ohiohusker
Special Teams Player
I just got this from my cousin..........sure hits home for me!!
Here is a little something for all the Huskers,
>
> It's more than the game, really. I think it means more for out-of-staters
> too. At least for those who don't live in or get to lincoln much. It's more
> than simply going back home. It's a sense of renewal, of reinvigoration, of
> reconnecting to things in life which drive you and make you wait for this
> day like a child waits for Christmas.
>
> it's about flying in, descending slowly over the yellowing cornfields,
> gazing out the window, looking at your watch impatiently, until you get
> close enough to see the Missouri River, and you start to feel at home again.
> You land, and wait anxiously to deplane and upon the first burst of light in
> the terminal as you leave the tunnel, you instinctively look at the faces,
> as if you'll see someone you know, even though no one is there waiting for
> you.
>
> You take the familiar walk to your rental car, and drive down past Carter
> Lake, a drive you've made 300 times before-at first, as a teen to go to the
> drag races out on the old, distant, ! dark la nes ending out beyond Dodge
> Park when nothing else was there, and now, the other way, down a nicely
> manicured road, and as you do, you catch your first glimpse of the downtown
> skyline. You see the Woodmen Tower and other familiar trappings of a city
> nicely grown up, one you're proud of and seems both imposingly new yet still
> familiar to you since you left for good 20 years ago.
>
> You drive past the new Qwest Center and Hotel, feeling proud that the city
> that couldnt attract major shows now is a destination for them. You think of
> the Old Civic Auditorium, the old barn where you took in your first NBA
> game, watching Nate Archibald work his magic, and where you saw your first
> concert, on Crosby Stills Nash and Young's last tour together. Your mind
> drifts to watching Baron Von Raschke vs Mad Dog Vachon wrestling for the
> Heavyweight Championship, the first time your mom ever let you ride the bus
> downtown by yourself to go somewhere.
>
> Suddenly, something yanks you back! to the present, driving down Dodge St
> past all the old familiar 2 am destinations when you had to cover one eye to
> read the signs in days of yore. Past the old Ready Mix Plant, past UNO and
> Memorial Park, and you're almost there, in your old neighborhood. You get to
> 72nd and Dodge, which to you, is still the Center of the Universe, as it was
> for you growing up, even though today, it's considered "east omaha" almost.
>
> Then the familiar drive past the old house, by Crossroads and down where
> Peony Park used to be, the Goodrich Malt store and Roberts Park. You think
> of family and friends you'll see at some point during the vist, and of
> family you miss and that you can only see in your heart. You wish they could
> be there with you, and with you share the eager sense of anticipation, that
> special pre-fall ever so slight cool in the air at night as September
> approaches. A touch of sadness comes and goes as you remember how long it
> has been since you last shared such feelings with t! hem.
>
> You feel grounded again.
>
> On Saturday, though, your step is light, your senses sharp, your emotions
> bubbling up and a sense, again this year, of renewal, that whatever happened
> in the past year, you're turning the page today, because it's time for a new
> year, a new season. At least that's the way it is for Huskers.
>
> Then, the drive. It's 45 minutes, but seems like an instant. you savor it
> yet it seems to pass too quickly. The first drive of the fall down I-80,
> past Sapp Brothers, weaving through whatever construction they've put in
> your path this year. You notice the rural country side and landscape, and
> how much more comfortable it feels to you than other places. You cross the
> Platte River in what seems like no time, signifying that you're half way
> there, time to turn on KFAB, just because that's what you do and have done
> for decades before. Then, you hit the familiar "Waverly Curve" where I-80
> kisses Highway 6, and you know you're in the home stretch.
> yo u finally get to Exit 401, and that's when your pulse starts to quicken.
> You can feel it again, the adrenaline. Your mind races with all the times
> you've made this drive before, and what you saw when you did.
>
> Tearing down goalposts after conquering the Sooner Jinx, Mike Rozier
> slashing bowlegged through what seemed like statues then. Johnnie Mitchell
> making fingertip catches on a day when you couldn't feel your hands. Tommie
> Frazier and LP making you realize that, all those years when you said "some
> year"-well, that year was here. Blackshirts' wreckage strewn across the
> astroturf. Eric Crouch bringing you to tears hauling in the pass on a day
> you thought would never happen again.
