On this day, however, Schembechler's offense was positively rococo in comparison with the old master's. The Wolverines ran out of a variety of offensive formations, including the so-called pro set, and Franklin, a black quarterback who is as extraordinary a faker as he is an ordinary passer, threw 23 times, completing 13 for 160 yards. That constitutes an aerial circus in the conservative Big Ten these days. Franklin's Ohio State counterpart, Greg Hare, threw but three times, completing one to teammate Griffin and another to Michigan defender Randy Logan. The third was dropped. Hayes, who like Schembechler called every play, admitted that the intercepted pass was a bad choice. The pass just is not Woody; the past is, and, as he advises his young charges, those who ignore it "are condemned to repeat it."
When the game was almost over, the multitudes spilled onto the field, dismantling the "tear-away" goalposts specially erected for the game and milling among the combatants. There in the middle of them, shooing them off the premises, was the portly coach himself. Woody is no one to fool with, so the fans went back where they belonged. All this exertion on behalf of law and order cost Hayes a pulled leg muscle, the only serious injury in the game. What was he doing out there playing cop? Was he afraid someone would get hurt?
"There were six seconds left," he said, rubbing the gimpy leg. "I didn't want there to be any question about this game. I wanted to finish it. I wanted this game."
He managed to get that impression across to his players.