"We all dream of being a child again, even the worst of us. Perhaps the worst most of all."

"I haven't read the magazines, but it doesn't matter. They're not here, they're not seeing what we're going through. I can guarantee you we're working harder than anyone in the country, I can guarantee you that. ... Whatever they're writing in the magazines, we're not hearing it."

- Terrance Taylor

Until Justin Feagin proves otherwise, Terrance Taylor is my favorite player on the University of Michigan football team. By now, he is exhausted, audacious, impatient, and, quite frankly, tired of all the bullshit. He's rambunctious and impulsive, yet direct and powerful, and his half-opened eyes and placid tone of voice convey a kind of deeper anguish.

Rumors of grade problems have followed him his entire career, and he struggled more than most of the team adapting to the new conditioning program. At one point after his junior year he seriously considered entering the draft, only to return and be relegated to the second-team for most of the spring. He has been a reminder that no one is preordained anymore. Terrance, Charles Stewart, Kevin Grady, and Morgan Trent are the last remnants of a Team, a Style, and a way of life that have become a distant memory. At least for now, these are not displaced superstars searching for where they belong, where they came from, but mortals the world might briefly stand and cheer for.

They were waiting to be anointed, almost icons. But for the holdovers of the Carr Era, there is only a brutal struggle for survival, and an orchestra there to play indifferently even before they've had a chance to begin their acceptance speech.