<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
9602030414
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
961031
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Thursday, October 31, 1996
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1C
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1996, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
RUNNERS LEARN RIVALRY IS FIERCE AS ONES BACK HOME
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
You would never think -- with all these folks running around during
Michigan-Michigan State week, wearing blue or green clothes, yelling blue or
green insults -- that anyone could wander this landscape  saying, "What's the
big deal?"

  Especially not the running backs on each team.

  But we forget something. Not all these players were born here. Some of them
come from . . . (gasp!) somewhere else!
  Chris Howard comes from Louisiana. He is a star running back for Michigan,
a junior. But in his freshman year, he played on special teams. And he
remembers running downfield on a kickoff during his  first U-M/MSU showdown.
No big deal, he thought. Just another opponent. And then he looked over at a
teammate alongside him, Chris Floyd, who comes from around here, Detroit's
Cooley High.
  "Chris  was running like a crazed man," Howard recalls. "He was out of
control. He wanted to take on the whole wedge! I was like, OK, you take on the
wedge, I'll make the tackle."
  He laughs. "That's when  I figured out this game means a whole lot more to
certain people."
  Right. Sedrick Irvin is also finding that out. Irvin is the sensational
freshman running back for State. He is from Miami. He has  never witnessed a
Wolverines-Spartans tilt. Blue and green are just colors to him.
  But he's learning fast.
  The other day, Irvin made an offhand comment to a reporter. He said
something like,  "Playing Michigan is no different than playing Eastern
Michigan." It was interpreted as an insult.
  "Guys at practice the next day were saying, 'Dang, Sedric, how could you
say that?' " Irvin says.  "Then Brian Mosallam (who grew up in Dearborn) came
over and started explaining what this game meant, and you could see it in his
eyes. The burning desire. It looked like he was ready to cry. It was like
someone had just killed someone in his family or something. 
  "I could tell. He would play this game if his leg was broken. He'd play
this game for seven days straight. I mean, these guys really  want to win
this, don't they?" 
  Like I said, he's learning fast.
Fridays to remember  Of course, anyone who has played football has been part
of some rivalry. Whether it's the preppie crosstown  high school or the big
college with its fancy stadium or the high-spending, professional team with
its superstars wearing sunglasses -- there are always games in which one team
feels overdue and the  other feels entitled. Red-letter games. Games of the
heart.
  For Howard, it might not have been Michigan-Michigan State, but it sure was
John Curtis High vs. St. Augustine  in New Orleans, once a  year. These
rivals would open their seasons against each other, on a Friday night, in the
sweltering  heat. The game was played in a huge stadium. It was televised.
  In his senior season, Howard  was the star of his team. Supposedly, the
enemy St. Augustine players hung his jersey over the tackling dummies during
the week. But Howard had the last laugh. His team won again.
  "We got to brag  for a year," he says.
  For Irvin, who went to Miami High, the rival was Killian. Last game of the
year. It, too, was played on the sweaty fringes of a Friday night, in downtown
Miami. In a big stadium. Maybe 16,000 fans.
  "It was the type of game that if you had to go to work, you made sure you
were off by 7:30 that night," Irvin recalls. "If you played for another high
school, you made up an illness  so you could miss that game and come to ours.
That's how big it was."
  And of course, Irvin's team won.
  "All three years," he crows.
  See? This rivalry thing comes naturally.
Who'll control  ground?  What is a little less natural is a
Michigan-Michigan State game where running backs aren't front and center, the
story of the showdown. In the last decade, the Wolverines have entered this
ring with heavyweights such as Leroy Hoard, Jamie Morris, Tyrone Wheatley and
Tshimanga Biakabutuka, and the Spartans  with Lorenzo White, Blake Ezor, Tico
Duckett and Duane Goulbourne. 
  This year,  the focus is more on the quarterbacks, or the defenses, or the
receivers. But make no mistake. The team that runs the ball better will have
the advantage. And Howard and Irvin are looking to put their  marks on this
whole Wolverine- Spartan thing.
  "I may not be able to work up the hatred that some of the guys have in this
game," says Howard. "You know, I didn't grow up here, I don't have a lot of
guys I went to school with on the other team. But once you see your teammates
involved, you can't help it." 
  "I can get into it like everybody else," says Irvin. "I'm hyped."
  College football.  They come and go. White went to play for the Houston
Oilers, Wheatley went to the Giants, Morris, Ezor, Biakabutuka, all left to
play for the NFL. For the fans, this showdown is a yearly occurrence,  like
the leaves falling, like the holidays, an annual boiling of the blood, a
circle on the calendar.
  But for the players it is, at most, a four-time thing. And some arrive here
without a clue as  to what it all means. 
  That's OK. Before they are gone, the blues and the greens have bled into
their skin and embedded under it. If you look closely at Howard and Irvin, two
out-of-town running  backs, you can see the colors taking hold already.
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<DISCLAIMER>
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN; FOOTBALL; MSU; U-M
</KEYWORDS>
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