>
> All those things run through your mind as you watch your speed carefully,
> down the highway, until--look--there it is, to your left, that huge, gray,
> sturdy, impenetrable facade, with the huge N, telling you that, indeed, you
> were home again.
>
> In days past, you'd park in yards or! alleys for 5 bucks. Now, you park in
> parking garages and see the same folks, every year, who welcome you back and
> take your money. You get out and start walking, almost trotting anxiously,
> because you want to be on the street. You want to see older folks wearing
> the hats, and overalls, and other things that you swear you'll never wear,
> but laugh to yourself because you're thinking in the back of your mind,
> someday you probably will too. The traffic cops, the lines at Barry's, the
> people window shopping or just sight seeing. The smell. The feel. You can
> close your eyes and see it as it is today, and as it was in 1975 too.
>
> And finally, the best part of all, the walk. from wherever you choose to
> prepare before the game, the walk is what you feel in your blood, what you
> think about on the plane, what you've waited for all winter, spring and
> through the dead of summer. You try to see and sense almost everything, but
> cannot. But as you walk down 10th St, seemingly en masse with h! undreds of
> others, you see the party tent on your right with the same van and satellite
> dish you've seen for 20 years. You hear music, and fight songs, and GO
> HUSKERS and GO BIG RED. Your heart skips a beat, or two. You catch yourself
> smiling. You get closer until, on your right, there it is.
>
> Memorial Stadium.
>
> And as you walk up the tunnel to get inside the stadium, as you walk up the
> stairs and get closer, you can see the sun and hear some of the pregame on
> the field, and when you finally emerge into the stadium, you take a deep
> breath and absorb what seems like a transfusion of life force. You stop, if
> only momentarily, to simply stare and see everything again. You swell with
> emotion, yet strangely try to hide it, because that's what Nebraskans do.
>
> And when you're finally seated, and the Pride of All Nebraska finally bursts
> onto the field, you let it go...8 months of frustration, waiting, boredom,
> drain---everything, and you soak in Hail Varsity, March Grand! ioso an d
> There is No Place Like Nebraska like the desert soaks up a cloudburst.
>
> Go Huskers!!!
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
Here is a little something for all the Huskers,
>
> It's more than the game, really. I think it means more for out-of-staters
> too. At least for those who don't live in or get to lincoln much. It's more
> than simply going back home. It's a sense of renewal, of reinvigoration, of
> reconnecting to things in life which drive you and make you wait for this
> day like a child waits for Christmas.
>
> it's about flying in, descending slowly over the yellowing cornfields,
> gazing out the window, looking at your watch impatiently, until you get
> close enough to see the Missouri River, and you start to feel at home again.
> You land, and wait anxiously to deplane and upon the first burst of light in
> the terminal as you leave the tunnel, you instinctively look at the faces,
> as if you'll see someone you know, even though no one is there waiting for
> you.
>
> You take the familiar walk to your rental car, and drive down past Carter
> Lake, a drive you've made 300 times before-at first, as a teen to go to the
> drag races out on the old, distant, ! dark la nes ending out beyond Dodge
> Park when nothing else was there, and now, the other way, down a nicely
> manicured road, and as you do, you catch your first glimpse of the downtown
> skyline. You see the Woodmen Tower and other familiar trappings of a city
> nicely grown up, one you're proud of and seems both imposingly new yet still
> familiar to you since you left for good 20 years ago.
>
> You drive past the new Qwest Center and Hotel, feeling proud that the city
> that couldnt attract major shows now is a destination for them. You think of
> the Old Civic Auditorium, the old barn where you took in your first NBA
> game, watching Nate Archibald work his magic, and where you saw your first
> concert, on Crosby Stills Nash and Young's last tour together. Your mind
> drifts to watching Baron Von Raschke vs Mad Dog Vachon wrestling for the
> Heavyweight Championship, the first time your mom ever let you ride the bus
> downtown by yourself to go somewhere.
>
> Suddenly, something yanks you back! to the present, driving down Dodge St
> past all the old familiar 2 am destinations when you had to cover one eye to
> read the signs in days of yore. Past the old Ready Mix Plant, past UNO and
> Memorial Park, and you're almost there, in your old neighborhood. You get to
> 72nd and Dodge, which to you, is still the Center of the Universe, as it was
> for you growing up, even though today, it's considered "east omaha" almost.
