Go Big Red

When the Cornhuskers play a home game at Memorial Stadium the assembled fans constitute the third most populous city in the state of Nebraska.  90,000 people, virtually every one of them attired in Husker red logo duds — hats, jackets, T-shirts, beanies, scarves, ponchos.

If you happen to reside on one coast of the USA or the other, as we do, it is difficult to imagine what University of Nebraska football means to the good people of Nebraska.  The evidence is hard to miss.  “N” flags planted in front yards.  Husker license plate frames.  Whole sections of regalia at Walmart and Costco and Target.  Cocktail conversations that veer to coach Scott Frost’s new regime.  Remembrances of past Husker stars and championship teams.  Logo duds on every sidewalk and in every parking lot, game day or no.

And here’s the thing, surprisingly, for me, sophisticated Californian that I am.  I find it all to be incredibly sweet.  Nostalgic.  Uplifting.   In this heartland state of two million souls — Democrats, Republicans, Independents, Deadbeats, Know-Nuthins, All — you can strike up a conversation anywhere anytime about Husker football and thereby make a human connection.  

Yes, yes, yes, it is all as corny as corn, and yes, yes, yes, those padded young men out there risk injury and concussion on every play.  But . . . I just flat out love it when we happen to fall into step with the marching band as they strut and blare their way to the stadium.  And I just flat out love the friendly crush of souls approaching the gates.  And the drum majors and the cheerleaders and the T-shirt cannon and the jets that streak low over the stadium ramparts at precisely the right moment in the national anthem and the sea of red in the sold-out seats . . . yup I just flat love it all.  

Nobody steps up to a microphone for the National Anthem.  The marching band, arrayed on the striped sod, just plays it.  So nobody sings it but everybody does.  When Francis Scott Key’s impossible-to-sing song climbs into the upper registers, you can hear 90,000 people downshift an octave, and before we get to the home of the brave I am wiping my eyes.  In this era of Major League Tawdry, the batons twirling in air and and the fireworks lofting over the stadium ramparts remind me of the innocence and decency and trust of my baby boomer youth.  And I love it.

Alas the Buckeye Orcs of The Ohio State University follow their coach, Darth Vader, onto the field to score every time they possess the ball in the first half while the Huskers score zero.  Dang.  You can feel the enthusiasm ooze away play by play as hope yields to disappointment.  But you can go to the bank on this:  for the next home game they will be back.  They will sell out Memorial Stadium for the zillionth consecutive time.  And if Jane and I happen to be in town visiting kids and grandkids we will be there, too.  And when the stadium announcer gives us the prompt we will join our voices with 90,000 others.

Go Big Red!