing is it’s
going to affect certain levels
and some types of businesses
more than others.”
Rishi Narayan owns one
of those businesses. When
he co-founded Underground
Printing
in
2001,
it
was
exclusively a custom printing
venture. And while that’s still
its biggest revenue stream, the
chain relies on college towns
more than most.
Of Underground Printing’s
24 brick-and-mortar stores, 21
are in towns with FBS football
teams, including every Big Ten
city except Columbus — out
of principle. In Ann Arbor, its
downtown location shuttered
over half its floor space last
year when a new MDen moved
in next door. Now, the future
of its remaining locations is
in peril. Five months after
originally
shutting
down,
those locations have yet to
resume full hours — a move
that
will
be
indefinitely
delayed by lack of a football
season.
“On a face level, you would
say, there’s (these) sales from
gamedays,” Narayan said. “But
on a much more macro level,
there’s an overall economy
that’s spurred from football.
It’s the local businesses that
are gearing up and those
businesses are customers of
ours.
“…Maybe one day, we’ll look
back and try to quantify it. But
it is unquantifiable.”
The impact for Underground
Printing is such that football
season rose to the forefront
of Narayan’s concerns back
in April, as soon as it became
apparent the pandemic wasn’t
going to end anytime soon. For
a while, he found comfort in
the belief that there would be
a season, even without fans.
While that would have done
little for the brick-and-mortar
locations, custom printing still
sees a boost during football
season.
Now,
like
Eubanks
and
so many others, he’s left
scrambling again.
“Things
are
constantly
changing,”
Narayan
said.
“… It’s really hard to make
committed plans. So for a
lot of businesses in the area,
it’s all about having variable
plans and plans that can flex
pretty easily or having a lot of
iterations of plans. Everyone’s
got their own strategy.”
On
a
larger
scale,
the
persistent uncertainty terrifies
Keller. Back in March, she
says, each business concocted
its own plan to stay afloat. But
as the pandemic mows down
each window of economic
activity in its path — first
graduation, then summer, now
football season — those plans
have
become
increasingly
untenable.
“Every business is different
and I don’t know how all
businesses are going to be able
to pivot,” Keller said. “And
so that’s why I’m worried
that we’re going to lose, or
that we have lost, businesses
that have been mainstays of
our community that may not
be able to make it through
depending
on
how
much
longer this pandemic lasts.”
With football’s cancelation
comes the added devastation of
lost tourism dollars. According
to the AEG economic impact
report, 87 percent of ticket
holders at Michigan games
come from outside Washtenaw
County. And each dollar those
visitors spend, Keller says,
recirculates through the local
economy 17 times.
The effect of lost tourism is
especially profound at hotels,
such as Weber’s Boutique.
Almost every night, hotels like
Weber’s offer their rooms at
steeply discounted rates. Those
nights keep Weber’s afloat.
Football weekends — complete
with packed rooms, a Saturday
tailgate and a pregame brunch
buffet — are what have helped
Weber’s thrive for 83 years.
“If football came, it’d be
great, we could start making
money again,” Michael Weber,
the company’s vice president,
said. “But right now, we’re
planning for the worst and
just trying to stay afloat with
all the regulations and lower
demand that’s in place,”
Weber, though, is among
those who greeted the Big Ten’s
decision to cancel fall sports
with a glimmer of optimism.
Football season without fans,
he says, would have provided
minimal benefit to the hotel.
Now, he can hold out some
hope, however faint it is.
And maybe, just maybe,
come March, Nancy Eubanks
can hop in her truck across
town, 2,000 sandwiches in
tow, and make Ann Arbor
smile again.
18 — Monday, August 31, 2020
Sports
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
‘It’s going to be devastating’:
In Ann Arbor, businesses stare down a fall without football
ALLISON ENGKVIST/Daily
Zingerman’s Delicatessen is expecting to lose $250,000 in catering revenue without football season.
THEO MACKIE
Managing Sports Editor
T
here’s this
moment I can’t get
out of my head.
I haven’t been
able to for five months — not
since mid-
March, when
COVID-19
shut down
college
sports.
It’s
Duncan
Robinson,
and he’s
standing in
the far cor-
ner, poised
behind the 3-point line. There’s
a little over two minutes left
and Michigan, in a packed
maize and blue Staples Center,
is close — so close — to the
Final Four. From where I’m sit-
ting, up in the auxiliary press
box, up near the ceiling, you
can see Robinson’s defender
leave him, the ball come to him
and then float towards the net.
All those fans down there in
maize and blue, they lose their
collective minds. Robinson
turns to the bench and yells.
