The Cries of Texas

"You jinxed it."

Just when the Nebraska Cornhuskers are three yards away from a first down and hanging the biggest upset of the Bill Callahan Era in the books, Terrence Nunn fumbles, the Texas Longhorns recover and the Huskers, for all intents and purposes, were done. Moments later, a field goal.

Texas 22, Nebraska 20.

A few minutes before T-Nunn's fumble the Huskers had gotten a key defensive stop, were just a few minutes away from sealing the deal on the No.7-ranked Horns and I made reference to "I'm not going home 2-1": My record on these road trips being at 2-0 coming into last weekend.

"You jinxed it."

The guy I had stood beside all game heard my statement, saw me climb a few rows up into the stands to join some other revellers and then turned to me and told me...

"You jinxed it."

A clarification is as follows: That statement was not made in the sense of realization but more in defiance. So it wasn't my way of saying we've won, rather my way of saying "hell no, I didn't drive all this way to lose." That didn't change my feeling, though. What he said rang in my ears but the realization that he was, in my mind, bang on correct was what made me sink.

Why do I say all this? Simply because I'm the most superstitious person you'll likely ever meet. Example: At one point I went to go put my hoody up, realized I hadn't worn it all game long and quickly dropped it knowing that would mess with the cosmic energy in a critical game.

That's just the small stuff. I make the trip to Memorial Stadium on the first night of our arrival every year — in the middle of the night — park in the same spot, touch the "Through These Gates Walk The Greatest Fans In College Football" sign and proceed to tour around the outside.

Back at home, I wear my same jersey every Saturday. A jersey I emblazoned with Turner Gill's name on the back simply because the quarterback who owned No.12 when I bought it had transferred out of UNL. Didn't need his ghost coming back.

So when someone says the words "You jinxed it," and says it with such earnest, well, let's just say it's the kind of thing that hangs in my head... oh, I don't know... all damn weekend.

Listen, no rational thought says superstitions are worth two cents but you're crazy if you think I can entertain that notion. You're talking to a guy who's beard and unwashed Jerome Bettis jersey won the Super Bowl last season.

In the end, however, the loss didn't taint what was my favourite of the three trips so far. We saw an absolutely unforgettable, classic game, were welcomed and received by the unfathomably genuine people of Lincoln and almost immediately began counting the days until 2007's trip.

And that is why an absolutely devastating, heart-wrenching and painful loss like Saturday's can be dealt with, because what we get out of this annual pilgrimmage becomes so much more than just the 60 minutes of football we watch. And consider that coming from the guy who goes to the office on his days off so he can listen to the games online, keeps a yearly schedule/scoreboard from every season on his walls and half thought of stealing a six-foot high statue of Lil Red from a local sporting goods store simply because I liked the thought of having it standing by my desk.

The Canadians for Nebraska banner that made the trip has been left for the good folks at Christo's Pub on O Street with our hopes it will one day grace a wall there. The accompanying t-shirts (Canadians for Nebraska on the front, The Eh Team on the back) are being sent out to different corners of North America, a surprisingly hot commodity considering our phony chapter is half lark, half homage.

The loss stung, the wholly irrational thought of my role in it stung more (sorry T-Nunn) but the greatness of Lincoln in October and the luck I have to be a part of it will ultimately mean more than what shows up on the scoreboard.

But I think I'll wear some lucky socks next time just to be sure.

Go Big Red.

Say it ain't Joe

While four teams remain in the Major League Baseball playoffs — and with them a handful of intriguing storylines — the focus of the baseball world is unfortunately still focused on the team that hogs the headlines virtually every other day of the baseball year.

As the Detroit Tigers, Oakland Athletics, St. Louis Cardinals and N.Y. Mets continued on in a quest for the World Series, it was the New York Yankees who continued to fill newspapers, web sites and sports radio programs. Less was made of the Yankees meltdown in the American League Division Series against Detroit mostly because mere moments after being bounced by the Tigers all the focus in the baseball world was on George Steinbrenner, manager Joe Torre and the latter's reported impending firing. A New York Times report early Tuesday morning said Torre was staying on board.

To me, the Yankees are a complete joke. They are the over-compensating "cool guy" from high school who came from privilege, drove a Mustang, occasionally got the good-looking girls but in reality was the biggest putz you'd ever wanna meet. Devoid of personality, dumb as cotton and, for all intents and purposes, wholly unlikeable.

But what makes the Yankees a joke to me is the man running the show, Steinbrenner. With all the money in the world the Yankees couldn't get the prize much of the sports world had practically already granted them before the playoffs had started. Rightfully so, the Yankees were the odds-on favourites to win the World Series but falling short of that — specifically at the hands of a Tigers team that won just three games less than NYY in the regular season — is not some sort of cataclysmic disaster or abject failure.

However, Steinbrenner's delusions about his team, mistaken often for passion, leaves no scenario other than a championship every single year a possibility. And perhaps when you can afford to shell out $200 million in salaries every year, when your payroll is $56 million more than two of the remaining teams combined (Twins and Athletics) and your jerseys have pinstripes with an interlocking NY on them then you have the right to expect more. But as teams throughout sports prove year in and year out, the highest salary expenditures don't always translate into championships.

