From the Joe Fan Archives
September 4, 1999

"CHILDREN OF THE CORN...HUSKERS"

On the occasion of the Nebraska Cornhusker’s first game of 2000, Joe Fan remembers his 1997 trip to Memorial Stadium in Lincoln.

I’m sure that many of you fine readers remember that first day of school each year when a matronly, yet, oddly attractive teacher assigned the essay, “How I Spent My Summer Vacation.” Inevitably, I would write of my family’s trip from Arkansas to Nebraska to visit my grandparents. My sister and I would spend 13 hours in the back of a GMC truck breathing exhaust fumes through 4 states. By the time we arrive in Nebraska, we were so goofy that our grandparents would introduce as “special” for the first half of the trip. This memory, and many others, flooded my mind as I returned to Nebraska for a trip to that mecca of college football, the Nebraska Cornhusker’s Memorial Stadium.

Ah, Memorial Stadium, where the corn-fed heroes of the gridiron open a can of the proverbial whup-ass six times year. Memorial Stadium, where the rabid Big Red fans enjoy unparalleled success. No losing seasons in 36 years. Why, before 1998, the last time Nebraska lost more than 3 games in a season was 1968, a rough year for the rest of the country as well. Memorial Stadium, home of that “Lazarus” of college mascots, Herbie Husker. Buried in 1995 by the school for being too hokey, Herbie rose again to stride the sideline like a corn field colossus. (A side note: Whenever I wear my overalls, people say I look a bit like Herbie Husker. I don’t know if that is a compliment since Herbie wears a size 40 hat and has a chest size rarely seen east of the Tenderloin district of San Francisco).

I spent the night before my journey in Crete, Nebraska (Population 5,000; Drinking Establishments 9). And Sinatra thought Chicago was his kind of town. Here, I touched base with some of the Husker faithful. We toasted the back-to-back championships of ’94-’95 under a Rich Glover autographed glossy. We cried over the ’96 disaster (11-2; 6th in the nation). All was going well till I mentioned the Husker’s creampuff opening games of Akron and Central Florida. The bar went silent and everyone looked at me as if I’d just told them the salsa was from New York City. Being a student of nonverbal communication, I quickly paid my tab and left.

Every pilgrimage is filled with obstacles and mine was no different. It started on a beautiful Saturday morning, when I left Crete to head to the stadium. Now, all was going well till I got to Lincoln. Little did I know that there were two University of Nebraska campuses. Of course, I went to the wrong one. Soon, I found myself in Ag School Hell. Genetic Pecan tree experiments, Beef Sciences, and my favorite, the Poultry Judging Building (insert your own joke about Arkansas boy and poultry here). After earning a minor in family farm management, I finally arrived at the main campus.

And there it was...Memorial Stadium. On game day, it is the third largest city in Nebraska. I parked my car and only one thing separated me from paydirt, or should I say 300 things.

It seems that the day I chose for my visit coinciding with the University’s baton-twirling clinic and 300 future Huskerettes were whirling & twirling as if the crops depended on it. They were being lead by this Zena-wannabe who, judging by the way she glared at me, obviously had unsettled male issues. Now I love baton-twirling, I think it’s a genuine American art form, but nothing was going to stop me from going into the home of the “Fumblerooski.”

Off I went, sidestepping twirlers as nimbly as Johnny Rodgers cutting through Notre Dame tacklers. Sure a few were hurt, but no one said twirling was for wimps! You have to play with pain. If you can’t take a hit, how can you lasted through a fifteen minute version of Fleetwood Mac’s “Tusks” at halftime.

I finally reached the main entrance. My only regret was that the press was not there to document the moment. I grabbed the door. Locked. The next door. Locked. Every door! Locked! Oh fate, you cruel wench! I noticed a sapling beside a fence and debated whether it could hold my massive gird. But, I decided not risk my life or that limb.

I keep circling the stadium and, finally, I found an opening through which I could see the SKA of NEBRASKA in the end zone. Eureka! I started snapping photos as if Marilyn Monroe’s skirt had just blown up. These shots hang in my home today as a testament to one man’s perseverance.

I kept shooting end zone pictures until a stadium security guard informed me that there had been complaints about a Chris Farley look-a-like knocking over some baton twirlers. I told him I’d be on the lookout and headed home, content and counting the days till those tough Akron and Central Florida battles at Memorial Stadium.

From the Joe Fan ArchivesSeptember 4, 1999

From the Joe Fan ArchivesSeptember 4, 1999

"CHILDREN OF THE CORN...HUSKERS"

From the Joe Fan Archives
September 4, 1999

From the Joe Fan Archives
September 4, 1999