The game is all but over, and
that weird, improbable run is
going to go for another week on
the sport’s biggest stage.
In that singular moment
back in March of 2018, it feels
like the whole world is coalesc-
ing around Michigan basket-
ball and every character on
that team, Duncan Robinson
chief among them.
That singular moment, it’s
why we love sports.
Robinson’s story has been
told again and again. You’ve
almost certainly heard it
before, but as a quick reminder
we’ll rehash it here. Robinson
started his college career play-
ing Division III ball at Wil-
liams College. He transferred
to Michigan and, after sitting
a year, worked his way into
the rotation as a 3-point spe-
cialist. In his senior year, he
struggled and got replaced by
Isaiah Livers, then a freshman,
in Michigan’s starting lineup.
He came off the bench the rest
of the year, found a key role on
a team that went to the Final
Four, and it seemed likely that
the story would end there. Out
of college, he signed a two-way
contract with
the Miami Heat
and seemed con-
signed to basket-
ball purgatory.
Then he started
hitting threes
for them, too
and now he’s in
the NBA bubble,
playing a key role
on a playoff team.
When his con-
tract is up, he’s
going to make a ton of money.
That’s cool as hell.
I’m not telling you this
because you didn’t already
know — this is probably the
100th time you’ve heard Rob-
inson’s story. I’m talking about
this now for the same reason I
can’t get that snapshot out of
my head:
When I think
about why it’s a
shame the Big
Ten postponed
fall sports, I
think about
Duncan Rob-
inson.
Hold on a
minute. Don’t
laugh. I know
Duncan Rob-
inson plays a
winter sport.
I understand there’s bet-
ter reasons to have sports or
not, there’s more at play here
than one guy’s human inter-
est story. Playing sports right
now might not be the smartest
thing. Having students back on
campus — especially if, like a
lot of schools, your coronavirus
mitigation plan amounts to a
shoulder shrug
and an eye roll
— might not
end well.
The Big
Ten’s decision
puts moral and
public health
obligations
over financial
gains and,
all told, it’s
the right call.
The U.S. has
done a terrible job at fighting
the coronavirus. We’re reap-
ing what we sowed, but that
doesn’t mean we can’t lament
it. So let’s get back to Duncan
Robinson and all the other
stories that make sports worth
watching.
Remember when Jordan
Poole hit the shot? If you’re
this far into this
story, you prob-
ably remember
where you were
sitting and who
you were with.
I’ll never forget
talking with
Duncan Robin-
son after Jordan
Poole hit the
shot.
Robinson had
fouled out of the
game. He thought it’d be his
last college game, thought he’d
been partially responsible for
a crushing loss. The look on
his face, the tone in his voice
when he spoke in the locker
room. That was something to
remember.
“I don’t think I’ve ever cried
tears of joy,” Robinson said
that night. “But I was damn
close.”
Forget, for a minute, about
the fact that Robinson is now
an NBA player with an NBA
career and all the amenities
that come with it. Because
right then, he was a college kid
and the best thing he’d ever
been involved in had just got-
ten improbably extended for
another week.
Now think about all the
athletes at Michigan (and
elsewhere), all with their own
stories and hours of work and
breakthroughs to get to where
they are, and what they all
must have been on Tuesday
when the announcement came
down.
Think about Nick Blanken-
burg, a junior defenseman on
the hockey team who plays
every game for his grandfa-
ther, and Nick Granowicz, his
teammate, who’s playing for
his mom. Think about Moham-
med Zakyi and Omar Farouk
Osman, who started their soc-
cer careers playing with paper
bags and folded clothes, and
now likely won’t have their
senior years. Think about
Paige Jones and all the people
in New Bremen, Ohio watch-
ing her play volleyball for
Michigan. Think about Maddie
Nolan working her way back
from a microfracture to play
basketball for Michigan.
Think about what they’re
feeling now, after their fall sea-
sons got canceled. Those that
play in the winter can’t be feel-
ing good about their chances of
having a season either.
The Big Ten made the right
decision. But as long as we can
acknowledge that, let’s also
take a minute to appreciate all
the stories, all the players, all
the games and everything else
we won’t get to have this year,
because it’s all improbable, and
at any moment it could all be
over. Now, more than ever.
The stories we’ll miss without a fall season
ETHAN
SEARS
ALEC COHEN/Daily
Without fall sports, we will miss out on the stories that sports bring, such as tight end Nick Eubanks playing in memory of his late mother.
We’re reaping
what we sowed,
but that doesn’t
mean we can’t
lament it.
Think about all
the athletes at
Michigan
(and elsewhere),
all with their
own stories.