| 07 October 2009
I originally posted this on Mizzourah 1.0 as my preview to 2007's 41-6 destruction the last time the Huskers visited CoMo. Worked then. Let's see how much magic is left in this. And yes, much Victory Whiskey was consumed.
Husker Hate week culminates less than 48 hours from now. At this moment, I expect every Husker fan at this time to be boarded up in their cellar, basting them self in Natural Light with empty Skoal cans lying around and beating their wife in anticipation of this loss, all the while somehow not breaking the long ash on their Wildhorse cigarette that is tucked in their puckered chapped lips. Their messiah, Sam Keller, is not coming through on his promise (or at least their self-perceived promises that Husker fan put on him) to come through with the National Championship that they thought they’d have after drinking all the red Kool-aid ever made.
On Sunday morning, Husker fan will wake up, come out of their cellar and realize the destruction that was caused on their team by the Missouri offense and wonder how they can still get to a BCS game by finishing, at best, third in the Big 12 North. The polls will come out across the nation, and two hours later via wiretap, Scottsbluff will receive the news that the Huskers dropped out of the poll. Sadness will ensue and it will be time for Husker fan to step forth in church, stiff the offering plate, and say the blood of Christ is red because he was a Husker fan too, and the reason he took forever to die on the cross was because he was tough and coached by Tom Osborne. Sunday afternoon will come, and Husker fan will root not for one team, but every Husker to win, which in Husker fan’s mind is possible. A bruised and beaten wife will step into the living room to receive another beating. Not because her husband’s red Husker shirt has turned a bit pink from the wash, but because the stinging of yet another loss hurts a little more because it was a Big 12 North loss. Husker fan is bound and determined to keep a marker of the pain on his wife. Her left eye blackened by a swift right, she hold up a bag of frozen corn, which ironically should be the nickname of Nebraska’s defense.
After the swelling subsides in her left eye, Husker fan’s wife will grab him a lukewarm Natty Light and make a run to Bucky’s to get a fresh roll of Skoal. Pulling past the 50 year old homeless guy that is currently on his shift as the sandwich board for Doral cigarettes, she heads in for his 
‘chaw’. But they are out. Tearing up, she shakes in fear as she grabs a roll of Grizzly. As she goes to the cashier, she notices the stack of Omaha World Heralds that happen to be at half price. She picks one up and her sobbing turns into full blown crying. Her tears dampen and run the newsprint. There is no denying that she now has to purchase it.
She drives away from Bucky’s crying and her vision blurred, she narrowly misses hitting the homeless again, as the changing of the guard from Doral to Decade sandwich boards is going on. As her rusted ’85 Trans Am pulls onto the oil soaked concrete pad of the carport next to their double-wide, she just stares at the newspaper, fearing the worst. She knows that Husker fan will be angry enough with the fact that his ‘chaw’ was out, but she can’t fathom the rage that will become Husker fan after he sees the final score again; Missouri 41 Nebraska 18. She knows that she’ll get another black eye after seeing that Chase Daniel threw for three TDs and over 275 yards. She knows that her cold sore covered lips will be busted after seeing Jeremy Maclin, T Rucker, and Tony Temple all have great games. She can’t imagine the burns that will be on her arms from the thought that the Missouri defense didn’t let the Huskers back in the game.
All the while, Big Head will be oozing of glee in St. Louis, still drunk off Victory Whiskey after the late night trip back from Columbia.
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