Tomorrow is the first Husker football game and I'm not going home for it.
It feels strange. Like I'm missing Christmas or something.
I feel like I'm letting someone down.
Like baby Jesus. Or baby Coach Tom Osborne. Or maybe just myself.
I'm not sure which is worse.
I don't have FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out)
I have ROMO (Realization Of Missing Out)
I don't fear I'm missing out, I know I am.
I've missed the first home game a few times,
what I haven't missed are the first home game tailgates.
And that's what gets me.
So I won't be at The Bar for an early morning Bloody Mary. That's fine.
And I won't hop over to Sandy's for some Elk Creek Water with all of the other 12 county people who think this is the only bar in Lincoln. No biggy.
There will be no scurrying to a tailgate to drink beer from a red Solo cup,
toss a football with a kid,
and munch on some homemade chex mix.
There won't be a tear in this eye as the Huskers make their way out of the tunnel...
Letting go of balloons after the first score?
Not gonna happen. We're on a helium shortage anyway.
Runzas at half?
Vals pizza that always seems to taste just a little extra special when served at the stadium?
It's just not in the cards for me this year, and I... Ican should accept that.
But I'll tell you why it's hard to accept that.
Because once upon a time I lived in a sorority house where the tunnel walk song
was blasted through the house speakers at 8:00 a.m. on game days.
For 11:00 a.m. kick offs we started at 7:00 a.m.
We were chugging Husker punch before the players had even rolled out of their cozy hotel beds.
As a kid, I grew up with such Husker anxiety that I felt the need to keep the football
game on in the background after I'd snuck up to my room to play Barbies.
I grew up believing just one more National championship would solve world hunger.
I was told Bill Callahan is the reason God hates Nebraska.
And yet T.O. is the reason God still loves Nebraska.
So do I love Husker football? Sure.
But do I love husker football tailgates? More than anything.
So yeah, this Saturday might be a little hard for me.
But I've already said too much.
It is what it is.
Life goes on. And luckily here in Chicago life goes on at Kirkwoods.
Which isn't half bad either.
And now to present a little poem I wrote a few years ago entitled:
Twas the Night Before Game Day
Twas the night before game day and all through the town
All the Nebrasky’s were brewing, drinks all around
The pitchers were washed and drying with care
In hopes that Elk Creek would soon be there.
The fans were all anxious and dressed in their reds
As visions of tailgates danced in their heads
And skanks will be in heels, and me in flat feet
Making the drunken trek, to the great Stadium street.
When out of the Union there arose such a clatter
All the crowd turned, to see what's the matter
And no big surprise, just silly frat boys
Clad in Lacoste and Sperrys, making lots of noise.
Now heading downtown, a large cluster we see
Who could this group of non-stuck up, attractive girls be
Sorority girls of course, with a smile on their face
As GDI’s look on, pissed and bitter, greek tailgates aren’t their place.
The foam on the top, of a newly poured beer
Brought a tear to this eye, of old college cheer
Then what to my wondering eye should appear
But a group of college pals that were coming so near.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew right away it must be old Fritz
And to the Bar she came as fast as she can
Marge the cook behind, with Runza in a pan.
And Kim the ‘tender poured shots to all who came
Calling each preference out by its name
“Now Rumple! now Goldschlager! Jager and Jack!
On Tequila! On Bacardi! And Liquid Cocaine in the back!”
“To the beer garden, and side bar, and over to the wall,
Now drink, drink, drink, them all!”
With a dribble down the shirt here
And stools and a bar top covered in beer
Closing time was coming quite near.
So Fritz and her group made a quick stop at the Rail
For dirty dancing in the back, Lincoln hookers entale.
Somewhere in between Lazzaris and gyro fries too
Fritzy and Marge disappeared, into the blue.
And as I looked into the sky I happened to see
This unlikely duo flying, call out to me
“Happy game day to you and all of your crew…
But stay out of the kitchen or we’ll beat the shit out of you.”
