The Phantom Town of ‘Beatosu’ and the Blurred Lines of the Ohio State-Michigan Rivalry
A search for a decades-old prank reveals a fascinating microcosm of the intense, yet sometimes surprisingly neighborly, dynamic between fans of two college football powerhouses.
The Ohio State-Michigan rivalry is often described as a chasm, a divide with no middle ground. The state line, for many, carves out two distinct territories, fiercely loyal to either the Buckeyes or the Wolverines. But venture toward that boundary, and a different perspective emerges – a strip of land where allegiances blur and coexistence, however uneasy, is possible. This exploration delves into that borderland, uncovering a forgotten prank and the communities where maize and blue and scarlet and gray collide.
A Prankish Origin: The Legend of ‘Beatosu’
The story begins with a map, and a mischievous Michigan alumnus. In the 1970s, Peter Fletcher, then chairman of the Michigan State Highway Commission, decided to have some fun. Tasked with overseeing the state highway maps – which included a small sliver of northern Ohio – Fletcher directed the inclusion of fictional towns. Near Toledo appeared “goblu,” and in rural Fulton County, Ohio, a town called “beatosu” was born.
Fletcher, a dedicated Michigan fan who later served on the Michigan State board of trustees, faced some criticism for the stunt, but maintained it was all in good humor. “There’s nothing inaccurate in putting a message of great national import on the map,” he told The Associated Press in 1977. “Now we have three million messages cheering on the world’s greatest football team.” A cartoon in the Toledo Blade even depicted gas station attendants fielding inquiries about “goblu,” hinting at the prank’s initial impact.
But today, a visit to the coordinates for “beatosu” reveals nothing but open land, a windswept patch of ground alongside a busy highway. The prank, it seems, has largely been forgotten.
Searching for Echoes in Archbold
Driven to uncover any lingering memory of “beatosu,” a search led to the small village of Archbold, Ohio, population 5,000. Initial inquiries at the local diner and from a passerby wearing Ohio State apparel proved fruitless. Even a check with the Archbold Buckeye newspaper yielded no immediate answers, but a name surfaced: Bummer Dominique, owner of Ickey’s Bar and Grill.
Dominique, a fixture in the local sports scene, has hosted a pregame radio show, “Buckeye Breakfast,” on WMTR since 1969, making him, by his own estimation, the longest-standing member of the Ohio State media contingent. Ickey’s, established in 1979 (though its roots stretch back further), has long been a gathering place for fans.
Despite his deep connection to the rivalry, Dominique admitted the story of “beatosu” didn’t ring a bell. However, he wasn’t surprised it occurred near Archbold, a town he described as remarkably evenly split in its allegiance. “Your next-door neighbor is a Michigan person. Their kids go to school together, they go to church together — one wearing maize and blue and the other wearing scarlet and gray,” he said.
Tales from Ickey’s: A History of Rivalry and Pranks
While “beatosu” may have faded from local memory, Dominique had plenty of other stories to share. He recounted the infamous 1975 game, a clash between undefeated Ohio State and Michigan during the height of the “10-Year War” between coaches Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler. The night before the game, Michigan fans infiltrated Ickey’s, swiping a casket from a local theater and placing a picture of Ohio State Heisman Trophy winner Archie Griffin inside, alongside a bowl of oranges and a Michigan flag.
Ohio State ultimately won the game, ending Michigan’s 41-game home unbeaten streak, and jubilant Buckeye fans paraded the casket down Main Street. “I think the boys had had several before they did that,” Dominique chuckled.
Dominique noted a shift in recent years. While Ickey’s once hosted large, boisterous gatherings before “The Game,” attendance has dwindled as fans increasingly prefer to watch with their own kind. “Michigan fans don’t want to sit with a bunch of Ohio State a–holes. There are plenty of those, by the way. The Ohio State fans don’t want to sit with Michigan people because they don’t want to be nice. That’s how that rolls.”
Peaceful Coexistence in Tecumseh
Despite the intensifying rivalry, pockets of peaceful coexistence remain. A visit to Tecumseh, Michigan, revealed one such place: The Tecumseh Tavern, run by Bill Leisenring, a Michigan native and Ohio State graduate. Leisenring maintains a neutral atmosphere, subtly catering to Buckeye fans while avoiding overt displays of allegiance. “As a Buckeye watch bar in this neck of the woods, you can’t bite your nose to spite your face,” he explained.
The tavern was particularly busy during the Appleumpkin Festival, an annual event drawing approximately 40,000 people to the small town. Amidst the festival-goers, a mix of Michigan and Ohio State fans mingled, demonstrating a level of tolerance often absent elsewhere.
A Divided House, United by Commerce
The need to purchase team gear brings fans together, even in the most divided households. The Buckeye Wolverine Shop in Maumee, Ohio, caters to both sides of the rivalry, a concept that would be unthinkable in Ann Arbor or Columbus. Run by brothers Chris and Mark Mason, the store is literally split down the middle, with Ohio State merchandise on one side and Michigan gear on the other.
During a visit, the store was relatively quiet, but Chris Mason predicted a stark contrast on Black Friday, with separate lines forming for each side, refusing to cross. He noted that the area around Toledo leans slightly toward Ohio State in terms of sales. While his sons are staunch Buckeyes fans, Chris and Mark prioritize commerce, maintaining a neutral stance to appeal to all customers. “I was actually sitting in somebody’s car, fighting like hell to get a steering wheel cover on,” Chris recalled. “All of a sudden the guy stops me and says, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, you are an Ohio State fan, right?’ I looked at him and said, ‘I am right now.’”
The store sells everything imaginable adorned with either logo, from toilet paper to Christmas decorations. A “House Divided” flag seemed fitting for the patch of land near Archbold, a whimsical tribute to the forgotten “beatosu.” However, the recent history of on-field clashes and subsequent fan altercations suggests perhaps some lore is best left undisturbed.
If you’re looking for “beatosu,” you’ll have to find it yourself. But the search reveals a more nuanced truth about the Ohio State-Michigan rivalry: that even in the heart of the conflict, there are places where the lines blur, and a fragile peace can be found.
