Why Ohio State’s Deep Hatred for Michigan Is More Than Tradition—It’s Identity, Culture, and an Obsession That Defines the Rivalry
“They take this thing too seriously. The team up north. We won’t say Michigan, and crossing out the M’s on campus,” ESPN’s Dan Wetzel said, almost half-laughing as he described what to many on the outside looks like over-the-top fandom. But to anyone who has ever worn scarlet and gray, coached a practice at the Woody Hayes Athletic Center, or attended classes in Columbus during rivalry week, there’s nothing funny about it. There’s no irony. No exaggeration. The hate is real. The rituals are personal. The entire university leans into its obsession with one opponent — and proudly so.
For Ohio State, the rivalry with Michigan is not just a game. It’s not a regional tradition that gets dusted off every November. It’s an all-consuming, year-round, fully embedded part of the program’s DNA. It’s in the way players lift in the offseason with “Beat Michigan” signs overhead. It’s in the countdown clocks inside the facility, which tick away the seconds until kickoff in The Game. It’s in the way coaches refer to the Wolverines only as “the team up north.” And yes, it’s in the big red X’s that students draw through every “M” on campus during rivalry week.
To outsiders like Wetzel, that kind of dedication might seem excessive. But inside Ohio State’s walls, it’s considered the bare minimum. Because when it comes to Michigan, there is no in-between. You’re either obsessed, or you’re losing ground. And losing to Michigan — even once — is enough to taint an entire season. Losing three times in a row, as Ohio State did from 2021 to 2023, can tilt the entire trajectory of the program.
The rivalry, often simply called “The Game,” isn’t just the biggest date on Ohio State’s calendar — it’s the only date that truly matters. Championships are expected. Bowl wins are welcomed. But if you don’t beat Michigan, none of it feels complete. That sentiment goes back generations, long before ESPN, the internet, or the College Football Playoff. Woody Hayes built an entire coaching philosophy around defeating Michigan. His protégé, Earle Bruce, carried it forward. Jim Tressel famously declared that fans would be “proud of our young people in the classroom, in the community, and most especially in 310 days in Ann Arbor.” Urban Meyer continued the warpath, going 7–0 against the Wolverines.
Ryan Day inherited those expectations. And while he started strong — winning his first matchup in 2019 in dominant fashion — the losses from 2021 to 2023 changed everything. They reshaped how Day was viewed by fans and alumni. They sparked questions about toughness, identity, and whether Ohio State had lost its edge in the rivalry that defined its existence. Even as Day led the Buckeyes to a national championship in 2024, the taste of revenge in Ann Arbor last fall was as sweet as the trophy that followed.
That’s how deep this thing runs. That’s how much it means. It’s not just a t-shirt slogan or a gameday chant. It’s psychological warfare. It’s personal.
And yes, that includes the M’s. Every November, Ohio State students — with the unofficial approval of university culture — take Sharpies, duct tape, or red paint to every visible “M” on signs across campus. McPherson Lab becomes “cPherson.” Thompson Library is “Thopson.” It’s petty. It’s juvenile. It’s glorious. Because it’s part of the ritual. It’s part of what unites generations of Buckeyes who all understand that the hatred is not casual — it’s cultivated.
For the players, that mentality is drilled in from the moment they arrive. Ask any former Buckeye, and they’ll tell you that preparing for Michigan isn’t a one-week exercise. It’s every week. There’s a portion of every practice, no matter the opponent, devoted to “Michigan Period” — a set of reps or drills aimed specifically at sharpening the edge for the final Saturday in November. It’s Day’s way of keeping the game front and center at all times.
That’s not just about tradition. It’s about ensuring that no one loses sight of the program’s standard. Because in a sport where teams play 12 games in the regular season, often facing vastly different opponents with vastly different schemes, the Michigan game is the one constant. It’s the measuring stick. It’s the test that truly matters. Beat Michigan, and the rest often falls into place. Lose, and the entire season gets reframed, no matter what else happens.
Some fans and media figures think the intensity has gone too far. That it’s unhealthy. That crossing out M’s or refusing to say “Michigan” reflects poor sportsmanship. But that perspective misses the point entirely. The rivalry isn’t about politeness. It’s not about decorum. It’s about dominance. It’s about psychological edge. It’s about doing whatever it takes to win the most important game of the year.
Wetzel’s commentary reflects a certain detachment — a view from the press box, where rivalries are observed but not lived. For him and others who cover the sport, the pageantry is colorful and quirky. But for Ohio State fans, players, and coaches, it’s not a pageant. It’s a war. A symbolic one, yes, but one that holds real weight in terms of identity, history, and legacy.
That’s why the three-year losing streak from 2021 to 2023 stung so deeply. It wasn’t just that Ohio State lost. It was how they lost — looking out-toughed, out-schemed, and, perhaps most painfully, out-prepared. It raised existential questions within the program. Had the Buckeyes become too finesse-oriented? Had they lost the chip on their shoulder that fueled decades of dominance? Were they still the bullies of the Big Ten, or had Michigan stolen their swagger?
The response in 2024 was emphatic. Ohio State went into Ann Arbor and imposed their will. The defense suffocated Michigan’s offense. The offensive line controlled the line of scrimmage. And Ryan Day — criticized endlessly for his previous shortcomings in The Game — coached with a fire and focus that reminded everyone exactly why he was hired. It wasn’t just a win. It was a course correction. A reassertion of dominance. A reminder that Ohio State doesn’t just care about beating Michigan — they live for it.
And that brings us back to the symbols. The red X’s. The refusal to speak the school’s name. The obsessive focus. They’re not signs of insecurity. They’re signs of devotion. Of unity. Of a program that understands exactly what’s at stake. Ohio State doesn’t hate Michigan because it’s fashionable. They hate Michigan because it’s necessary. Because to beat your rival, you have to want it more. You have to live it, breathe it, internalize it.
This year, with The Game returning to Columbus, the energy is already building. Students are waiting for their moment. Coaches are laying the groundwork. And players — especially veterans who felt the sting of 2021 and 2022 — know that every practice, every lift, and every film session between now and November will feed into that singular moment.
Dan Wetzel and others are welcome to roll their eyes. To them, the rituals might seem strange. But to Ohio State, they are sacred. Because when you’ve built a program around a single opponent — when your greatest triumphs and deepest pains all flow through one annual showdown — taking it “too seriously” isn’t a flaw. It’s the foundation.
Call it obsession. Call it hatred. Call it whatever you want. At Ohio State, it’s just called The Game. And around here, that’s all that matters.
