Go Big Red!

Standing with Herbie Husker in 1994. I chased
him down so I could have my picture taken
with the Husker mascot.

My mother, my sister-in-love (standing) and me wearing Husker jackets my mother had made for Christmas 1996.

Through the magic of television, I will visit Mecca today. No, not the place in Saudi Arabia. To me and to millions of other Nebraskans living in the state and in exile, Memorial Stadium in Lincoln, Neb., is Mecca, the heart of Huskerdom forever.

Husker football is a birthright to those of us born in Nebraska. We love our football team.

On game days, no shopping center broadcasts anything other than the Husker football broadcast. Otherwise, no one would come to shop.

We had a pastor from California for a time. He scheduled the annual church picnic on a game day. Someone brought a radio. Everyone sat around the table glued to the broadcast. He was upset that no one would participate in any activities, but he didn’t understand Nebraskans’ devotion to their team.

I didn’t understand the depths of my own feeling for the Huskers until I had the privilege of standing on the sidelines in 1994. The band was performing its pregame show as Hubby and I stood on the sidelines. When the band marched to the sidelines to perform its final number, probably “Hail Varsity”, a trumpeter stood just inches from my face. His uniform dripped with gold braid and his trumpet shone so bright that I was nearly blinded. As we stood there, him playing and me listening, tears began streaming down my face. I was so upset with myself. I was a media professional! How could I be crying?

I’m not sure I can explain that, even to myself, but Nebraska football has been part of the fabric of my life for as long as I can remember.

For me, Husker football is my dad working in the yard with earphones on so he could hear the game. It’s my mother with her roster making sure she knew who each player was. It’s listening to my grandmother, normally a very sweet and kind lady, exhorting the Blackshirts to “get him! Get that (quarterback/running back/return man).” It’s pouring over the Omaha World-Herald to get every scrap of Husker news or, as I do now, reading every link on HuskerPedia.com.

It’s thinking “Boomer Sooner”, the Oklahoma fight song, is the advertising jingle for the local RV dealer. “Porta potty, porta potty, Sleepy has your porta-pot!” For several years I wondered why Oklahoma’s band was always playing Sleepy Dick’s song.

It’s watching my parents and grandparents going wild when NU beat Oklahoma in 1971’s Game of the Century. It’s being ecstatic when Tom Osborne’s Huskers finally defeated the Sooners in 1978 and being depressed when Missouri upset the Huskers the next week.

It’s knowing what the Bummeroosky, Bounceroosky and Fumbleroosky are. My friend Dennis actually got to witness the Bounceroosky. I am envious!

It’s being in deep emotional pain when Turner Gill’s two-point conversion pass bounced off Jeff Smith’s shoulder pads in the 1984 Orange Bowl. It’s crying tears of pure joy when Cory Schlesinger scored a touchdown in that same end zone in the 1995 Orange Bowl. It’s being slumped in front of the TV in depressed disbelief over 62-36 at Colorado in 2001 or 70-10 at Texas Tech in 2004.

Nebraska football is indeed my birthright and even part of my identity. When I lived back east, Nebraska meant football. No one knew anything about the state except that Nebraska had a great football team. Wearing NU gear showed pride in my roots, my home, my family. It still does. After all, eight generations of my family have called Nebraska home, the first generation settling there even before statehood.

Husker football isn’t the same dominant program it once was, but I believe we’re headed back upward again. I’m proud to root for the Scarlet and Cream. Even though I’ve lived out of state for more years than I lived in Nebraska, some part of me will always call Huskerdom my home.

Go Big Red!