T.J. Birkel 
Nebraska fans celebrate the entrance of the Nebraska football team.
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 disagreeents 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 the thought has crossed my mind, watching those red jerseys run out of the tunnel before kickoff, “Man, I’m so lucky to be part of this.” What do people do if they don’t have something like Nebraska football? Of course, that’s a little bit tongue-in-cheek; there are plenty of other ways we can and do find meaning in life. But for those few hours on Saturdays in the fall, what happens on that field is the most important thing in the world.
And anybody can be part of it. Some Husker fans grew up in the state and graduated from the University. Others never lived in the state, but had a family or personal connection that drew them in. Still others discovered the team during the heydays of the 1980s and ‘90s, and decided they wanted to root for a winner. Everyone’s story is different and unique in this massive tent that is the Nebraska fan base, and it’s beautiful.
As much as anything, Nebraska football is about family. It’s passed down from one generation to the next, through stories of games and players gone by; through shared experiences of game watching, tailgating, and obsessing over the latest practice report or recruiting news. It’s about fathers and mothers and daughters and sons and the hopes of an entire state and a fan base that spans the globe. Together we celebrate the exhiliration of victory and lament the devastation of defeat. In our season kickoff episode with Tom Shatel, we asked him about a line he wrote in a recent column, stating that Nebraska fans remain “undefeated against apathy.” The first thing he mentioned in his response was about family, about one generation leaving their season tickets to the next generation in the will. Those tickets are as valuable as any family heirloom; our shared Husker memories as important as the family origin story.
I got up early Monday morning. Monday morning of game week–it’s finally here! After completing a handful of podcast-related tasks, with the house still quiet, I excitedly read all the latest Husker news and commentary I could find, as we approach a new season filled with hope. Tom Shatel. Sam McKewon. Steve Sipple. All the favorites who seem to walk with us on this journey, narrating the season as it unfolds each week. Somehow, having completed my to-do list and read my fill of Husker coverage, the house was still quiet (a rarity, as at least one of the kids is usually up by or before 6am).
Then, in the calm of the morning alone with my coffee, I thought about my Dad. It’s been more than two years since he passed away and still, when I think about Nebraska football (which, you know, happens a lot), I think about Dad. I wish I could call him and talk Husker football with him. He would be so excited about this season, totally swept up in the optimism surrounding the program. I wish he could see this podcast we’ve created. All Husker football, all the time. That’s how we describe the pod. He’d love every minute of it; he’d be the first one to listen to each new episode. And I don’t think it’s a stretch to say, he’s the reason it exists. What drives a guy in his early 40s with a full time job and three children to spend what little free time he has devoted to a podcast about Nebraska football? It’s a life long love affair, one that started with stories about Grandpa pacing the floor.
About a month before he passed away, Dad had a decision to make: try an oral form of chemotherapy, which had no guarantee of having any impact whatsoever, and the side effects of which could be worse than the potential benefits; or discontinue treatment altogether. In either scenario, doctors thought he might have three to six months left. I was there when he made the decision. Staring out the kitchen window, he suddenly turned around and said he was done with treatment, and putting things in God’s hands. What a terrible decision for anyone to have to face. And yet, my memory of that day is that there was an air of optimism once he made the decision. He was going to enjoy whatever time he had left. And I can still see and hear him, clear as day, saying, “Maybe I’ll even get to football season.”
He didn’t make it to football season. Sometimes I think that’s unfair, but then I remember that the 2022 team was such a disaster, maybe the Man Upstairs did him a favor by sparing him the agony of having to watch another disappointing season.
It’s telling, though, that in the midst of this major life decision, of course Dad was thinking about football. And it’s so fitting that, in the last moments of his life, the first thing we saw when we turned on the TV was a highlight from the Game of the Century. Maybe that really was a sign from God. Just a little nod, letting us know not to worry, Dad’s on his way to a better place and he’ll be there soon. There would be no better way to send that message.
So here we are, my fellow Common Fans, chomping at the bit for another season to begin. Into this new season of hope we walk together, arm in arm, ready to scream at our TVs, tailgate like our lives depend on it, do whatever it takes to play some small part in getting the Nebraska football team back to its winning ways. In doing so, we stand on the shoulders of those who introduced us to this grand tradition, who shared it with us so that we too could be part of it, be immersed in it, and share it with our children. It’s in our blood; it’s part of who we are; it is our shared heritage and our shared identity.
Whatever happens, let’s embrace it. Let’s enjoy it for all it’s worth. Let’s give it hell for those who can’t anymore. I know that’s what I’m planning to do, and I know my Dad will be there, along for the ride, in memory and in spirit.
As always, GBR for LIFE.
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