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Winging It 1:

Note: Forwarded message attached.
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Date: August 6 2003
From: "husker calvin" <HuskerCalvin@yahotmail.com>

Hi everyone. Thought you might want to know about this. Please send it on to everyone on your list.

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A new virus called 7AND7 has been detected. Most likely, it will land in your inbox in a harmless-looking e-mail titled "BUGETR." Microsoft is worried because this virus is very, very, VERY stubborn, even more so than FRANK SOLICH. Techs are working around the clock on a remedy, but as of this writing there is no fix for it. It is so powerful that it will eat through your A: Drive, wipe out your C: Drive, and halt almost every single Cornhusker offensive drive, too. DELETE THIS VIRUS RIGHT AWAY IF YOU COME IN CONTACT WITH IT. And whatever you do, DO NOT OPEN IT.

It will make you hope that the Huskers will run a SHORT-SIDE OPTION on third and six, because nothing else is working, for God's sake, not even that little dinky-doo pass over the middle that Barney Cotton installed over the summer. It will also send a private e-mail to every player you've ever ridiculed or called bad names from the anonymity of an Internet message board, giving them your full name, address, phone number and incriminating digital photographs of that one party where you had way too much Cuervo and woke up the next morning in someone else's clothes. It will make you wait in line for the entire third quarter at the south end zone concession stand for a Runza, and then when you get to the front of the line it will tell you that there are no Runzas left, sucker. This could be THE MOST DANGEROUS VIRUS EVER CONCOCTED.

It will make your child, whom you faithfully raised as a devout Cornhusker and who spent Saturdays in autumn with you, all decked out in scarlet and cream, suddenly become a die-hard fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes. It permanently programs your phone to play "Boomer Sooner." It destroys your sense of self-worth.

The presence of this lethal e-mail in your inbox also ensures that on your next trip to downtown Lincoln on game day, you will find yourself stricken with a debilitating, nigh-unquenchable thirst that can only be remedied by drinking a Coca-Cola product. Oddly, drinking anything made by Pepsi -- in particular, a Mountain Dew Code Red -- will only make you even more parched. It makes Tom Osborne ignore you when you bump into him and his grandkids at the Douglas 3 Theater on Sundays. It completely and permanently erases any recollection of the past 16 Cornhusker football contests. Which, on second thought, might not be all that bad.

This virus makes you happy and relieved that, though the Cornhuskers didn't win the big game, at least they didn't get their asses handed to them too awful badly. We have confirmed that a man in Crete was not warned of the 7AND7 virus in time -- and, while he used to be the kind of fan who would bitch after Troy State or Pacific blowouts that the margin of victory wasn't nearly large enough for him to feel very good about things, he now keeps a small loose-leaf binder with him at all times that contains accounts of moral victories. Chief among them the last-second, 27-24 loss to Texas last November.


It methodically seeks out your cockiest and cleverest Husker T-shirt -- the one you think makes you look like a badass and that really must leave opposing fans ashamed to support their school when they see you wearing it -- and makes it two sizes too small. If it was already two sizes too small, which is likely the case, then it signs you up for rigorous sessions with a private physical fitness trainer named Olga in a room without TVs, all day every Saturday this fall.

This virus will make you think sports talk radio is quite insightful. Really.

It will tape over your only copy of the Orange Bowl win over Miami and replace it with a repeating loop of Jammal Lord last fall in Manhattan, getting pushed out of bounds following a decent run, then turning to Wildcat fans and giving them the "shhhh" gesture, despite NU being down 21-3 at the time. It takes all of your archived copies of Huskers Illustrated magazine from 1994, 1995 and 1997 and transmogrifies them into a stack of old CAT FANCYS. It makes your right foot hurt. This virus points at you, standing there in your red clothes, and laughs.

It will make you hope against all hope that hiring people, none of whom will actually do the running, passing or tackling this fall, instantly translates into a conference championship this season, despite every fiber of your being telling you that eight wins should be a cause celebre. It makes you look for weird symbolism in meaningless events, like, maybe if Lord switches from jersey No. 10 to jersey No. 5, he'll only fumble half as much as he did last season. Or run faster because he's wearing a smaller number now. It makes you look at this year's schedule and really think twice about those condescending things you said about Shreveport last December. This virus hurts recruiting, dammit.

I repeat, DO NOT OPEN. DELETE AT ONCE. About an hour before each home game, about the time you're starting to think about getting to your spiffy new fiberglass seat, this virus will transport you smack-dab in the middle of the Husker Nation Pavilion. And though you frantically scramble around the grounds desperately trying to find a way out, you can't seem to find one, just like those kids in "The Blair Witch Project." You seem to just keep going around in circles: first the face-painting booth, followed by a bunch of kids named Taylor playing in the bounce box, then a sunvisored lady with yellow hair and yellow teeth drinking a Pepsi, and before you know it, you're back at the face-painting booth again.

It makes you continually and deeply aware of the elements of your life that are SAD, and PATHETIC, and really quite woefully incompetent now, at least compared to the lives of Oklahoma fans since Bob Stoops arrived.

Lastly, it makes you think that your school's biggest game this year is against Oklahoma ... State.

Please, STAND BY. The techs are working on a remedy.

Deface the Husker Nation.
Help us choose a new name for NU fans at THE POND,
Home of Nebraska's RED CLAD LOON.