-Isms

If you know me well, you know that fall - primarily football season - is one of my favorite times of the year.

My family has a long-standing relationship with Husker football. Before the ‘rents married, Dad purchased box seats, near the field of Memorial Stadium.

He didn’t miss a game.

Once they were hitched, they became season ticket holders and since 1955, someone from our family could be found sitting in our west stadium seats.

Dad always said he should have requested four tickets instead of a single pair. As teens, Laurie and I sat wherever our single game tickets landed. Usually we ended up in the north stadium, although a few times we climbed to the top of the south end zone, savoring the view of the Lincoln area while cheering on our beloved football boys.

We traveled to Manhattan and Stillwater, Lawrence and Boulder. That was a great thing about the Big Eight: several places were within a day’s drive. A weekend trip to Boomer Sooner country wasn’t out of the question.

When I.M. Hipp and Andre Franklin were student-athletes, our family became their Nebraska family. There was a lot of laughter, tears of joy, frustration with injuries and hope for the future. Those are the memories I love.

I never want that to change.

The last game Dad and I attended together was in 2009. Somehow, the football gods did not align with the ‘Skers that day. In a weird game where everything went wrong, Iowa State downed the home team, 9-7.

In fall, Lincoln became our second home, football and family were synonymous. A certain energy and infectious attitude exist there.

It’s pure Nebraska: people from across the state coming together to support a common cause.

I hope that never changes.

In the past 20 years, I’ve missed two home games, until now, when only players’ and coaches’ families are allowed.

Not going to lie ... spending the first home opener at home, in Clearwater, was surreal.

No tailgate party.

I’m certain grilled chicken and roasted tomatoes and squash don’t qualify as typical tailgate fare.

No cheers of Go Big Red, while walking down the street.

Scott wouldn’t even start the chant.

No Joyce and the Sidetracks band singing raunchy songs.

And now, Joyce has departed this earth and only the memory of sipping Jello shots while listening to her belt out a naughty ode to an Oklahoma team - even after leaving the Big 12 - drew a raucous response.

No hand slaps from high five guy who sits across the aisle from us. Wait. Can we high five in the age of coronavirus? Elbow bumps seem ... wimpy in comparison.

Instead, Dad and I spent the first half on the phone, hooping and hollering like we were sitting in our regular seats, instead of him in his care center room and me in the living room with Scott and Jorden.

When the BIG 10 announced stadiums would be closed to fans, I made a Saturday to-do list, hoping I would catch up on a few projects since weekends would be spent at home.

It’s the final week of the regular, shortened season.

One project is scratched off the list of 10.

I’m okay with that.

Saturdays are for football and family.