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Rendering Impossible Meaningless

Sometimes, an outsider's perspective is best. I don't think anyone can truly appreciate Vince Young -quite- as much as we Texas fans do, but after reading this recent post about Young from a Michigan fan's perspective, I'm reminded that we did become, and probably still are, a little bit spoiled.

In this truly excellent and thoughtful post, Johnny writes about watching impossible disappear in Pasadena in 2005, then again in 2006. His appreciation for Vince is decidedly different from Texas fans', as you'd expect. I urge you to read the article in its entirety.

The whole post is worth reprinting, but he deserves your visit, so I'll just introduce you to one paragraph.

In a way, the more he did it the more confident I became, because the latest disabling of my hopes only meant Michigan was that much closer to finally figuring him out. I thought to myself, you roll a die with nine sides that say "yes" and one that says "no," every yes just meant a no was that much more imminent. He was supposed to be denied, solved, tackled, Vince was supposed to roll a no against Michigan. I knew probability, but the problem was I didn't know Vince Young. It turned out the only side he rolled was "yes", and it was the kind of yes that's about 101% certain to rip your guts through your chest and probably break a few ribs in the process. He never did anything discretely, never defeated you with a surgeon's care or premeditated diagram, and no one ever seemed to expect otherwise. But Michigan, Southern Cal - my damn ten-sided theoretical die - they still couldn't stop him. My uncle was there with me in Pasadena, and every time Vince would make a play he'd lean over to me, "Un-friggin-believable; how does he keep doing it?" he'd say. And I think that's really the best way to measure how good someone is at something, how often they redefine what you thought was impossible.