>
> Then the familiar drive past the old house, by Crossroads and down where
> Peony Park used to be, the Goodrich Malt store and Roberts Park. You think
> of family and friends you'll see at some point during the vist, and of
> family you miss and that you can only see in your heart. You wish they could
> be there with you, and with you share the eager sense of anticipation, that
> special pre-fall ever so slight cool in the air at night as September
> approaches. A touch of sadness comes and goes as you remember how long it
> has been since you last shared such feelings with t! hem.
>
> You feel grounded again.
>
> On Saturday, though, your step is light, your senses sharp, your emotions
> bubbling up and a sense, again this year, of renewal, that whatever happened
> in the past year, you're turning the page today, because it's time for a new
> year, a new season. At least that's the way it is for Huskers.
>
> Then, the drive. It's 45 minutes, but seems like an instant. you savor it
> yet it seems to pass too quickly. The first drive of the fall down I-80,
> past Sapp Brothers, weaving through whatever construction they've put in
> your path this year. You notice the rural country side and landscape, and
> how much more comfortable it feels to you than other places. You cross the
> Platte River in what seems like no time, signifying that you're half way
> there, time to turn on KFAB, just because that's what you do and have done
> for decades before. Then, you hit the familiar "Waverly Curve" where I-80
> kisses Highway 6, and you know you're in the home stretch.
> yo u finally get to Exit 401, and that's when your pulse starts to quicken.
> You can feel it again, the adrenaline. Your mind races with all the times
> you've made this drive before, and what you saw when you did.
>
> Tearing down goalposts after conquering the Sooner Jinx, Mike Rozier
> slashing bowlegged through what seemed like statues then. Johnnie Mitchell
> making fingertip catches on a day when you couldn't feel your hands. Tommie
> Frazier and LP making you realize that, all those years when you said "some
> year"-well, that year was here. Blackshirts' wreckage strewn across the
> astroturf. Eric Crouch bringing you to tears hauling in the pass on a day
> you thought would never happen again.
>
> All those things run through your mind as you watch your speed carefully,
> down the highway, until--look--there it is, to your left, that huge, gray,
> sturdy, impenetrable facade, with the huge N, telling you that, indeed, you
> were home again.
>
> In days past, you'd park in yards or! alleys for 5 bucks. Now, you park in
> parking garages and see the same folks, every year, who welcome you back and
> take your money. You get out and start walking, almost trotting anxiously,
> because you want to be on the street. You want to see older folks wearing
> the hats, and overalls, and other things that you swear you'll never wear,
> but laugh to yourself because you're thinking in the back of your mind,
> someday you probably will too. The traffic cops, the lines at Barry's, the
> people window shopping or just sight seeing. The smell. The feel. You can
> close your eyes and see it as it is today, and as it was in 1975 too.
>
> And finally, the best part of all, the walk. from wherever you choose to
> prepare before the game, the walk is what you feel in your blood, what you
> think about on the plane, what you've waited for all winter, spring and
> through the dead of summer. You try to see and sense almost everything, but
> cannot. But as you walk down 10th St, seemingly en masse with h! undreds of
> others, you see the party tent on your right with the same van and satellite
> dish you've seen for 20 years. You hear music, and fight songs, and GO
> HUSKERS and GO BIG RED. Your heart skips a beat, or two. You catch yourself
> smiling. You get closer until, on your right, there it is.
>
> Memorial Stadium.
>
> And as you walk up the tunnel to get inside the stadium, as you walk up the
> stairs and get closer, you can see the sun and hear some of the pregame on
> the field, and when you finally emerge into the stadium, you take a deep
> breath and absorb what seems like a transfusion of life force. You stop, if
> only momentarily, to simply stare and see everything again. You swell with
> emotion, yet strangely try to hide it, because that's what Nebraskans do.
>
> And when you're finally seated, and the Pride of All Nebraska finally bursts
> onto the field, you let it go...8 months of frustration, waiting, boredom,
> drain---everything, and you soak in Hail Varsity, March Grand! ioso an d
> There is No Place Like Nebraska like the desert soaks up a cloudburst.
>
> Go Huskers!!!
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
