As I hoped to convey in Hitless Wonder, Watershed’s long career in the minors has given us a million little gifts–and a million little ass kickings. The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, and the instances so hilarious and weird that the rock and roll gods were surely just f*cking with us. But the book completely overlooks one series of events that combined all of that victory, defeat, and weirdness into a lightning storm of awesomeness: The Story of the Dead Schembechlers.
The first few drafts of Hitless Wonder included a chapter devoted to the Schembechlers, but as the manuscript evolved, I axed those pages, mostly because it’s such a bizarre tale, it threatened to blow the rest of the book off the stage. Now, as we find ourselves in the week leading up to the Ohio State/Michigan game (a.k.a. Hate Week), I’m tempted to just print the missing chapter in its entirety right here. Wholesale. But somehow that kind of straightforward treatment wouldn’t do justice to the Schembechlers, a band whose entire career has been shrouded in secrecy and conspiracy. Instead, should you care to investigate this curious case, I’m going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow. Know this: The truth is slippery. Accounts contradict each other. And the real history of this band is subject to disagreement, even among the members themselves. But fear not, intrepid scrutineer. Those who assemble the puzzle shall be rewarded in football Valhalla. Woody be Praised.
Start your quest HERE.
Then proceed HERE.
Then HERE.
And HERE.
HERE.
And, finally, HERE.
Woodyspeed, sons and daughters.
JOE OESTREICH 