For
Husker Fans Only
Preface
I shouldn’t
even like Nebraska. The Huskers have ruined more of my Saturdays than
all the weddings of my 25 nieces and nephews combined. First off, I grew
up on a farm in eastern Iowa, and went away to Davenport, Iowa for my
last two years of high school…so I could play for a legendary coach,
Red McManus. Before I even enrolled at this new, united high school—Assumption
High—McManus had departed for greener pastures, which included head
basketball coach at Creighton. Strike one for Nebraska…but I did
get to play for the doofus who replaced Red.
Now, a brand new school needs a new fight song. Sister Mary Borgia wrote
a neat, catchy, song called “There is No Place Like Assumption.”
Sister Mary Borgia—whose dad once threw a no-hitter for the Chicago
White Sox—was a conniver. But then, all good nuns are connivers.
Imagine my surprise when I first heard the Nebraska Fight Song…the
nerve of Nebraska plagiarizing Sister’s song! Imagine my surprise
when I finally figured it out.
At my new school, my favorite cousin, Ray Tiedge, was my classmate. Tiedge
moved to Norfolk, Nebraska after college where he was active in the banking
business. Of course, he was not the first Iowan stolen by Norfolk…Johnny
Carson was born in Corning, Iowa— where his dad was the mayor—before
moving to Nebraska.
Assumption is in Davenport, home of a great running back named Curtis
Craig who was going to lead the Iowa Hawkeyes to the Rose Bowl…until
Tom Osborne came calling. A tough recruiting loss for our Hawks, but tempered
by the fact that Curtis Craig’s younger brother would certainly
guide Iowa to the Pasadena Promised Land. Iowa did go to the Rose Bowl
in 1982, but Roger Craig was running wild and looking pretty for Nebraska
in the Orange Bowl. This was before Osborne stole Trev Alberts from my
home state but after Devaney and Osborne started beating Iowa and Iowa
State like a red-headed step child.
But that’s not the worst of it. Oh, no. I’m a Notre Dame grad.
Go ahead and snicker, but remember I might have negatives of you over
at Motel 6. The beat—and the beatings—go on, but none worse
than Nebraska’s 40-6 thrashing of the Irish in the 1973 Orange Bowl.
That was a whup-up sandwich, hold the mercy—the worst beating of
Ara Parseghian’s illustrious career, which brings up another sore
point. I always felt that Ara was the classiest of the big-time successful
college coaches…but, over the years, it became clear that Tom Osborne
not only belonged up there with Ara but actually may have surpassed him.
Now, if you’re thinking of quoting me on that subject to Notre Dame
people, you can forget it because I’ll deny ever saying it (a trick
I learned from Sister Mary Borgia). But, at least Notre Dame could claim
the most Academic All-Americans…until I found out that we were a
distant #2…behind Nebraska.
How much more Nebraska Kool-Aid was I going to have to drink in my life
time? A lot more, I found out on September 9, 2000. Tickets to Notre Dame
games are almost impossible to get. I was far more likely to be struck
by lightning while honeymooning with Christie Brinkley than what Nebraska
fans did in South Bend that fall afternoon. Tens of thousands descended
in a Sea of Red on Notre Dame Stadium, a ploy that would have left Napoleon
shaking his head and still has Irish fans shaking theirs. No one knows
how Husker fans got all those tickets, no one knows how long it took…but
it was like the movie scene where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid look
over their shoulders at their dogged pursuers and say, “Who are
those guys?” The President would be well-served to put Nebraska
fans in charge of infiltrating enemy lines.
By this time, I. M. Hipp to the shenanigans of you Nebraskans. The most
amazing thing is through it all, I never disliked Nebraska. Maybe it’s
the innate Midwestern kinship…perhaps that I loved it that Bob Devaney’s
home number was always listed in the phone book…possibly because
I always rooted for Osborne versus Barry Switzer knowing that those cards
were not equally stacked…other things to like such as the walk-on
program, and, particularly, Osborne going for the out right win in the
1984 Orange Bowl. But the capper was the first-hand exposure to Husker
fans, their loyalty and passion at Notre Dame in 2000.
For Nebraska Fans Only is part of an 81-book series that will be released
in the next 15 months. From Green Bay to Austin, from Chicago to Boston,
and 76 other places, loyal followers will trumpet their neatest stories
about their favorite teams.
Upon becoming my own publisher six years ago, the fans’ concept
seemed like a good idea to test. The first scheduled fans book was to
be about Notre Dame fans but it was shelved when “Win One for the
Gipper” was replaced by “Just Win One.” The actual first
“Fans” book, For Yankee Fans Only, sold out. The second, For
Red Sox Fans Only, sold out immediately. Twenty thousand more were reprinted.
The book, For Cub Fans Only, not only became the best-selling book in
the history of the Cubs, it sold over three times the previous record.
Publishing can be a vicious business with phony reviews and spurious stories
constantly planted on the Internet by publishers trying to protect their
investments and new releases. The trade-off is that “the more you
get ripped, the better you’re doin’.” Their shenanigans
do not bother me since I cannot type, have never turned on a computer
and have never seen the Internet. Perhaps I am a Luddite at heart, but
one thing is certain: the only critics who count are the readers like
you.
Since the age of ten, I’ve been a serious collector of sports books.
During that time—my favorite book style is the eaves dropping type
where the subject talks in his or her own words—with out the “then
he said” or “the air was so thick you could cut it with a
butter knife:” waste of verbiage. Books such as Lawrence Ritter’s
Glory of Their Times and Donald Honig’s Baseball When the Grass
Was Real. Thus, I adopted that style when I started compiling oral histories
of the Mike Ditkas and Harry Carays of the world. I’m a sports fan
first and foremost—I do not even pretend to be an author. This book
is designed solely for other sports fans. I really do not care what the
publisher, editors or critics think. I’m only interested in Nebraska
fans having an enjoyable read and getting their money’s worth.
Some times, a person being interviewed will drift off the subject, but
if the feeling is that Husker fans would enjoy the digression, it stays
in the book. In an effort to get more material into the book, the editor
decided to merge some paragraphs and omit some of the commas, which will
allow for the reader to receive an additional 20,000 words, the equivalent
of 50 pages. More bang for your buck…more fodder for English teachers…fewer
dead trees.
I’ve been blessed to be able to do two dozen sports books, and I
can honestly say that this is one book that I hated to see come to an
end. It was so enjoyable to work on a project where great—but often
forgotten—American values like sportsmanship, integrity, loyalty
and enthusiasm are so evident. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m
now a huge Big Red fan.
Go now.
Rich Wolfe