Brent is the City Editor of the Steamboat Springs newspaper, "The
Steamboat Pilot & Today".
The Steamboat Pilot
September 10, 2006
By Brent Boyer
I emerged from the bowels of Memorial Stadium a lone Buffalo on the
Great Plains.
In the weeks leading up to my trip, I had thought nothing of
flaunting my Colorado Buffaloes gear in enemy territory, but my
pre-game confidence quickly gave way to the realization that I was
outnumbered - 85,181 to one. Me. Alone. And yes, even a little bit
scared.
Of course, I would soon discover I had nothing to fear, and that
upset me even more. It was as if the Big Red Nation wanted to prove
it was better than me - us. They did, and it wasn't hard.
As I walked along the chain-link fence that separated the
University of Nebraska players from the fans who idolize them, I
felt a little like one of those poor Louisiana Tech players on the
visitor's sideline - outnumbered, undersized and pretty sure that
at some point of the day I would be humiliated. (They were, by a
score of 49-10. And so was I, but CU's opening-game loss to
Division I-AA Montana State wasn't announced until most of the
crowd had left the stadium.)
As a proud CU alum, there was nothing about the University of
Nebraska that I could even pretend to like. The Cornhuskers are the
Giants to my Dodgers, the Raiders to my Broncos. But that was
before my visit to Lincoln, Neb.
Don't get me wrong - I never have been nor ever will be a
Cornhuskers fan. But I just can't conjure up the hate like I used
to, and it's because the University of Nebraska is what my beloved
CU will never be: a college football paradise.
It was instantly apparent how much better of a college football
atmosphere thrives in Lincoln than ever will in Boulder. It's like
comparing apples to oranges, or Champs Sport Bowls to Orange Bowls.
The student section was standing-room only 45 minutes before kick
off; CU students often don't file in to Folsom Field until the
second quarter, if they bother to show up at all. Nebraska's
marching band actually takes the time to learn each opponent's
fight song - and plays it before the game as a sign of respect. At
Folsom Field, visiting players (and their fans) are greeted with
hurled oranges, marshmallows and language that would make Andrew
Dice Clay blush.
Pouring rain had zero - ZERO - effect on attendance at Memorial
Stadium last weekend. In Boulder, a light drizzle provides many
"fans" with an excuse to not go to the game.
Cornhuskers fans know every team cheer, chant and song. The
best-known cheer at CU is an eight-word diddy that includes two
f-bombs.
I had always joked that Nebraskans so love their football team
because their geographic misfortune leaves them little else to do.
And that still may be the case, but I have a new respect for the
greatest fans in college football. And in case they should forget,
there are signs over every stadium entrance ("Through these gates
pass the Greatest Fans in college football) reminding them of their
place in our football-crazed country.
I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.
And if I'm lucky, I'll get to see it again.
Steamboat Pilot & Today".
The Steamboat Pilot
September 10, 2006
By Brent Boyer
I emerged from the bowels of Memorial Stadium a lone Buffalo on the
Great Plains.
In the weeks leading up to my trip, I had thought nothing of
flaunting my Colorado Buffaloes gear in enemy territory, but my
pre-game confidence quickly gave way to the realization that I was
outnumbered - 85,181 to one. Me. Alone. And yes, even a little bit
scared.
Of course, I would soon discover I had nothing to fear, and that
upset me even more. It was as if the Big Red Nation wanted to prove
it was better than me - us. They did, and it wasn't hard.
As I walked along the chain-link fence that separated the
University of Nebraska players from the fans who idolize them, I
felt a little like one of those poor Louisiana Tech players on the
visitor's sideline - outnumbered, undersized and pretty sure that
at some point of the day I would be humiliated. (They were, by a
score of 49-10. And so was I, but CU's opening-game loss to
Division I-AA Montana State wasn't announced until most of the
crowd had left the stadium.)
As a proud CU alum, there was nothing about the University of
Nebraska that I could even pretend to like. The Cornhuskers are the
Giants to my Dodgers, the Raiders to my Broncos. But that was
before my visit to Lincoln, Neb.
Don't get me wrong - I never have been nor ever will be a
Cornhuskers fan. But I just can't conjure up the hate like I used
to, and it's because the University of Nebraska is what my beloved
CU will never be: a college football paradise.
It was instantly apparent how much better of a college football
atmosphere thrives in Lincoln than ever will in Boulder. It's like
comparing apples to oranges, or Champs Sport Bowls to Orange Bowls.
The student section was standing-room only 45 minutes before kick
off; CU students often don't file in to Folsom Field until the
second quarter, if they bother to show up at all. Nebraska's
marching band actually takes the time to learn each opponent's
fight song - and plays it before the game as a sign of respect. At
Folsom Field, visiting players (and their fans) are greeted with
hurled oranges, marshmallows and language that would make Andrew
Dice Clay blush.
Pouring rain had zero - ZERO - effect on attendance at Memorial
Stadium last weekend. In Boulder, a light drizzle provides many
"fans" with an excuse to not go to the game.
Cornhuskers fans know every team cheer, chant and song. The
best-known cheer at CU is an eight-word diddy that includes two
f-bombs.
I had always joked that Nebraskans so love their football team
because their geographic misfortune leaves them little else to do.
And that still may be the case, but I have a new respect for the
greatest fans in college football. And in case they should forget,
there are signs over every stadium entrance ("Through these gates
pass the Greatest Fans in college football) reminding them of their
place in our football-crazed country.
I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.
And if I'm lucky, I'll get to see it again.