Happy first game day, everybody.
Take a shot for me.
It feels strange. Like I'm missing Christmas or something.
I feel like I'm letting someone down.
Like baby Jesus. Or baby Coach Tom Osborne. Or maybe just myself.
I'm not sure which is worse.
I don't have FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out)
I have ROMO (Realization Of Missing Out)
I don't fear I'm missing out, I know I am.
I've missed the first home game a few times,
what I haven't missed are the first home game tailgates.
And that's what gets me.
So I won't be at The Bar for an early morning Bloody Mary. That's fine.
And I won't hop over to Sandy's for some Elk Creek Water with all of the other 12 county people who think this is the only bar in Lincoln. No biggy.
There will be no scurrying to a tailgate to drink beer from a red Solo cup,
toss a football with a kid,
and munch on some homemade chex mix.
There won't be a tear in this eye as the Huskers make their way out of the tunnel...
Letting go of balloons after the first score?
Not gonna happen. We're on a helium shortage anyway.
Runzas at half?
Vals pizza that always seems to taste just a little extra special when served at the stadium?
It's just not in the cards for me this year, and I... I
But I'll tell you why it's hard to accept that.
Because once upon a time I lived in a sorority house where the tunnel walk song
was blasted through the house speakers at 8:00 a.m. on game days.
For 11:00 a.m. kick offs we started at 7:00 a.m.
We were chugging Husker punch before the players had even rolled out of their cozy hotel beds.
As a kid, I grew up with such Husker anxiety that I felt the need to keep the football
game on in the background after I'd snuck up to my room to play Barbies.
I grew up believing just one more National championship would solve world hunger.
I was told Bill Callahan is the reason God hates Nebraska.
And yet T.O. is the reason God still loves Nebraska.
So do I love Husker football? Sure.
But do I love husker football tailgates? More than anything.
So yeah, this Saturday might be a little hard for me.
But I've already said too much.
It is what it is.
Life goes on. And luckily here in Chicago life goes on at Kirkwoods.
Which isn't half bad either.
And now to present a little poem I wrote a few years ago entitled:
Twas the Night Before Game Day
Twas the night before game day and all through the town
All the Nebrasky’s were brewing, drinks all around
The pitchers were washed and drying with care
In hopes that Elk Creek would soon be there.
The fans were all anxious and dressed in their reds
As visions of tailgates danced in their heads
And skanks will be in heels, and me in flat feet
Making the drunken trek, to the great Stadium street.
When out of the Union there arose such a clatter
All the crowd turned, to see what's the matter
And no big surprise, just silly frat boys
Clad in Lacoste and Sperrys, making lots of noise.
Now heading downtown, a large cluster we see
Who could this group of non-stuck up, attractive girls be
Sorority girls of course, with a smile on their face
As GDI’s look on, pissed and bitter, greek tailgates aren’t their place.
The foam on the top, of a newly poured beer
Brought a tear to this eye, of old college cheer
Then what to my wondering eye should appear
But a group of college pals that were coming so near.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew right away it must be old Fritz
And to the Bar she came as fast as she can
Marge the cook behind, with Runza in a pan.
And Kim the ‘tender poured shots to all who came
Calling each preference out by its name
“Now Rumple! now Goldschlager! Jager and Jack!
On Tequila! On Bacardi! And Liquid Cocaine in the back!”
“To the beer garden, and side bar, and over to the wall,
Now drink, drink, drink, them all!”
With a dribble down the shirt here
And stools and a bar top covered in beer
Closing time was coming quite near.
So Fritz and her group made a quick stop at the Rail
For dirty dancing in the back, Lincoln hookers entale.
Somewhere in between Lazzaris and gyro fries too
Fritzy and Marge disappeared, into the blue.
And as I looked into the sky I happened to see
This unlikely duo flying, call out to me
“Happy game day to you and all of your crew…
But stay out of the kitchen or we’ll beat the shit out of you.”
Happy first game day, everybody.
Take a shot for me.
