Perhaps it’s a sign of age that I winced Friday when I read the report that Nebraska was trying to wriggle out of a scheduled game at Oklahoma. I grew up during a time when Nebraska was a college football blueblood — a true national power feared and respected by all. The Cornhuskers of my youth never would have ducked anyone.
At my suburban Orlando high school, we kept a chart of the Nebraska offensive line’s one-rep bench press and squat maximums posted on the wall in the weight room. I have no idea if the numbers were accurate, but I’d consult the chart every day, hoping I could someday come close to the power Zach Weigert or Aaron Graham could generate. As a senior, I watched the 1995 Cornhuskers annihilate Florida in the Fiesta Bowl for the national title. On TV, that Nebraska team looked like the baddest that had ever played. A few months later, I walked on to the team in Gainesville and met players who had played in that game and who were about to win a national title of their own. I became thoroughly convinced by those who had personally experienced its fury that the 1995 Nebraska team was a combination of the 1985 Bears and
the Borg. That program that produced that team never would have tried to get out of a game against anyone — much less a matchup against a one-time rival to celebrate the glory of that bygone rivalry. Except it almost did.
When Stadium reporter Brett McMurphy’s tweet landed Friday morning, Nebraska fans and former players got justifiably angry. They didn’t sign off on their program quitting on the notion of competing in big-time college football. We college football fans of a certain age who didn’t grow up rooting for Nebraska were just sad. How could such a proud program stoop to calling Old Dominion to avoid playing Oklahoma? Nebraska just doesn’t
do that. Except it had.
Really, McMurphy did Cornhuskers coach Scott Frost and athletic director Bill Moos a favor. The terrible idea leaked Friday and various constituencies shamed Nebraska officials into honoring their contract with Oklahoma before anyone could finalize something truly disastrous. Had the Cornhuskers canceled that game, they would have been branded cowards. They essentially would have been admitting Nebraska can’t compete in big-time college football anymore, but the Cornhuskers are still happy to cash those fat Big Ten checks.
In a statement that took six hours — but should have taken six minutes — to release, Moos tried to spin cowardice into philanthropy. “Due to the economic devastation caused by the COVID-19 pandemic to Husker Athletics and the local community, our administration did explore the possibility of adding an eighth home game this fall,” Moos wrote. “That option would have helped us mitigate cost-cutting measures and provide a much-needed boost to our local economy. Ultimately, the decision was made to move forward with our game at Oklahoma in 2021.”
But check the replies to the statement on Twitter. It’s quite obvious Nebraska fans saw through the smoke.
Besides, one more home game this season against an opponent no one was particularly excited to see probably wasn’t going to make or break local businesses that got crushed by no in-person attendance at Memorial Stadium in 2020. Plus, canceling on Oklahoma probably would mean no return trip from the Sooners in 2022 (because why would Oklahoma still want to play the team that bailed on a game scheduled years ago?), so one of the most anticipated Nebraska home games in years probably would have been replaced by another yawner.
Just in case, Nebraska fans who visit Lincoln for games in 2021 can help out by ordering a few extra beers at Leadbelly or a few extra burgers — and maybe a couple extra milkshakes, too — at Honest Abe’s or an extra rack of ribs from Phat Jack’s BBQ. Those businesses absolutely need your support. Buy big, tip heavy, and when the receipt comes, sign it “Lincoln Riley — GBR!”
Nebraska coach Scott Frost was hired in 2017 after quarterbacking the Cornhuskers to a share of the national championship 20 years before. His arrival was welcomed by fans clamoring for the program to return to the success from the 1960s to 1990s under Hall of Fame coaches Bob Devaney and Tom Osborne. (Nati Harnik / Associated Press)
Nebraska fans have been kicked in the teeth for years by forces within and outside their program’s control, and given the circumstances, they’ve been pretty understanding about it. Despite popular belief outside the state, this is not a fan base that thinks the Cornhuskers can magically return to dominating the way they did in the 1970s, ’80s or ’90s. These fans would be perfectly happy to be like Wisconsin or Northwestern, competing for division titles most years and occasionally fielding a team that can compete with the Big Ten’s best. They know why Nebraska isn’t a national power anymore. In the category containing stuff Nebraska couldn’t control, the reasons are plentiful. Everyone is on TV now. The schools located closer to the best players tend to sign more such players. The Cornhuskers lost several 11-1 votes while members of the Big 12, and those regulatory changes made winning more difficult. Nebraska also didn’t help itself. Frank Solich didn’t have to be fired. Mike Riley didn’t have to be hired. But mistakes happen when a program is trying to regain its lost glory.
Had the Cornhuskers managed to sneak away from the Oklahoma series under the cover of darkness, the program might never have recovered from the self-inflicted wound. In effect, Nebraska would have been announcing to the world that it no longer wants to even attempt to be a relevant football program. And that would have happened without the consent of the people who actually fund the program, which would have been the biggest betrayal of all.
Such a massive decision should be handled by referendum. Ask all those season ticket holders who have dutifully packed Memorial Stadium for decades whether they want games against Old Dominion or MAC schools or a home-and-home series with Oklahoma. Ask them if they want Nebraska football to give up or to keep trying. We all know how those season ticket holders would have answered.
Frost and Moos should have known that, too.
Luckily for them, their horrible idea leaked before they had a chance to go through with it.