People often ask where my intense, emotional hatred of Michigan comes from. Why when someone mentions the New England Patriots, I curse them and their “Michigan quarterback.” Why I proudly sport my “Ann Arbor is a Whore” T-shirt year-round and a button that says “Bomb Ann Arbor Now.”

I guess it all stems from my upbringing. I grew up in Northwood, Ohio, which borders the east side of Toledo. For those of you unfamiliar with Ohio geography, this is as close to the trenches as it gets. In the time it takes a person to walk from Siebert to Scott Hall on campus, you can drive from my house and cross the border into lawlessness.

Growing up in such a volatile region polarizes most people, and I was no exception. I watched the Toledo Blade struggle to be non-biased in its coverage of the annual game. Despite its location in Ohio, close proximity to Michigan forces the Toledo area to be aware of news from the southeastern section of Michigan.

Michigan and Ohio State fans are forced to coexist in northwestern Ohio. This was a reality growing up. We have “Buckeye and Wolverine” stores that sell merchandise from both schools, with a line drawn down the center of the store. Can you imagine walking into a store like this in any other part of the world?

But the fact is, for whatever reason, more Toledoans supported the hated Wolverines than the mighty Buckeyes. Don’t try to point out the fact that they live in Ohio: Your argument will fall on deaf ears.

How pro-Michigan is the area? Again, I go back to my childhood. I recall playing football during recess in elementary school on the Friday before The Game. The playground divided into teams depending on who we rooted for. As I lined up as a wideout, I surveyed the field and was aghast: There were at least five Wolverines for every Buckeye. What state was I living in?

As I got to middle school, the theme continued. Again, on the Friday before the big game, students were encouraged to wear clothing in support of their favorite team. Before the showdown in 1995, I exited the cafeteria and found myself swimming upstream in a sea of maize and blue.

The end result? The other OSU fan and I were thrown into the girl’s bathroom by the mob of angry Michigan fans. This is not as cool as it sounds when you have to explain to an angry teacher that you were late to class because you were … in the girl’s bathroom.

Flash forward to my college years. My freshman year I took the icy plunge into Mirror Lake with an intrepid group of 50 others and watched a young Craig Krenzel lead us to victory in Jim Tressel’s first season. While I had always been passionate about the rivalry, now I was surrounded with peers who felt exactly the same way.

As soon as I hit those murky waters, I was born again as a pure, unadulterated OSU fan.

I was on hand for the 2002 season and the thrilling 14-9 triumph that secured a Buckeye trip to the Fiesta Bowl. In fact, I painted my chest and went shirtless to that game after sleeping three hours the night before.

What does it mean to be a Buckeye during Beat Michigan Week? It means marching out “Script Ohio” in your residence hall room at 3 a.m. because you can’t sleep and instead treat the night like Christmas Eve.

Then there was last season’s game in Ann Arbor. Loaded with flags and faith in our team, a half-dozen friends and I made the trip into enemy territory. Before the game even started I was involved in two fights – two more than the previous 20 years of my life, combined – and had been spit on numerous times.

Undeterred, we took our seats in the heart of the Michigan student section, the lion’s den. We paid the price for our spirit that day, physically and mentally. As I watched the Wolverines defeat the Buckeyes and clinch the Big Ten title, I was consistently punched in the lower back all game long. My friends had blue paint thrown on them. We were hit with all kinds of change and shrapnel.

But there was one clear moment when it was worth it. Despite trailing for the entire game, OSU pulled within one touchdown when a John Navarre pass was intercepted by Chris Gamble at midfield halfway through the third quarter.

The response of the largest crowd ever assembled to watch a sporting event? Dead silence. And renewed punches to my back.

We may have lost, but I survived being the ire of 112,000 people for an entire day. So sing along with me: “Oh, we don’t give a damn for the whole state of Michigan…”