It's just a game.
I always detested that phrase. Imprudently shoved in your face by a bewildered family member or someone else close to you who just doesn't get this whole Nebraska football obsession or why it's cause for so much agony and vitriol.
I hated that phrase because there's some truth to it. But also because it's horribly wrong. Completely and totally 100 percent false. This phrase frustrated me endlessly and I didn't quite know how to explain why.
It is just a game. That is technically true. But Nebraska fandom is a far cry from a game of checkers. A simple game does not foster such a large, organic community of people that share such a powerful common interest. A common interest that instantly makes friends out of strangers and breaks down barriers. Sports fandom is the only thing I've ever encountered in my entire life that gets Republicans and Democrats to actually get along for a few hours.
And some think it's just a game.
But why am I so obsessed with the familial and community aspect of this game? Because it gives the game its soul and that's something I took that for granted for a long time.
I don't want to get deep into the details but on December 5th, 2010, the day after Nebraska's 23-20 loss to Oklahoma in the Big 12 Championship Game, my family was involved in a fatal wreck heading back home from Dallas. My mom passed away and my dad and brother were taken to the ICU for serious injuries that took months to recover from. I only received a few burns and cuts and was released from the hospital later that afternoon.
Something like that grants perspective. It has to. It's safe to say no other day has had a bigger impact on my life. Rolling inside that SUV I was convinced and had completely accepted that I was going to die. I just never did. The mantra I've tried to (and sometimes fail to) live up to is that every day since then has been a bonus, a day that I shouldn't have but for whatever reason I do.
For a while I was afraid I wouldn't be able to enjoy Nebraska sports again, that it would dredge up awful memories. But when it came back around, my enthusiasm fit like an old glove. It was a return to normal, a return to a time when I could be mindlessly, stupidly, and joyfully passionate about something that doesn't actually have any real world consequences.
Only now I was starting to look around. Smelling the roses so to speak. When the Lady from Fairbury who held the season tickets next to us noticed and asked why my mom was no longer attending games, a bittersweet wave of memories collided with me. Memories of the long hours in a car driving to road games and memories of holding my mom's hand while navigating the overflowing streets of Lincoln on game day. Or my mom making chili, adding one more giant crock-pot to the already overflowing bar of homemade snacks in our basement as we prepared to watch Nebraska on TV in a road game.
All these memories are just that. Memories. I don't get to make new ones with mom, but I'm truly blessed to make new ones with everyone else in my life. I never want to take that for granted. And of course that blessing to make new life memories extends far beyond Husker sports, but this is Tales from the Heart of Huskerland. I'll keep those other mushy memories and sentiments to myself.
I write this blog to tell these stories about growing up in a Husker obsessed environment, to chronicle them for those who find them funny and relate-able. Objectively speaking, our collective obsession with Nebraska sports is irrational. It's ridiculous and preposterous. It's also awesome and the memories we make with loved ones being ridiculous and preposterous should never be taken for granted. My blog readership is small, but steadily growing, and that gives me drive to keep it going. If I can make just one person remember to not take these memories we create with friends and family for granted, it's worth it.
So be passionate. Get angry. Succumb to the inexplicable and flat out irrational bliss that comes with your group of 18-24 year-olds triumphing over someone else's group of 18-24 year-olds. Just don't forget why all this is so special. I used to be really bad about that last part. Developing that perspective also helps get you through the down times and appreciate the good ones even more (and I'm almost certain that perspective would help certain people not to feel the need to tweet harassment at players). Obsessive fandom is best practiced with self-awareness and a sense of humor.
There's so many things out there in this world with painfully real consequences. This is just a game. It doesn't really matter. And that's why it matters so much.
I always detested that phrase. Imprudently shoved in your face by a bewildered family member or someone else close to you who just doesn't get this whole Nebraska football obsession or why it's cause for so much agony and vitriol.
I hated that phrase because there's some truth to it. But also because it's horribly wrong. Completely and totally 100 percent false. This phrase frustrated me endlessly and I didn't quite know how to explain why.
It is just a game. That is technically true. But Nebraska fandom is a far cry from a game of checkers. A simple game does not foster such a large, organic community of people that share such a powerful common interest. A common interest that instantly makes friends out of strangers and breaks down barriers. Sports fandom is the only thing I've ever encountered in my entire life that gets Republicans and Democrats to actually get along for a few hours.
And some think it's just a game.
 |
| A combination of sports and community made this happen. |
But why am I so obsessed with the familial and community aspect of this game? Because it gives the game its soul and that's something I took that for granted for a long time.
I don't want to get deep into the details but on December 5th, 2010, the day after Nebraska's 23-20 loss to Oklahoma in the Big 12 Championship Game, my family was involved in a fatal wreck heading back home from Dallas. My mom passed away and my dad and brother were taken to the ICU for serious injuries that took months to recover from. I only received a few burns and cuts and was released from the hospital later that afternoon.
Something like that grants perspective. It has to. It's safe to say no other day has had a bigger impact on my life. Rolling inside that SUV I was convinced and had completely accepted that I was going to die. I just never did. The mantra I've tried to (and sometimes fail to) live up to is that every day since then has been a bonus, a day that I shouldn't have but for whatever reason I do.
For a while I was afraid I wouldn't be able to enjoy Nebraska sports again, that it would dredge up awful memories. But when it came back around, my enthusiasm fit like an old glove. It was a return to normal, a return to a time when I could be mindlessly, stupidly, and joyfully passionate about something that doesn't actually have any real world consequences.
Only now I was starting to look around. Smelling the roses so to speak. When the Lady from Fairbury who held the season tickets next to us noticed and asked why my mom was no longer attending games, a bittersweet wave of memories collided with me. Memories of the long hours in a car driving to road games and memories of holding my mom's hand while navigating the overflowing streets of Lincoln on game day. Or my mom making chili, adding one more giant crock-pot to the already overflowing bar of homemade snacks in our basement as we prepared to watch Nebraska on TV in a road game.
All these memories are just that. Memories. I don't get to make new ones with mom, but I'm truly blessed to make new ones with everyone else in my life. I never want to take that for granted. And of course that blessing to make new life memories extends far beyond Husker sports, but this is Tales from the Heart of Huskerland. I'll keep those other mushy memories and sentiments to myself.
I write this blog to tell these stories about growing up in a Husker obsessed environment, to chronicle them for those who find them funny and relate-able. Objectively speaking, our collective obsession with Nebraska sports is irrational. It's ridiculous and preposterous. It's also awesome and the memories we make with loved ones being ridiculous and preposterous should never be taken for granted. My blog readership is small, but steadily growing, and that gives me drive to keep it going. If I can make just one person remember to not take these memories we create with friends and family for granted, it's worth it.
So be passionate. Get angry. Succumb to the inexplicable and flat out irrational bliss that comes with your group of 18-24 year-olds triumphing over someone else's group of 18-24 year-olds. Just don't forget why all this is so special. I used to be really bad about that last part. Developing that perspective also helps get you through the down times and appreciate the good ones even more (and I'm almost certain that perspective would help certain people not to feel the need to tweet harassment at players). Obsessive fandom is best practiced with self-awareness and a sense of humor.
There's so many things out there in this world with painfully real consequences. This is just a game. It doesn't really matter. And that's why it matters so much.
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