I came to Nebraska in 1972, played Frosh ball under coach Ross. The Huskers had just come off of back to back national titles. Remember the first time I crossed the Missouri River. Seemed like every car I saw was adorned with some form of Big Red pride. Thought you guys were goofy with these displays of fervor. Never saw anything like that in Illinois not even on the pro level, and it struck me as more than a little weird.
Rogers won the Heisman that year, Glover the Outland. I saw the Rogers punt return the year before while on a goose hunting trip in southern Illinois. God that guy was good. Like many freshmen I was homesick carrying a full schedule and having practice fill up the afternoons. Had no free time. Don't know if I would have made it had it not been for the friends made quickly on the team and in the frat. I hate to generalize, but the people in Nebraska are just a lot friendlier and much more cordial than what I was use to. The fact that I was a player, marginal at best, helped a great deal as they are somewhat lionized throughout the state.
You have something very special in Husker pride that runs thick through the blood of almost everyone in that great state. It's a cohesive force that binds the masses together from Omaha to Crawford, and it draws me back a couple of times a year usually with someone else in tow only because I want them to see and experience the genuine loyalty I've had embedded in me for 40+ years now.
The fans, man you're the best. Have many stories of you that I relate to companions back here in Central Illinois, but my favorite depiction is the one that occurred 5 or 6 years ago (I'm not sure) when we were in a battle with Texas Tech. They were coming toward the North end zone right where we sit, and were sure to score the winning points. Dressed in the Darth Vader black, late late in the fourth, quarterback with the hot hand throws a pick. WE WIN! Oh no, our guy fumbles the pick back to them. They score. We lose.
As their players were exiting the field most had a hand up with the index finger displaying the "We're number 1" stale gesture. Few fans had filed out. Instead we stood in defeat applauding the performance. Slowly, as they caught on the one finger became five with a wave and a smile. They then knew what I learned some 40 years ago. "It's not the victory but the action. Not the goal, but the game, and in the deed the glory."
You are Nebraska where class, dignity and a silent pride are your natural identity.
Rogers won the Heisman that year, Glover the Outland. I saw the Rogers punt return the year before while on a goose hunting trip in southern Illinois. God that guy was good. Like many freshmen I was homesick carrying a full schedule and having practice fill up the afternoons. Had no free time. Don't know if I would have made it had it not been for the friends made quickly on the team and in the frat. I hate to generalize, but the people in Nebraska are just a lot friendlier and much more cordial than what I was use to. The fact that I was a player, marginal at best, helped a great deal as they are somewhat lionized throughout the state.
You have something very special in Husker pride that runs thick through the blood of almost everyone in that great state. It's a cohesive force that binds the masses together from Omaha to Crawford, and it draws me back a couple of times a year usually with someone else in tow only because I want them to see and experience the genuine loyalty I've had embedded in me for 40+ years now.
The fans, man you're the best. Have many stories of you that I relate to companions back here in Central Illinois, but my favorite depiction is the one that occurred 5 or 6 years ago (I'm not sure) when we were in a battle with Texas Tech. They were coming toward the North end zone right where we sit, and were sure to score the winning points. Dressed in the Darth Vader black, late late in the fourth, quarterback with the hot hand throws a pick. WE WIN! Oh no, our guy fumbles the pick back to them. They score. We lose.
As their players were exiting the field most had a hand up with the index finger displaying the "We're number 1" stale gesture. Few fans had filed out. Instead we stood in defeat applauding the performance. Slowly, as they caught on the one finger became five with a wave and a smile. They then knew what I learned some 40 years ago. "It's not the victory but the action. Not the goal, but the game, and in the deed the glory."
You are Nebraska where class, dignity and a silent pride are your natural identity.