As Steinbrenner reprises his role from the 1980s as the evil owner who shuffles managers like hockey teams shifting on the fly, the routine has become more than a bit tired. Torre was said to be on the hot seat despite the fact the Yankee players — whose ineptitude in clutch situations is truly to blame for the early exit — are to a man in support of him. But Steinbrenner has never been particularly concerned with the needs, likes or interests of his players.

What's utterly irritating about The Boss' routine, year in and year out, is it comes with the same rhetoric, the same words only rearranged and the same blame placed everywhere but on himself. A self-effacing monologue every once and awhile would be appreciated as would a realization that there are times the one to accept some of the blame is the one staring back at you in the mirror.

Putting the blame on Torre is not only misplaced it's borderline idiotic when you consider how the series played out. Torre put the pieces on the board, he wasn't responsible for moving them around while they were out there. And when you field a roster like the Yankees did, the expectations of a championship are accompanied by the expectations that those assembled will do something resembling what their responsibilities are.

But Joe Torre didn't coach Alex Rodriguez into hitting .080 for the series. He didn't coach Jaret Wright into lasting only 2 2-3 innings in the biggest game of the season and he didn't coach Randy Johnson's sub-par, injury-hampered performance in Game 3 either.

Fox's Kevin Kennedy said the only mistake he felt Torre made was starting Wright in Game 4 instead of their ace Chien-Ming Wang, who was waiting in the wings for a shot at a deciding Game 5. With the season on the line, Kennedy argued, he didn't want to put the ball in Wright's hands. I disagree to the extent that you're a team — like the San Diego Padres who went to Woody Williams instead of Jake Peavy in their must-win Game 4 — needing to win two games and if you get Game 4, then Game 5 is the most important game of the season.

But Kennedy's point is valid. With the season on the line he said, I don't put the ball in Jaret Wright's hands. Therein lies the truth. For all the dollars and no sense, the Yankees season, ironically, came down to not having enough. You can spend $200 million dollars any way you want but when the guy you throw out there when you absolutely, positively need a win simply isn't good enough, it doesn't matter if you paid him $7 million or $7,000.

Steinbrenner could switch managers in the off-season and the Yankees won't even blink — they'll still be atop the AL East and they'll still be a favourite. Rip Taylor could coach this team to 90 wins for crying out loud.

Perhaps more accurately, Larry David as George Steinbrenner — with George Costanza as the assistant to the travelling secretary (cotton uniforms and all) — could still get this team to the playoffs.

With only slightly varying conclusions, the plot line will be the same every year until Steinbrenner no longer owns the New York Yankees, which is to say when George Steinbrenner dies. In the meantime, all those being subjected to watching his tired old routine have little in the way of choice.

The best bet is to laugh it off for the joke that it is.

False Dynasty

The New England Patriots beat the Cincinnati Bengals on the road Sunday, sending the collective group of criminals and all around jackasses to their first loss of the season.

The Patriots, who aside from quarterback Tom Brady are decidedly average in talent on paper, simply pummelled the Bengals on their home field and in the process essentially said "not so fast" to anyone who would have written them off as shadows of their former dynastic selves.

On two separate occasions, however, NFL television analysts remarked something akin to "this was supposed to be the game where the AFC power shifted" and "the Patriots weren't ready to hand over the torch."

Um, what? Hand over what torch? Let me just take a second here. ... I have something I want to remind people.

Just bear with me. This should only take a quick sec.


















I know it's hear somewhere. What did I do with it?
















Oh yeah, here it is:


So this torch that you speak of? Well, with all due respect to the dynasty of the Patriots — and make no mistake that's a team I respect and hold nothing against — that torch wasn't in their hands as of right now anyway. However, I'll humour the argument for the time being and let's say we accept the fact that the Patriots are still in their dynasty — hey, another Super Bowl this season would certainly prolong it — what is the suggestion that this game in Week 4(!!!) is the one in which the dynasty is to be handed over.

Of course even more preposterous is that this suggests that the Football Gods who look over such a thing — they of course being the concentric rings of organized crime that affect betting lines and coerce teams and officials to throw games — have evidentally selected the Bengals as the team of the future, the one worthy of taking the torch as the new dynasty of American football. Why that might be is beyond me. Perhaps it has something to do with the city of Cincinnati being completely uninhabitable and devoid of any noticeable redeeming qualities.

Alright, you know, I'll play along with this line of thinking for a moment, too. Hey, OK, Cincinnati Bengals, you're the chosen ones. We've decided: Those coveted AFC North Division champions hats you guys are so proud of wearing, well toss those to the side, boys. Your dynasty lids are in the mail. Hey, don't worry about all those years and years of futility and missed playoffs, that North Division title from last year is good enough for us. Your franchise wasn't even worth our contempt a couple of seasons ago, but don't wortty those days are over. You're now the greatest franchise in the National Football League, pishaw to the fact that in all reality you should be no better than 2-2 right now. We're suckers for overnight success stories, even if they're completely contrived.

Yup, that was the dynasty-hander-over game. We hope you enjoy your stay atop the NFL and have fun with your new torch. Just a memo: Some of the other dynasties — the 1970s Steelers, the 49ers, the Cowboys — get together once a week for a barbecue and lawn darts. If you can manage to get your guys out of prison for the day or if you need us to come by your place (y'know because of the house arrests), then that's cool too. Bring your probation officers too, we'll make a day of it.

Now, enjoy your torches. We now return you to reality...