by T.J. Birkel
About an hour before my father died, my Mom, four siblings and I were sitting with him in his bedroom. He lay in bed, non-responsive but mostly peaceful; after a 16 month battle with colon cancer, we knew the end was approaching. My sister suggested we see if there was a game on TV. Dad would like that. Since it was May, I figured we could easily find a baseball game. Someone found the remote, flipped on the TV, and there on the screen, the very first thing we saw were the words: “Game of the Century. Nebraska vs Oklahoma 1971.” We all kind of just looked at each other. We sat there as highlights from one of the most important games in Nebraska football history played on the screen. Turns out it was an ESPN special about the greatest games in college football history. But in that moment, it felt like a sign from God.
Dad was one of the biggest Nebraska football fans in the history of planet earth. He could remember games, players, scores, big plays, bad calls, everything. He was a season ticket holder for decades. We were even lucky enough to go to a few bowl games over the years. Dad was not the most outgoing guy, but he was a sneakily good storyteller, and I was raised on stories of how the only time he ever saw his own father pace the floor was during the Game of the Century. Or how Tom Osborne didn’t hesitate to go for two in the 1984 Orange Bowl, even though a tie in those pre-overtime days would have likely secured a national championship for the Huskers. Dad told me Osborne said after the game that he always wanted his teams to play for the win, and even though Nebraska lost that night, Osborne earned a lot of respect with his decision. I can still feel my childhood, corn-fed, Husker pride swelling, hearing about the great history of our beloved Big Red. And of course, there were plenty of stories about the numerous times the Huskers had been hosed by the officials. Everyone knows the college football industrial complex has been out to get Nebraska for a long time.
This thing we love, this thing we share, this thing we get to be part of, NEBRASKA FOOTBALL, is truly special. It’s so much more than a game played by college kids. It transcends the petty disagreements of daily life; it exists outside of the major divisions we have as humans. For 12 Saturdays every fall, we are not Republicans or Democrats, believers or non-believers, Montagues or Capulets. On those 12 Saturdays, we are united from Memorial Stadium to the living room to the potluck to the alumni watch party; from Omaha to Scottsbluff, from South Sioux City to Sidney, from Beatrice to Broken Bow. We are united in a common mission with a common purpose, as if we have the power to impact the game, to will the boys in red to victory. I can’t tell you how many times…