A series of articlesby Brandon "Blankman" Cavanaugh.

A Cornhusker Grows

I was thinking of taking this week off, actually. It was a week that was fairly tiring on me, but as I sat here watching the 2003 Heisman Trophy presentation and I saw the 1971 Return by Johnny “The Jet”, “The Run” by Eric Crouch and the smile on the face of Mike Rozier, I stopped for a moment and thought about another story I could tell, the one of me and where I came from. Many of you know me as a nickname, one that was given to me somewhere, sometime and the origins of which, by many, are unknown. One thing has always been clear though, I am a fan of the University of Nebraska, not just of its football team or its athletics, but in the institution itself and so I come to you today telling my story.

I remember my very first game in Lincoln very vividly. I remember my father trotting out the camcorder to get his son, decked out in red, asking his thoughts on the game. All I could muster was a smile and a “GO BIG RED!” Given, at the time, I didn’t know much about the words, I just knew they were in support of the home team and that was good enough for me. The next memory I have was sitting high atop Memorial Stadium in the South Endzone where I could only watch one thing: the ground. You know those little cracks that allow you to see down to the bottom of Memorial where you enter in? I had a slight (large) fear of heights back then and all I could think about was the roar of the crowd and the stadium collapsing. Nebraska was playing the Oklahoma State Cowboys that day and I don’t really remember the year. All I can recall was the wind was so bad that a field goal try from OSU actually went backwards. We left at halftime, my fear overcoming my sense of time and place, but the seed had been planted.

Over the next several years, my main passion was computers. I really hadn’t had any desire to follow Nebraska football, though I could easily see the state getting wrapped up in it. I remember clearly watching Saturday morning cartoons and watching the sun come up over the horizon through the little cracks between my blinds. My grandmother, an avid fan herself, would come over and watch games with my father. Downstairs I could hear them carrying on screaming, “GO! GO! GO! YEEAAHHHHH!” and being annoyed with it all. Why couldn’t they be quiet? What prompted them to break the silence in the house on a warm and sunny Saturday? Oh little Blanklette, what you were about to learn…

During the offseason between the 1993 Orange Bowl and the 1994 Kickoff Classic vs. West Virginia, my father regaled me with stories of Nebraska football. I was intrigued all of a sudden and I clamored to know more about this sport. Something about it was so exciting to me. The pop of the shoulder pads, the colors of the uniforms, the pageantry, the history, all of it came flooding into my senses. I was told tales of Johnny Rodgers and David Humm. Of Turner Gill and The Triplets. I became a Cornhusker fan and I did it right before it all hit.

So I rode the wave. Tom Osborne won his very first national title. I called my uncle and told him we were, figuratively, popping open the champagne. Fireworks popped in the streets and in the air. Parts of Dodge Street in Omaha were mobbed my fans basking in the glow of the Sears Trophy. Then it was supposed to be a rebuilding year. I didn’t understand that and for another year? I wouldn’t have to. I watched Nebraska kick the ever-loving snot out of anyone who stood in their way. I remember picking up a Sports Illustrated before the Fiesta Bowl and reading, “The Gators will be bruised and battered, but will be #1” Yeah right. I watched them all, Frazier, Phillips, Peters Jason and Christian, you name it, they mauled Florida. Nebraska was on top of the College Football World for the second straight year and I collected every newspaper scrap and magazine around.

1996 was a new experience for me as we had pummeled Michigan State for the second straight year. Nebraska had a bye and after that? I was frothing, I needed to see Nebraska play and dominate, to win like no other. They didn’t. Nebraska lost and I was rather confused. How could they lose? They NEVER lose. They’re Nebraska. Oh little Blanklette, again, you have a lot to learn…

I returned to Memorial Stadium for the first time since the Oklahoma State experience when Nebraska played Iowa State in Tom Osborne’s last home game. I remember that because it was freezing and I had to wear about three or four layers of clothing as we sat huddled with the wind at our backs in the North Endzone. Nebraska did something I was all too familiar with and that was slaughter Iowa State to the tune of 77-14. I was so proud of being there, you know? So proud of being part of that ongoing record that stands to this very day. I even made up a little poster on the computer symbolizing the event and put it up on my wall which, by this time, had become flooded with posters and artwork, newspaper clippings and ticket stubs.

I have evolved as a fan over time from delving into the science of recruiting to actually playing the game during my years at Millard North to analyzing the statistics and probabilities. I played all of the video games, ran up the scores and posted undefeated records. I ventured online and found message boards which, of course, lead to many of the people I know now. Long lasting friendships blossomed all around the subject of Nebraska football. Of course, I let my writing take its course and here we are today. My walls are still lined with posters and newspaper clippings, though admittedly, it looks a tad more professional now.

I have seen a lot over my brief life and period as a fan of the University of Nebraska. I was there when the field goal went through against Colorado in 2000. I was there when The Play actually happened in 2001. I have seen coaches dismissed and players transfer. I have seen highly touted recruits come, some pan out, some not so much. I have seen the program and one thing has remained a constant: My love for the program and the University of Nebraska. My desire to watch it flourish and continue to grow and expand. My want, my passion, my pining for the U and its fans to cheer and carry on.

So here I am on December 13, 2003 after the Heisman Trophy has been awarded to Jason White, my jerseys hanging on the wall and my helmets reflecting light in many different directions. I look up and see a poster of Memorial pre-facelift and gaze over the sea of Scarlet and Cream. I can walk outside and crunch the melting snow underfoot, gazing at the fields and tumbled cornstalks. I can sit on a hill in my jeans, white T-shirt and red fitted Nebraska hat and smile. I am proud where I am from. I am proud that I was born in this state and have become one of its chief exports: A die-hard, living, breathing Nebraska Cornhusker.

Questions, commentary and various other bric-a-brac can be sent to [email protected]

===Brandon a.k.a.Blankman #71===

Return to articles.